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 would I do if he starts running
around the house screaming like someone was throwing 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 loudly.
I'm going to bed, I replied. This 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
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Carefully, I began the process of examining my underwear.
"Why are they white? What is the purpose of wearing them?"
I got up slowly and walked to my dresser. "Fruit of the loom.
Why am I wearing this garment? There's really no reason for it.

"Starting tomorrow, I will never wear underwear again,"
I blurted out like an overzealous stock trader on Wall Street,
with a finger pointing toward the attic of Richie's thoughts!



Why, he 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. . . "
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
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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 insane 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!
Watching 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 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."

                                                              http://picosong.com/4tGp




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 that only I, would come to realize! I would play it again &
again, to the tune of rapturous laughter and pounding of fists on the floor.

                                                                                       Pg 146
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After awhile, 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 up 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 that had risen to new heights, 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 I had begun to detect was disturbingly apparent to an alarming degree. 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 Richard 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 am
responsible for his safety and well-being. I got him into this mess, so it is my duty and
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 sun were no more. Strange songs like Scream thy last
scream (with Alvin and the Chipmunks on acid,) 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!!!


 http://picosong.com/4ZPV  - http://picosong.com/4Z2Yhttp://picosong.com/4ZVChttp://picosong.com/4ZVHhttp://picosong.com/4ZXe


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."




         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 was papers strewn
everywhere. We walked down the desecrated concrete staircase and opened the steel
door to a dimly lit basement. This was the original basement to my Grandmother's house,
which had been dishonored by time and innumerable solvents. We then walked past the
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 seconds. 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 in the Gowanus Canal. . .



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


I then began to tell him the tale of the Rosemary Theater, where I had worked with my father and
crazy Antinouche. We were young 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
& 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 a voice that sounded
very much 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 me to the harsh elements of
life, it would inevitably lead me to become more fruitful in my studies when
I returned; 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 appeared to have been once painted
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.




Occasionally,
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 than
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
that, he stood at height of almost six feet, two inches, and had a rather well groomed beard!
No one bothers you on a job providing you act accordingly and work. My father was part of 
the construction 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.



                                                                                       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 avenue 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 whore,
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 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. Everyday we would take the
old 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, so vividly and 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. They were each 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 his 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, and we 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 finally
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. I removed one of the thin plastic bags from my pocket
and emptied the whole nickel bag into the top of the mahareeshi pipe. With its four arms
extended for more toking pleasure, I was yearning for the company of others to engage in
the feast of being. 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 suddenly 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 1980's we would often go there to buy some loose pipe tobacco and
every time we went, we would open every glass jar and breath in that wonderful smell.



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!

Incessantly, I smoked everything including the stems and seeds in the Alice of Wonderland
contraption. A bag half the size of my fist had turned to ashes. I had to take at least forty hits
before spiraling into a hole in my brain. 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 very well might 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.

                                                                     http://picosong.com/jCmk



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
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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,
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 I am 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.




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 overly sexually manner,
causing the 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 at the corner of Leeds and Barrow at 5 pm 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.

And what if the lines just don't connect?
I'll be living alone 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 to someone but no one appears.
I am lost without moving; captured & 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 get 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 nothing. Not even an unsubstantiated cackle!

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!

                        http://picosong.com/fpnE


                                                                                       Pg 151
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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.


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PG 144) Scream 1 by Grzegorz Kmin - http://tinyurl.com/mdrcmwx

PG 144) Carrie Ann Baade
by A caterpillar explains the female orgasism - http://tinyurl.com/27c3san

PG 144) World Order
by David Ho - http://www.davidho.com/

PG
144) Organization
by Colin Johnson - http://www.colinjohnsonillustration.com/

PG 145) Vintage Fruit of the loom advertisement,
circa 1954 - http://tinyurl.com/ym28x7

PG 145) Choke
by Chet Zar -
http://www.chetzar.com/

PG 146) Red riding hood by Jazzberry Blue

PG 146) Wild Staghorn Sumac Trees

PG 146) Sound
by Andrew Ferez -
http://ferez.cghub.com/

PG 146) Interactive Week
by David Ho - http://www.davidho.com/

PG 146) Open Sarcophagus
by Joel Hoekstra - http://tinyurl.com/lx5hpbh

PG 147) Tyrant flags and Arab dictators
by Eva Vázquez
-
http://tinyurl.com/ls5bn53

PG 147) Glow boy
by Chris Mars
- http://www.chrismarspublishing.com/

PG 147) Ivsha Puppetry
by Sergey Ivchenko
- http://tinyurl.com/kfpglgf

PG 147) Paracelsus pilgrimages
by Alessandro Fantini -
http://afantini.deviantart.com/ 

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 
*Terrapin@  http://tinyurl.com/6apwpae

Syd Barrett *No good trying@  http://youtu.be/LY8U5NBUYWY

Syd Barrett *Love you@  http://youtu.be/dkFYx65L7BI

Syd Barrett *No man's land@  http://youtu.be/MYbJnUkt8Y4

Syd Barrett *Dark globe@  http://youtu.be/aznHL6tXco8

Syd Barrett *Here I go@  http://youtu.be/KLNfb0u-d_I

Syd Barrett *Octopus@  http://tinyurl.com/kgy9qdn

Syd Barrett *Golden hair@  http://youtu.be/Wv6HvFbWmes

Syd Barrett *Long Gone@  http://youtu.be/NoI1SsZec7M

Syd Barrett *She took a long cold look@  http://youtu.be/tAy3CkwKS9s

Syd Barrett *Feel@  http://youtu.be/kjIHFTVE2EA       

Syd Barrett 
*If it's in youhttp://youtu.be/srDHiOyunCA

Syd Barrett *Late night@  http://youtu.be/66yXfq5Oeow



PG 148) Sub-Marina
by Boris Indrikov - http://www.indrikov.com/

PG 148) The great London fire with
Ludgate and old St. Paul's by Unknown - http://tinyurl.com/lybro2a

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

PG 149) Don't gamble with Syphilis
circa 1930's - http://tinyurl.com/mjyghot

PG 149) Hong Kong
by Martha Sawyers - http://tinyurl.com/kww87ja

PG 149) Gondolas
in Venice by Unknown Artist 

PG 150) Moses
by Frida Kahlo - http://tinyurl.com/yzpb8pz

PG 150) Emma
by Marina Dieul - http://tinyurl.com/jw4ussj

PG 150) Oddment 36
by Leah Palmer Preiss - http://www.leahpalmerpreiss.com/

PG 150) Vintage Holiday Pipe Mixture
General Store sign

PG 150) Opium dream
by Boris Vallejo -
http://vallejo.ural.net/

PG 150) Four were saved
by Chris Mars - http://www.chrismarspublishing.com/

PG 150)
Shut up and take it by Suzzan Blac - http://tinyurl.com/mo8g87b

PG
151) Christ
by Limbo by Hieronymus Bosch - http://tinyurl.com/25qfuh3

PG
151) Hell
by Hieronymus Bosch - http://tinyurl.com/25qfuh3

PG 151) Mother complex
by David Ho - http://www.davidho.com/

PG
151) Goddess dragonfly
by Gisela Verdessi
-
http://tinyurl.com/l2s5an7

PG 151) The adornement of spiritual marriage by Alessandro Fantini -
http://afantini.deviantart.

PG 151) Surrendering to the inevitable and Inescapable 
by Katherine Blackwell - http://tinyurl.com/lx7tkor

PG 151) Scarab
by Mark Henson - http://markhensonart.com/