Saturday the Last of the Great Apes

April has come and gone… as the sun now sets on the Great Apes, May flowers. But as Lou Christie sings, Lightning Strikes again and again and again and again. The warm spells magic, and the wave has not broken nor even crested as yet.

Some people, okay my sister, have written and asked why I would re-clothe myself for the picture above. She who declared on New Weird America that we are all Clothed Monkeys… but I reply that some of us must also be Midnight Movers… Buddy Miles told people he was “a freight train coming down the highway tracks.” That’s how I feel these last days of Apes: clothed in the fabric of my roots, belching out diesel fumes as I move from track to track. But as the solar rays set a-flame the heavy clothes of passersby, I shall re-emerge, quasi-nude in all my queer glory…

like a pasty white butterfly emerging from the larvi of my hooded sweatsuits.

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