Hissing, spitting, howling, purring from a dumpster in a back alley of Cyber City - TALES WITH THE BEAT for ADULTS ONLY and artists, atheists, adventurers, beatnics, bohemians, brights, dharma bums, dreamers, dancers, civil libertarians, eco-warriors, free-thinkers, freaks, loners, libertines, mystics, mayhem-surfers, outcasts, poets, punks, pagans, renegades, ravers, rockers, queers, shamans, sci-fi nuts, trippers, trancers, tricksters, wanderers, wankers, yogis, zorros, zippies and zen.
These stories, that have been available on
Blogspot for 10 years for free, will now only be available on Amazon at the
address above. They are contained in “Vagabon Freak”, the 1st volume
of a trilogy titled “The 7 Lives of the Punk Poofy Cats”. I have been the
archetypal starving artist in his garret, painting, drawing and writing,
writing, writing as if I were some waif crying out in the wilderness. Now I
need you, dear reader, to hear my cries and go to Amazon and buy a copy of my
book and keep me alive. There you will find my complete tale, from beginning to
end, in one place, for you to hold in your hot little hands. When you read it
straight through, I assure you, it will blow your mind.
Below are introductory paragraphs and some
pictures that I still retain to illustrate this story, hopefully to give you a
come-on to get my book. Thanks for giving me a go, TZ.
The converse of Arthur’s profound sense of freedom as a
nobody out on the wide-open highway was Indira Ghandi’s growing power mania at
the Center of things. Her dictatorship of absolute control from Delhi, deposing
state leaders who didn’t comply, and dispensing patronage to a chosen few so that
corruption in public affairs exploded, was all a long way from Arthur’s
The needs of the individual might be subordinate to the
State for the disaffected Indian but not for this spoiled Westerner, he was
“footloose and fancy free” and didn’t give a shit about politics as long as he
could be on the move. Tedious bus journeys taking several days got him to the
mystic town of Hampi deep in the interior of the state of Karnataka, an iconic
landmark of his astral dream flights.
Hampi was an arcane site, hard to get to and known only
to the Freak cognoscenti. In the future it would become a hotel hell but when
Arthur arrived there were only about seven Freaks wandering the vast labyrinth
of rocks and river, most of them hanging around the cave of a crazy Siva Baba
who made the most sought after black clay chillums in the whole of Hippiedom.
The town had one dinky chai shop outside the temple;
otherwise it was a ghost town, the ruined stone streets haunted by the
thousands of Hindus slaughtered by the Muslims five centuries ago in the
downfall of the Vijayanagar Kingdom. Decrying pagan sacrilege the Muslims tried
to smash all the sculpted Hindu icons, but there were thousands of statues
carved in every crack and crevice and many got overlooked or simply had their
noses and arms lopped off, the place remaining a vast art gallery of fallen
The countryside around Hampi was a surrealist’s
dreamscape with countless boulders piled atop each other in magical balancing
acts, hundreds of small caves, temples and pavilions sequestered in their
interstices and sculptures of the gods littered everywhere. A placid river
wound like a serpent throughout this maze of rocks and to the bedazzled hippies
it seemed like a wondrous psychedelic theme park.
(If your curiosity is piqued please go to the WEB
address above and buy the book to read further.)