cloud-high, whereabouts unknown
Sep. 9th, 2005 07:04 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thisnewdaysome years ago, i heard this story about a man who was searching for a certain japanese poet. as he approached the poet's village, he happened upon the poet's servant.
hearing of the man's mission, the servant replied, "my master is not here. he is on the mountain picking mushrooms, cloud-high, whereabouts unknown."
that's how the story went, to the best of my memory. the point of its retelling, here, is that i could really use some of those mushrooms...
hearing of the man's mission, the servant replied, "my master is not here. he is on the mountain picking mushrooms, cloud-high, whereabouts unknown."
that's how the story went, to the best of my memory. the point of its retelling, here, is that i could really use some of those mushrooms...
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Date: 2005-09-15 10:34 pm (UTC)Reminds me of a camp fire along the Chesapeake Bay, a few tents in the field. Pretense of "fishing" in the nearby water, but main focus on the "smoke" crooked homemade (how else?) joints passed carefully from hand to hand, giggles and snorts. An old wine bottle passed around - with who knew what and who cared?
I sipped a warm Pepsi and let the "goodies" pass me by. Being extra-sensitive to smoke, I didn't choke on this "tobaccy" but the second-hand smoke made me giddy.
1970 July-ish. Free rock concerts in various parks in the city (Baltimore.) Bring your Boon's Farm Strawberry Wine - but remember it goes under the blanket when the police patrol. That's not all that was under the blanket. (Snicker with raised eyebrows.)