Charles Pendelton
      © 2008 Marty Langdon
Chapter 30

                     The incredible expedition

I was beginning to feel puzzled, and this was troubling me.
I knew it was going to be a rough ride the minute I realized
I was losing control of the situation. Not knowing what else
to do, I stripped down to my briefs and crawled into bed.

Rich began to laugh while sputtering lines of inaudible nonsense. His hands were
now covering his head and from what I could distinguish, his face looked like a
whoopie cushion, about to explode. Unsteadily, he attempted to raise himself to his
feet but could not muster the energy. He then slumped back against the wall and
slid down, until he was resting comfortably on both heels. I gave a quizzical look
to this strange fellow who was nowhere in his right mind, and tried to understand
what part of the drug was causing such infuriating laughter! I then wondered to
myself, verbally in my mind, the consequence of what would arise should this drug
decide to attack the pain section of his brain. What will I do if he starts running
around the house screaming like someone threw scalding water on him? 

                             Then we are going to be in a pickle, indeed.

My friend was now punching the floor. “What are you doing?” he exclaimed in a loud
“I'm going to bed,” I replied, which only incited more laughter. “Going to bed!”
I then thought, how can I go somewhere I already am? Shouldn't I have said, I'm going
to sleep? Actually, I am not going anywhere, if I'm laying my head down in one spot...

                                        (((What the fuck am I doing?)))

The more I continued to dwell on this, the more distant everything became,
till I was in the middle of a cosmic storm, waiting for my head to spin off.

                       “How perplexing is this maddening void,” I colicked!

                              Opening my mouth to speak, I said nothing,
                        and we laughed unrestrained like buffoons on fire!

                                                                                       Pg 144

Carefully, I began the process of examining my underwear.

“Why are they always white, and what is the purpose of wearing
Slowly, I got up and walked to my dresser. “Fruit of the loom,”
I uttered in a barely audible voice to myself, for I had no mirror. It
was then, I came to the conclusion they served no purpose at all.

“Starting tomorrow, I will never wear underwear again,”
I blurted out like an overzealous stock trader on Wall Street!

“Why,” Richie managed to say sharply?
    “Because they're. . . Fruity.”

But the words just didn't come out right.

For the first time there was no laughter when I thought there would be.
There was nothing but a frozen frame. An empty room of hollow heads.
We looked at each other expressionless, and I felt the onset of panic.
A flash of discomfort that defines fucking oneself, or having been fucked.

                             This is bad! This is so fucking bad!!!

What the hell did I do?
How did I just destroy everything I was living for?
As hard as I was trying to grasp it, I was losing it.

“I gotta. . . Please. . . ”

It was almost as if all universal time had somehow stopped, locking
us together forever in a
room for what just might be the rest of eternity.
The only energy which seemed to exist now appear
ed to be coming
from external objects. Here I observed myself silently decaying.

As my mouth began to open slowly, I released a high-pitched
squeak that
knocked the world right back on its ass again!
Everything went Nuts-O
with Rich screaming like dogs
were chewing his balls off, and the normalcy
of being
completely insane had once again been restored!

Glory be!!!

“Thank you, thank you, and thank you!”

I rejoiced as if someone had just bought me a house! 
God that was close! I will never ever do that again!

Come to think of it, What the fuck did I do anyway?
                                                                                       Pg 145

I quickly proceeded to put my pants back on and insisted we go outside. “We'll
get lost out there,” said my friend, still unable to catch his breath. I then realized it
was an absurd thought, for we could be easily gobbled up by the night. As I walked
over to look out my sister's window, I barely recognized the avenue I grew up on.

So mysterious now were the tree demons, ever watching us from across the street.
By the Calabrese house, those surrealistic Staghorn sumacs stood poised and ready!
Vigilantly, they watched the block for any signs of unusual activity, they appeared to be more
like giant animals now than plants, and I toyed with the notion of growing one in my room.

Indeed, they had become the guardians of the night, standing watch over the ill-fated
domain, while we had become the knights of the misconstrued. With a glimmering
eye that can only foretell madness, I yearned for them to embower the entire island.

How wicked that old house looked
in the wind and the rain and the snow, but now
there was fire and brimstone in its hearth; an organ playing haunting melodies!

Placing a cassette in my Sanyo tape player, we listened to a clever array of John Lennon songs. As
we got down to “watching the wheels” it became quite apparent to me that it was indeed a psychedelic
song John wrote while on an acid trip! If he were here with us in this room he may very well have
written, “I'm just sitting here watching the world go round and round, I have a story to be told.”

                                                              John Lennon - Watching the wheels

My interpretation was that upon evaluating his life, it seems he was watching the wheels as they went
round and round through the cassette window! The whole entire song was one big hidden message!
“It's a cryptic improverb! Do you have any idea what this means?” I shouted in my delirium!

                                        “I've opened the sarcophagus!!!”

For me, it felt like I had just unlocked the secret of the entire universe.
It was all I ever needed to know! Everything else was meaningless!!!

It was me!
I found it!
I did it!!!

God, it couldn't have been that easy! Do I tell Richie about this? Never!!!
Only a fool gives away top secret information, and besides, it was an
astonishing fact only I would come to realize! I would play it again and
again, to the tune of rapturous laughter and pounding of fists on the floor!

                                                                                       Pg 146

After a while, the song had begun to wear thin in its repetitiveness, and so the old tape was
carefully removed, where a new one could now be inserted. As I examined the brown film,
that would produce instantaneous sound when popped into my cassette player, a pseudo-
hallucination of small emotionless faces, as small as ladybugs were noted. They moved in
silent frames, like a spool of gleaming celluloid that had suddenly begun to unravel!

I reveled in the thought of being chosen for such an elite task, and thanked God personally
for giving me the chance to partake in such a delicate mission. Looking at Rich, partially
obscured by the light, I could almost see how the music was beginning to change him!

I then attempted to think of a joke to tell my friend, who was only half there. “Hey Rich,
what do you say to the queen of England after she drops a tab of acid?” “I don't know,”
said Rich, straining to keep his voice steady and his face straight. “Hello your HIGH-ness!

Rich then flips over onto his back knocking over my plastic hamper. It came crashing
to the floor, spilling its contents into the crawl space that separated my room from
an adjoining walkway leading into the attic. Without end, his abderian laughter filled
every cavity of my room and poured out through the vent shafts leading down into my
Aunt Gloria's apartment, which (according to the building plans) were aligned directly
below the crawl space. Like a narcotic, I thought, it should be hitting her about now.

The distorted confusion had risen to new heights and had left me mystified. Even though
I was familiar with the experience, and even though I'd been here before, the gradual
increase of each stage was becoming alarmingly concerning. My thoughts now were
overrun with diverse complexities that could have potentially merged with illusionary
human matter, which would have begun to form almost certain insanity.

I'm pretty sure life would be rather simple if we didn't have to think, because most of the
time thinking equates to solving a problem, and considering that nothing could be solved
by thinking at this point, I was sure it was best to just observe my surroundings and gloat.

I then started to think of this bond of friendship we have in life and came to the conclusion
that most of my friends are like looters. At the first sign of trouble they run, leaving you
holding the bag. But when you're in the realm of the shadow dwellers, it's best to know
who your friends are. We leave the general camp as one troop, and we watch each other's
back. Here there can be no deserters! Taking life to the next level is only half the battle.

Surviving on the field and coming home intact is all that can be reckoned for. If one goes down,
we all go down, and Poor Richie the clown was not going down on my watch!
When the drug
wears off, he can go about his merry way. For the time being, I alone am
solely responsible for
his safety and well-being, whether he likes it or not. I got him into this mess, so it is my duty
obligation as a friend to see him safely through it, lest I be judged for my remissness.

We listened to the curious songs of Pink Floyd, in a room where the universal backdrop
of life had been lifted, and the interparental conflicts which once arose like the morning
sunrise were no more. Strange songs like
Scream thy last scream (with Alvin and the Chipmunks
on acid, entertaining Mr. Barrett on vocals as well.) And
Point me at the sky were now being
received by an airwave far greater than anything the FCC could have possibly imagined!

They were being received by the cosmos!!!

                     Vegetable manCandy and a currant bunApples and oranges

                         Arnold Layne    -    Remember a day    -    See Emily play             

We also listened to various songs from the trippy and far-out Madcap Laughs LP!
Songs like “Terrapin,” “Octopus,”“Long gone,” and “She took a long cold look.”

                      I really wanted to hear my Procol Harum album,
               but was somewhat reluctant in transferring it to cassette.

         After this we went downstairs to see how life had changed in the cellar.

Upon entry into the garage, I found it to be in a shambles and there were papers strewn
everywhere. We walked down the desecrated concrete staircase and opened the steel door to
a dimly lit basement. My father's new house now sat in place of my Grandmother's old house,
and the concrete therein has been dishonored by innumerable solvents. We then walked past
ancient tools which hung on display that my father had collected throughout the years.

Many of them sharp and abiding. Rich points to the dead squirrel disfigured in death,
dangling beside a sickle. “What's that doing here,” he asks most timidly? “Just hangin
I said. Not knowing I had just come out with the most inventive one liner of all times!
Death, I thought. To know you're going to die within mere minutes. What a bleak end.

                                                                                       Pg 147

“Just think old chap,” I said in a low devil-may-care voice, “if dear old dad decided
to toss off into the spinning bowl, rather than plan on making you that fateful evening,
you might very well be a fish right now, floating around in the Gowanus Canal. . .”

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO,” he blurted out, unable to
catch his breath once more! Why did I even speak? Shortly after this
brief episode he calmed down, but still appeared to look rather dazed.

I then began to tell Richie the story of the Rosemary Theater, where I once worked
with my father and crazy Antinouche. We were fifteen years old and life was just
beginning, but in the winter of '78, with a north west wind coming in off the
ocean, it was far beyond that of what should be deemed brutal. No heaters in the
newly erected structure meant no heat, and no heat meant no warmth. How we
didn't freeze to death, I'll never know. Some days it was so cold your lips, nose,
and face were completely numb. Back then my father would balk at the weather
as we braved to stand by the areas where windows would one day be set in place.

There was nothing but a massive housing of solid concrete and steel, surrounded
by an ocean of bone numbing agony. So terrible was it, it could have been used
as a form of medieval torture! Underneath two pairs of heavy duty insulated
gloves were ten waxy fingers, feeling like they were beginning to crack. If they
did, I'm pretty sure the blood would have immediately froze before hitting the
ground! “Jesus Christ,” said my father in an animated voice that sounded like an
award winning actor at the peak of his career, “this is worse than being in Hell.

The old man probably thought that by exposing us to the harsh elements of
life, it would inevitably lead us to become more fruitful in our studies upon
our return, but as usual, he couldn't have been more wrong in his assumption.

In the middle of the main floor was a blackened fifty-gallon drum, that originally
was once light blue. It was now filled to capacity with excess pieces of wood, that
could no longer be used. Anything that flared and kindled, with the exception
of plywood or pressure treated, was tossed in to emit some form of heat into the
arctic air. My father would tend to the burning barrel; A grand excuse to keep
from working. We would then form a huddle as the fire blasted embers many
stories up into the hollow housing. That fire roared like Satan's fury in a
cathedral, leaving the remnants to settle in the air like sparkling pixie dust.

it would get so cold in there, that the fire would begin to go out.

That burning I experienced in reviving my numb extremities was even worse
the pain I felt as I began to freeze. Like every fingertip had been smashed with a ball
peen hammer. That throbbing pain cannot even be given words. The small fire in
the old cylindrical drum kept the chill at bay. Standing around the barrel really didn't
help that much, but it was all we had in them days, and so we made use of it.

When lunchtime rolled around, I and Antinouche would either explore the city, or have two
sixteen-ounce beers with an assortment of Chinese food before returning to work. At fifteen,
he looked like he was nearly twenty-five, and so we seldom, if ever got proofed! Aside from
he was approximately the height of almost six feet, and had a rather well-groomed beard!
No one bothers you on a construction site, providing you act accordingly and work. My father
was part of
crew, and we helped out. There was no room for slackers, and you had to keep
your pace. Everyone there called it bulldog work, because it was back breaking labor.

Seven months into the high school year, my father came up with a plan. Considering his son,
and the son of his best friend were doing so poorly in school, he figured why not say the two
boys had contracted the flu, and subject them to manual labor. We loved it! Even though it was
only two weeks, we often boasted to other kids in the neighborhood that it was much longer!

                                                                                       Pg 148

Located alongside the Manhattan bridge was the soon to be newly renovated Rosemary
Theater. Where the Bowery meets Chinatown and the intersection of Canal street runs east
to west. Whether it be street vendors hawking second rate goods or the three-card monte
tables erected from old cardboard boxes, specifically designed to attract and ensnare an
innocent passerby or an unsuspecting tourist, the area was not only a busy thoroughfare,
but a major transportation hub. We seldom walked down the Bowery for it was a slum, and
as far as we knew would always be a haven for wayward bums, derelicts, and drug addicts.

Adjacent to us was Chrystie Street, home of the ten-dollar whore. These city cats would
flounce pompously down the wayside looking for a john to spend the next half hour with.
Overly eager to spread some love for a few lines of crystalline powder and an overpriced
bottle of Dom Pérignon. Some of them could be seen wearing fur coats from the early
seventies that looked as though they had never been cleaned, and judging by their personal
appearance, half of them struck me as being utterly repulsive. Like dykes on steroids, or
patients with anorexia that had just stumbled out of a coal mine! Coked up, strung out and
staggering, they would strut their wares proudly up and down the street. Cars pull up, they
get in, they go. Mercedes and Jaguars stopped there too, for a taste of the Bowery's finest.

Anyone wishing to partake of such immorality with a meretricious fiend,
so vile and self-loathing would be considered by our standards a lost cause.

"Filthy bitches, my friend Mike would utter as we walked passed.
When he was really revved up and boiling over with acrimony,
well, then they were cunting whores. . . (Pronounced as who-a's)

We would stay clear of that area and usually end up walking down Canal Street or strolling
into Chinatown for a bite to eat. My all-time favorite dish was the Singapore style
chow mei
fun at the Mayflower Tea Parlor! What a great place it was to have lunch. I am
sorry to
inform you that it is now long gone. (((Another victim of the ever-changing times.)))

For me going home was always a festive soiree! If you weren't loaded on the job, then you
would most certainly be loaded coming home! With a car load of people jabbering away;
one talking shop and the other talking shit, I would just listen and rarely if ever say a word.
Every day we would take theold rusted-out concrete mortar pan, fill it with ice, stuff it full
of Miller nips
and then slide it into the back of Nicky the worms old '75 imperial wagon.
The one with the 8-track player he seldom used. After you finished five or six of those
little seven-ounce beers,
you were pretty lit and ready for the evening to commence!

By the time you got home, you were barely able to stand!

“Wow,” said my bewildered friend, wobbling under the ossified remains of a dead squirrel!
To me it seemed like he was trying earnestly to secure himself so he didn't fall to the floor
like a lopsided tripod. Whether he actually heard anything I said, this I could never know.
As I continued to speak, it would all come back to me with such clarity.

Of course, what I told Rich is only a mixed-up version of what I have written in detail.

During the first week I started working for my father, there was a company by the name of
Red Ball
contracted to perform the demolition. I would say there had to be anywhere from
ten to twelve men on that particular crew. They were all very thin, very old, under five foot four,
not to mention they all looked like they had just sailed into New York harbor on a Gondola!

During break, they could be found reading that newspaper, Il Progresso. They supplied their own
forty cubic yard dumpsters and most of them appeared to be brand new. Each one was painted
bright yellow with a big red ball in the middle that bore the company's name. As they were gutting
out the building while breaking through the ancient plaster and lath, one of the workers found it.

                                                                                       Pg 149

He proudly handed it to his friend Giovanni, who had much less interest in the thing and
tossed it to the side. I then picked it up and carried it to the other end of the building,
where I showed
it to my father, who in turn quoted Marcus Aurelius in his own words.

“How fleeting and paltry, the estate of man. . .
Today an embryo; tomorrow an ash.”

After showing it to everyone on the job site, he took it home. The following Saturday
he made a hangman's noose out of an old clothesline, and it's been hanging there ever
since! When they were first erecting the structure in the 1800's, he must have found
his way down from the roof to become snared in a portion of the wall itself. That's
why he looks so contorted and grieved. So now we're able to see its face of anguish
in that final moment. It kind of makes you think of how precious time really is and
besides, how many squirrels do you see today running up and down Canal street?

All because of the automobile.
As I stared at the decrepit fossil looming hideously
above my head, a thought entered my mind. A thought so revealing, I stepped back.

“Today's babies shall
be tomorrow's monsters”

All at once it occurred to me, that I would one day be murdered by
someone who as of this very moment, had not yet even been born!

  *What ghastly thoughts enter the minds of men

“Come,” I said, as I yanked the pull chain. We then climbed a small ladder situated
near the foot of the crawl space. Since the ceiling was only three feet high, we had to
walk on all fours until we reached its end. If we were to break through the wall, we
would come out under the stairs alongside the bathroom. As we sat down, I pulled
apart two old brown shopping bags. When I unveiled the contents, my friend drew
his neck back fast, like he had just made eye contact with a boa constrictor! Even
though his face bore a look of utter astonishment, he could not remove his eyes
from the large bong, which in a subtle way was imploring me to smoke.

Deep in the pocket of my jet black Sweet-Orr pants, I removed one of the four
large nickel bags
and emptied the whole thing into the top of the Turkish water
pipe; w
ith its long arm extended for more toking pleasure! On this magical
voyage into a land of uncertainty, I was yearning for the company of others
to engage in
the feast of being. Not knowing the experience would take me
over the edge into a mystical realm of the human psyche.

“Bet'cha didn't know I bought this in the mall last year
with Paulie, Bea,
and Machiavellian's meerschaum briar?”

Rich looked at me, like I was a garden gnome that had come alive,
and was now running through a field of singing daffodils! 

“We had gone to the Tinder Box to buy some Lamplighter when I saw it.”

Back in the early 80's I would go there to buy some loose pipe tobacco, and
whenever I did, I’d open the glass jars and breath in that wonderful fragrance.

“You're welcome to smoke,” I said calmly. He immediately refused, and so I smoked the entire
thing alone. Along the way, I drifted in and out of conscious awareness without losing focus.
I had to keep remembering why I was here. This wasn't a game, it was a very serious mission
I needed to fulfill for my own well-being. If all went well, it would be a major achievement, and
if it didn't, then hopefully all that would be lost would be time and nothing more. For now, my
job was to enjoy the movie inside my head, without allowing the movie to control the viewer.

In this Alice of Wonderland
contraption, the seeds made a strange hissing sound.

I soon begin to envision a myriad of ghosts coming forth from the smoke to greet me.
As they evaluated the situation, they seemed to be inspecting me for flaws. Ever so
cautiously, did they encircling me to make sure I had the qualities to be their leader.

I smoked until I was no longer human.
I was no longer cloth; no longer stain.

As the herb was reduced to mere ashes,
I found myself in a totally different world.

I knew there was no turning back, but I also realized to my dismay that I had no guide either.
If I had to calculate, I would have to say I took at least forty enormous hits before spiraling into
a hole in my brain. At this very moment in time, I was beyond damaged. . . I was legally insane.

By the time I was finished, I saw a billion lights in the temple of Narawah reflecting only
inner peace, tranquility and love. I could no longer see my friend for all the lights had gone
out, and I was engulfed in an opaque gloom which had encompassed my entire being. I was
strangely calm in the obscurity which may have brought another man to madness.

It was darker than a coffin in this room of 8x12 with no windows, light, or air.
All time was lost in that dark place, and I had no idea when I would be returning.

                                             *If I'd be returning*

I rode on a rainbow-colored butterfly to the land of flowers and spoke to the king bee before the
great twilight. I climbed inside a pericarp, so warm and sweet and waited for that bird to arrive.
Unbeknown to me, the head of Candor was there! That beast attached himself to my shoulder and
paralyzed my mind. All the while hollering in tongues of the insane and chewing half his own face off.

Kaleidoscopic colors bursting everywhere only seemed to agitate the creature.

                                                                   The Aquarian Age - 10,000 words in a cardboard box

As this monster began to rot, I was up to my neck in pure white
crawling maggots and that screaming head would not quiet!!!

Shut up you blatteroon, I yelled in a frenzied rage and the maggots attacked him!

                                                                                       Pg 150

They burrowed in through his eyes, filling the throat cavity and then came out his ears.
Teeming over that decaying flesh they would until he produced a gurgle of agony unheard
of since the dark ages. After they finished crippling the head of Candor, they poured over
my wounds and ate with their tiny little teeth every ulcerated abscess. Soon after this, they
left me (((to find oil))) and that rotting head became as meat and dropped off. So calm is
he now apart from me, floating down a lane of scurrying snails. With no mouth to speak,
and no limbs to stand on he will be forever exalted. . .

A floorboard begins to flop like a fish, and I try to catch it!

Too late, it just became a window; one that overlooks Hell. I won't look out that window!

I will never look out that window!!!

There was rancour in the heart of bedlam where the dangling flesh burns and the charred
remains of a once flourishing hamlet now causes the earth to tremble! As the bells toll
in the pavilion across from where the clay walkway ends, the stained glass ceiling in the
Oratory Convent turns to stone. A turbulent wind follows an outcry of shrieking dogs,
whose tails are ablaze into a festering lake of algae, while in the dark chambers of
the disconsolate, those woebegone souls were eating the dirt floor and babbling to
one another in a mindless repetition that would be considered most appalling.

Below there is disaster in the street as a terrible virus is spreading.
The umbilical cord leading up to the pod will be compromised.

As the bacterium exacts vengeance upon life's tender flesh, it shrivels and slowly begins to
deteriorate. The pod has become alarmingly transparent. In this frightening moment of truth,
I find myself detached from my own soul. A child am I now, so lost in this ever-increasing despair.
Sitting naked above the earth. (((So cold))) So alone in this life. A catastrophic human error,
irreversible by the elements of nature will most certainly be allotted the ultimate prize.

I was resting on a glorious mushroom, that had infused itself with the solar system.
There were lights, channels and tube-like veins propelling me through trenches and
causeways, showing me pictures of a life I never lived. . . The mushroom is tainted.

I have been deceived.

The darkness of space and time had been a black mold forming,
and now I am contaminated. Internally, I am riddled with disease.

 As the black mold spores begin to rapidly multiply,
I watch my lower torso become an evening shadow.

Eventually, I am laid to rest in a time capsule that has been fashioned to look like a primitive sepulcher.
Descending to the mayhem below, I land successfully in the growing infection. A green mucus slime
slowly multiplies, until its secretions have covered the public square. The Palpebrates march in and
seize the city, I must run and hide! The women affected begin to nictitate in an overtly sexual manner,
inciting a row of brainwashed men to flog themselves. Queen Genteel offers to save the city if I can do her a small favor. 

“Give the card of Troy to the banker on the corner
of Leeds and Barrow at five o’clock on Thursday.”

“Okay,” I said, as I gently shook the tail of this interesting creature and her antehumeral stripes began
to glow! “Thank you,” said the Queen, who was really an azure damselfly. With stick like arms she
reached into my shirt pocket and carefully removed it. “You have done well,” she said. As a beautiful
ray of light emanated from her thorax, it coated the city in its warmth and everyone was now cured!

“You have saved your people; now you can go home.”
“I can never go home,” I said crying terribly.

I saw you fall down in the street
just the other day.
I tried to help you,
but you said that you were okay.
It's now Saturday.

I think about you all the time,
but you're never there.
Don't wanna end up all alone
in a world gone mad. . .
You're so far away.

How sudden the lines just don't connect?
I've been trying to cope in the heart of unrest.
I'm losing my mind,
for I know I'll never see you again.

I can't imagine getting lost
in the stream of time.
I'm disillusioned by it all,
should I break down and cry?
You're so far away.

I don't know how long I can wait
for you to appear.
I feel so lonely;
Oh, how I wish that you were here. . .
It's now Saturday.

She opened her chest and I crawled inside where it was warm.
There I curled up in a fetal position and wept for forty-eight days.
I must have stayed too long, for I found myself to be trapped.

I wait for something, but nothing happens.
I call out to someone, but no one appears.
I am lost without moving; captured and shackled;
I'm blind, but can still somehow see.

Why can't anyone hear me?
Why won't they help me?

Oh God, what have I done?

How many days have I been in this place?

I want to tell my parents I love them, but I'm lost.
I screwed up and now everything's come undone!
I need to undo this!!! I need to go back!!!

I, of all people should know you can't undo time.
Once you lose it, it's gone, and once it's gone, it's gone forever.
I've been here so long, I fear I'm almost getting used to it. . .

The sound of eternity wrapped in a shell of complete isolation.

Just then, I thought I heard something; a scratching sound!
I'm hearing it again, there it is!!!

After a year in the honey fig,
I heard the cachinnator through the pitch-black darkness.
I then leaped out and clung to it, for that was the rope I needed
to pull myself out of the depths of the ominous pit!

        The Amboy Dukes - Journey to the center of the mind

                                                                                       Pg 151

Reviews for chapter 30

Maggie Scottero -
Totally Gonzo!!!

Jan Derise - We love you Charles Pendelton!

Mark Wah - Did you actually experience all this?

Ingrid Wells - I read this chapter last month and this month it is different. Are you adding shit?
Not that im complaining but its just that you kinda messed up the page order for the whole rest
of the book. I mean i had certain pages i like going back to. Never mind, i love that you still write!
Even if its only this.

If any image on this site is considered to be offensive, it will be removed. If it has been copied without
proper consent, please contact me immediately and the image will either be removed, or credit shall be
given unto the person or persons responsible. Whether it be an artist, photographer, cartoonist., etc.

PG 144) Scream 1 by Grzegorz Kmin -

PG 144) A caterpillar explains the female orgasism
by Carrie Ann Baade -

PG 144) World Order
by David Ho -

144) Organization
by Colin Johnson -

PG 145) Vintage Fruit of the loom advertisement,
circa 1954 -

PG 145) Choke
by Chet Zar -

PG 146) Red riding hood by Jazzberry Blue

PG 146) Wild Staghorn Sumac Trees -

PG 146) Sound
by Andrew Ferez -

PG 146) Interactive Week
by David Ho -

PG 146) Open Sarcophagus
by Joel Hoekstra -

PG 147) Tyrant flags and Arab dictators
by Eva Vázquez

PG 147) Glow boy
by Chris Mars

PG 147) Ivsha Puppetry
by Sergey Ivchenko

PG 147) Paracelsus pilgrimages
by Alessandro Fantini - 

PG 147) Free-flow interchange by Scott Facun - 

PG 147) The nights of Alcandia by Alessandro Fantini - 

PG 147) Shine on Brightly by Procol Harum

Syd Barrett 

Syd Barrett *No good trying@

Syd Barrett *Love you@

Syd Barrett *No man's land@

Syd Barrett *Dark globe@

Syd Barrett *Here I go@

Syd Barrett *Octopus@

Syd Barrett *Golden hair@

Syd Barrett *Long Gone@

Syd Barrett *She took a long cold look@

Syd Barrett *Feel@       

Syd Barrett 
*If it's in you

Syd Barrett *Late night@

PG 148) Sub-Marina
by Boris Indrikov -

PG 148) The great London fire with
Ludgate and old St. Paul's by Unknown -

PG 148) The New Yorker (May/6/95) by Eric Drooker

PG 149) Don't gamble with Syphilis
circa 1930's -

PG 149) Hong Kong
by Martha Sawyers -

PG 149) Gondolas
in Venice by Unknown Artist -

PG 150) Moses
by Frida Kahlo -

PG 150) Emma
by Marina Dieul -

PG 150) Oddment 36
by Leah Palmer Preiss -

PG 150) Vintage Holiday Pipe Mixture
General Store sign

PG 150) Opium dream
by Boris Vallejo -

PG 150) Four were saved
by Chris Mars -

PG 150)
Shut up and take it by Suzzan Blac -

151) Christ
by Limbo by Hieronymus Bosch -

151) Hell
by Hieronymus Bosch -

PG 151) Mother complex
by David Ho -

151) Goddess dragonfly
by Gisela Verdessi

PG 151) The adornement of spiritual marriage by Alessandro Fantini -

PG 151) Surrendering to the inevitable and Inescapable 
by Katherine Blackwell -

PG 151) Scarab
by Mark Henson -