Suddenly Cassidy was out of prison.  He was out slightly early, I think.  I never got this exactly, he was doing seven years, I understood, though he caused trouble, next I think he was doing eight, but he did seven and a half.

            His parents (white, middle class, loving) had arranged an apartment in Oregon, somewhere for him and mighty Chantel.   Suddenly they emailed me from Austin, Tx.  Then Cassidy called, from Austin.   Suddenly they were in Corpus Christi, 20 miles from Aransas Pass in the Coastal Bend.   Next they were here, Aransas Pass, Tx 78336.

            Years back now in my living with my old mother Cassidy had contacted me, asking for my zine,  BLACKOLIVE'S LAST LAUGH, telling me in one breath on paper he is an anarchist punk rocker doing 7 years for stealing socks.  He was into zines.   Likely all in first paragraph, I forget exactly, he spoke of having trouble because he proclaimed he hated "cops, racists, Nazis."   In Oregon prisons the officials would set the skinheads upon him, try to get him killed, as these nazi groups are the bigger gangs in the US Northwest.   Next letter or so I heard his complaint the officials had let the skinheads steal all his books and papers (even his toothpaste) in his cell when he was out.  At that point he was already contacting folks everywhere, Google Cassidy Wheeler.  In our correspondence he got changed to different prisons in Oregon 4 times, for organizing, agitating.  I got the ACLU into it, twice in those early years took calls from them while they visited prisoner Cassidy Wheeler, though when the 911 madness had them too busy for me and Cassidy, I quit them.

            Correspondence always was aggravating.  They would turn my envelopes to him back in any redneck excuse.  They tried to get him killed and he fought a lot or sat in solitary.   My first question to him had been: Are you a crazed hundred twenty pounder or a bold two hundred twenty pounder.  His answer: I am more the crazed two hundred twenty pounder.

            Meantime, he was reading, consuming.   Dear Reader, Google Cassidy Wheeler.

            I met him here and was surprised how average his size, pudgy, six one, smallish hands but medium bone structure, though a large head.   For him to be any kind of true two-twenty would have taken a lot of weight lifting in prison, which mostly he did not.   He had written that fighting he usually does alright.  Here, in Aransas Pass, he told me, well, they see your eye, and probably then back off.   OK.

            I am sitting here with Lyla who was ninety March 7 or 8 of 2010.  A decade ago here Medicine Dog was young and troublesome, requiring two runs per day, but now he is 13, very arthritic.  I have young Choyota, my female spayed from Lyla's pressing in stress, after two litters with Medicine.  Choyota is coyote/chow.  Choyota is highly intelligent and still feral, and Lyla might barely pet Choyota, who is beautiful but Lyla identifies with Medicine and his arthritis.  I sit here looking back….

        How childish was I, stupid with females, obsessive.  Firstly, being alien, I had to build myself against other male inanity.  I like to fight.   I guess this is OK, hell, it allowed me some asthmatic peace.

        Cassidy called from Austin.  He, and as well Chantel, knew people in Austin.  Chantel had old friends in Austin while Cassidy knew these couple housemates, one a black guy who had done thirty something years in solitary before freedom, who looks pretty good, and his buddy this white individual who had traveled by bicycle thousands of miles in Asia.  I did not this time get to find out how he knew these two stalwart men.  I never this time did get to inquiring from Cassidy information particulars.  His parents had presented this Oregon apartment for him and Chantel but he would there be on probation.  Cassidy had had to move on.   I said to him, hell, come on down, so what it is Xmas, you are family.

        This was getting into holidays of Xmas of 2009.   In that purpose was also here Mike Olive, fortunately.  When Mike was in Corpus Christi twenty miles over with Judge RD Hatch III and David (Bix) Bayless, Cassidy/Chantel were getting off bus in Corpus.   Mike called here asking was Cassidy in Corpus yet and they could ride with him and Hatch and Bix.

        Cassidy and Chantel just missed that ride, were on bus coming straight to Aransas Pass, no stops in between somehow.  As Lyla's great helper Janet was leaving for her day, suddenly Cassidy called in Aransas Pass.   Janet headed home but passing the bus stop she looked and saw this likely couple, with their packs and sacks.  Astute Janet cell-phoned me, asked me to describe Cassidy.   I did so poorly rather, she hollered from her car at him is he Cassidy Wheeler, and he said he was and Janet picked them up and brought them to here.   I called over to Hatch's Aransas Pass house then, where had arrived those three fellows and they came over and met Cassidy and Chantel.

        Forsooth, Kelly Olive was also here, had just come in.   Kelly entered house in Medicine Dog clamor (the favorite, next to their keeper) to see Mike and Hatch and Bix and Cassidy, Chantel.   Maybe Kelly got here before did these others.  Accept mine weak memory, Dear Reader, but I recall, still on my thoughts of being large or small in rat prison, I waved and laughed that Cassidy is not even bigger than we are.  Chantel is short and plump and pretty and the alert woman, trying to gather this scene, she is a young 38, a 9 years older than Cassidy, both are Aquarius like is earthy Kelly who though is Aquarius, social.   Cassidy's knowledge came on in, of his work from imprisonment in the US where prisoners can get hands on books, often.  Chantel mostly sat quietly.    She was impressed I asked if she is Aquarious.  She has not believed in Astrology.  I had guessed Cassidy's sign during our correspondence, though he is earthy, is on the cusp of Earth sign Capricorn.   Astrology is not my bag, I sometimes see possibilities, over decades, examples without greater study.

            I presented my guests to their upstairs bedroom.  A small room and double bed, this was the parents' room.  Now Lyla is too crippled to come upstairs. 

        At that point Cassidy had shared his West Coast good weed with Kelly and me.  Kelly had to get back to Seguin, as usual.   Lyla then was being unbothered.   Mike was here, for Lyla, and memory has it to be next day was Xmas Eve.   This was the least celebrated Xmas in history of Billy Eugene's and Lyla's kids.  Lyla did not attend, I barely remember opening a couple gifts.

          Cassidy had this passel of herb shop drugs from liberal Oregon, some to smoke, some to drink.   The smokes seemed nothing good as pot, but there was this smoking herb that was witch doctor mind fuck.  I did a bit with Cassidy, could see the effect was reality destruct like DMT.  Cassidy said it is related to DMT.

            That next early day, Lyla took greater pain in her legs and I helped Mike get her with wheelchair into pickup he had from Kelly's Olive property on Medina River Hill Country - no correct license on farm truck so it be.  Mike went with Lyla to Emergency in Aransas Pass, Tx 78336, this small town Emergency that is very busy unto chaotic.

            I already had slugged down this large concoction Cassidy had fixed up, for we three, on deck, in chairs, looking out over country crazy crank desperation road and gnarled oak brush at Aransas Pass city limits. 

            Cassidy interestingly is the one person I have met other than myself who says he is a psychic adventurer.   He said so, in years of prison reading, when he got my THE TORTILLA HIKE.   He had been given his 7 or 8 years, he was this white delinquent already hip to computers and psychedelics.  Right.  He said to effect, hey, I hadn't known you were such a "psychic adventurer."

            By time he and Chantel were here I had been days uncomfortable in my condition bodily.  I have damaged joints of shoulders I now am outflanking, in routine, to repair, repair the joints via easy and long movements.  I had been having trouble sleeping on shoulders, particularly my left, and it was giving me too much pain, this morning Mike took Lyla to Emergency in Aransas Pass.   Psychedelics are blood thinners, and I knew stoned on psychedelics I would be free then of pain.  There was more excuse to get whacked, and anyhoo we had Mike Olive to care for Lyla.

            Before slugging down Cassidy's concoction, we firstly this morning had done some smoking.  Of these smoking herbs, Cassidy again gave me the related DMT thing, and this takes a human personality… into this warp.

         Maybe Cassidy this morning time did not partake.  Previous evening, Mike Olive likely either in his bed near Lyla or in his reclining chair reading a thriller, I had not gotten very much of this smoke, if slightly enough to see it's effect is twisted.  Cassidy had not enjoyed the smoking…. 

         This next morning he guided me through my warp.   I think he did not take it, dislikes it now.   I was unable to very well bend neck to see directly, but there was this " tent" effect, of human heads, maybe Cassidy and Chantel, at top of tent talking, while I was neck bent too much to focus on these talking heads.  I was imprisoned in this warp and had no sense how to twist free.   I asked Cassidy, how long does this last.  Not very long, he said.  I could not well remember who he is, he seemed nice enough for my problem.   Shortly, my mind chains dissipated, drifted away, and I returned to my normal state on Earth.

            Cassidy is a serious psychic adventurer as am I. During our correspondence he read my THE TORTILLA HIKE, exclaimed he had not known I am this. But, this is our work.

             Psychic adventurers need freedom from physical distraction, is primarily why I felt this day that Lyla went to Emergency was the best day to trip, that psychedelics have this flight/fight effect and are super anti-inflammatory.  I craved break from shoulder pain, and maybe get a step forward in healing, too.

            Though using buses where there are often dogs to sniff herb, once they had spied the dogs then circuited to next bus, Cassidy carried in knapsack besides marijuana a batch of other herbs that were legal in Oregon herb shops, including two kinds of psychedelics.  This trip it was Hawaiian rosewood seeds, but he ground these to mix with some odd kind of South American shaman stuff, which is likely not purely "psychedelic."  Hawaiian rosewood seeds had been legal in Austin in seventies or eighties and I was familiar, but I think it went illegal in Texas, or Austin, for in seventies and eighties I was in Austin and eventually could not get them. The psychedelic property in Hawaiian rosewood seeds is chemically akin to LSD-25.

        Psychedelic purely, this is not but stimulated or "expanded" sensitivity physically and emotionally altogether.  LSD, mescaline psilocybin, do so.  My favorite has been not just mescaline but the cactus peyote, which has sundry other alkaloids, that stimulate or sedate the physical body, and all this influences the mind of the organism, and one patch of peyote will have more the stimulants or more the sedatives or more mescaline the psychedelic.  For me peyote is more mystical and encourages wisdom.  The psilocybin mushrooms as well have other properties, will initially place one in a dreaminess, which passes, then one is just on psilocybin.  Differences between LSD, mescaline, psilocybin, are too subtle to explain to the Dear Reader if the Dear Reader has not experienced psychedelia.  LSD is dramatic and mescaline intellectual and psilocybin is telepathic or musical or humorous or some place.  The organism is turned on for flight or fight but if the organism is sane the organism sees no flight or fight and enjoys, fabulous inspiration.   Not that one might then write a novel or paint.   For such as that one must have previously afforded discipline.

            Medicine Dog was turned 13, December 5.   I had last taken psychedelics, and with brother Kelly, on the Port Aransas beach with Medicine Dog when he was less than a year old.  Kelly and I had shared some "old acid" somebody had given him some year,  that was in a little bottle of water.  Water had preserved it.  LSD-25 is in micrograms, and warmer weather weakens it.  Likely this little bottle had been in Kelly's refrigerator.  It surprised us in its strength.  Sitting in sand up from his parked vehicle viewing the beach and tourists walking along the tides, we forgot to drink our sixer of Negra Modelo or smoke weed Kelly had, but we dug the pup Medicine who while frisky was so astute to all happenings.   We were amused enough for a time, then some way I got into our "following the buffalo."  Kelly affirmed: Yeah, we would follow the buffalo.   Hey, I spoke.   Do you know what you just said?  Well, why not, he answered, or like that.

            We did not consider were we white or red.  Psychedelics cause the writer in me sometimes to jabber.  Psychedelic impressions have already been born, from past action, not from fantasy without perhaps one is strictly - quite strictly insane.  At some point in mine jabbering, after we had gone up into dunes to piss, away from the few tourists down our far end of Mustang Island, Port Aransas, I said to Kelly I got shot through the chest.  I was angry about it, had clung to horse (would return to kill etcetera).  I was tearful.  Kelly assured me he is standing by me no matter what.   Kelly I think remained more in the twentieth century.

        Maybe tripping with Cassidy and Chantel in my lame health I had been weeks or months or years too wastefully intense concerning this late overhauling of self I be doing these last years with my mother, Lyla.   We drank on the deck Cassidy's concoction, watching speeding depraved rednecks in their cars and pickups.   We went I think next into my room to smoke pot.  Then I needed to recline, possibly doze.  Cassidy and Chantel left me with my dogs, went to their room.  Later I understood they both did barf.  I refused this time to barf, repressed big urps.  I did hours later explode bowels into my toilet up here.  Then I could hardly stand up.  It was dusk or later.  I went bodily crashing about.  Crashing past Medicine Dog, into my closet violently, I considered how much might Cassidy and Chantel be hearing.  I took coordination enough to crawl into my bed.   The night went coolish and I went through very much.  I knew my dogs were concerned and I got Medicine into bed with me - he is thin skinned, pitbull - and I was so blasted, and worried could Medicine and Choyota be ok after I had left them so long.  I think it was following day I could hear Lyla and Mike Olive and Hatch downstairs having merry conversation.  Mike came up to see how was I in my "being ill" and he put this heavy blanket on me and Medicine and we got finally warm.   Medicine and Choyota were sensitive to my having been elsewhere, and had been depressed, less than normally secure.   When I was slowly returning to present moments, I took to reassuring my dogs.  I had actually wondered too stoned, could Medicine Dog recover from my having departed.  My sense always was is he had incarnation led to me that was of erratic humans, dog fighting world perhaps.  Choyotta is younger, had had some kind of poor background with humans this incarnation before abandonment, when just past puppy-hood.  She met Medicine then me.  But old Medicine Dog had never seen/ smelled such with me in my storms before.

            I do not recall said soul storm yet.  Before I in evening had cleared surprisingly and went downstairs for chicken soup Mike had fixed, Chantel who had often checked on me, had asked had I at all enjoyed my experience.  I had said something of its having been less fun than instructive, or like that.

            I have yet to get at it, this one hardest experience in all my tripping since summer of 1966.  Gruesome tragedies and whatever, human brutality.

Chantel said that at some point I had been talking to my brother Kelly.   I asked her was this disturbed, and she told me it had not sounded very disturbed.   Later on I did recall something of this.  It was fully dimensional, scenario of my being at computer, in though a well-lighted room, which down here in Lyla's Gallery where she sleeps or paints and where we have the computer and big desk, is not herein the case on Earth. It is not well lighted over here at desk and computer.  I recall posting these email notes to Kelly.  In real world, Kelly does not like computers even enough for doing emailing.  I kept doing these emails to keep Kelly up with my moment, and I was sensitive how he was not himself experiencing drama I was in and I should be careful to not be so stoned or spacey/sketchy.

        Several times in nearly half a century of psychedelia  I have contacted past incarnation.   In New Mexico I had care of a farm house for a dentist in Las Cruces, who was into the NMSU football team and would let footballers stay in the farmhouse.  My brother Kelly, a football player, drafted in Vietnam area who would have gone to Canada but only assigned to Korea, chose to not jar the parents, had arranged my getting into the farmhouse.  Few of these football guys would be willing to stay in the place, it was too rustic, too chilly in winter with only the fireplace, this adobe house could have been 100 years old, the mud/straw  barn likely surely.

         I had this black running-back housemate, Benny.   Benny had graduated already, was helping coach the younger footballers, like in drills, and he had plan of his tryout with the pros.   But too he was a hippy, liked pot and acid and the life then.  He was able to get along in any circle.  Just getting to know one another, one late morning we dropped some psilocybin.  I was maybe age thirty and he was twentytwo, which then to me was a kid.