In The Time of Job When Mischa Was a Zippie – Part 6 (The Touchdown)

In The Time of Job When Mischa Was a Zippie – Part 6 (The Touchdown)

The 3rd ANNUAL POT PARADE & SMOKE IN – w/ The King of Punk, David Peel, Saturday May 18th, 1974, New York (written in collaboration with Aron ‟Pieman” Kay)

 

The recollection of past events can be a most daunting task for a person’s psyche. I wanted to remember as much as I could, and, if I may sound greedy, I wanted to experience and understand more than I had the first time around.

 

It was in this frame of mind that I engaged my LSD time traveling Grande Ballroom card, with the intention of recapturing, and yes, even supplementing the excitement of my youthful excursions to New York City. After all, what better way to have past events come back to you than to go to the source—back into the past events themselves.

 

So I decided that two hits from the card should give me one hell of a good trip back into times past, a trip that I knew would have the uniqueness of a new journey.

 

One thing I clearly remembered about my first excursion to New York City as a teen was the weather—hot and humid. Detroit itself was sweltering, and we were barely into the month of May. This was the type of hot wet heat that sticks to your body; two minutes after you shower you’re dripping wet again. Very few of us at this time had air conditioning, but oscillating fans were aplenty. Oh, how I would just sit myself in front of one as it moved ever so slightly back and forth, feeling the coolness on my moist skin. Ice—yes!—ice—in front of the fan, on my neck, its melting coolness flowing down on to my breasts. God, how it seemed to really do the trick. However, the relief was just a temporary respite, for moments after you moved away, you were once again drenched with sweat.

 

Oh pshaw, the dreaded humidity! To think that I would want to venture back into such an inferno, but that is exactly what I was about to do. As to my motive...an adventure in New York! Two hits from the card I took, and in minutes the trip began. The launch began slowly enough, but as I accelerated in speed after my initial take-off, I soon found myself spinning in the sort of movement that goes forward then backward. How very unsettling I thought to myself. I knew from my past time-tripping excursions that out of the normal variations in travel usually resulted in a more intensively surreal trip involving uncanny absurdities.

 

As my body whirled about, I began hearing music, faint at first, then increasing in volume. A steady beat fading in and out, until a full stream of sound seemed to be the vibratory force moving my body. I know that something very strange is happening to my brain*... And when you touchdown**... I’m either felling very good or else I am insane*... You’ll find that it’s stranger than known**.... It wasn't one song but a melodic twisting of two, very similar to the harmony and natural balance in the waves of long and flowing curled tresses.

 

I floated slowly onto the ground, landing in New York City at Washington Square Park. Looking around me, I knew exactly where I was, and the event—it was Saturday, June 18th, 1977—Sodom and Gomorrah Day.

 

Okay, this is fine...not my first choice, but I am more than certain that I can have loads of fun at this event and much, much more.

 

Sodom and Gomorrah Day was courtesy of Al Goldstein and his Screw magazine. I immediately noticed that some of his staff—mostly his magazine photographer—seemed to be getting on the nerves of some of the attendees.

 

At first, being at this festival seemed to be fun and all. There must have been about a few hundred people milling about. I spotted some cool looking dudes, but a few of the male onlookers were just too surly for my liking. Most were here to see the girls remove their tops and flash their tits. I didn’t quite have the nerve to remove my blouse and brassiere as some of the others were doing.

 

The cops, for the most part, just milled about on the outskirts of the perimeter. The only person I noticed getting arrested was a guy who was loudly proclaiming he was the King of Sodom and Gomorrah. To give his claim credibility, he whipped out his ‟imperial scepter”—and was immediately taken down in handcuffs. Tis, tis, I grinned. Oh well, looks like the King has been captured.

 

I was coming to the conclusion that this particular event didn’t really hold my interest. Just as I was about to drop another tab and say au revoir to this sex festival, suddenly, a familiar face appeared.

 

‟M-i-s-c-h-a!” His enunciation was unmistakable, the sound of his voice lounging midair. Much to my delight, I found myself face to face with fellow Zippie Aron Kay, a huge smile on his face. I surmised, by virtue of the dried paint on his hands, that he had recently been involved in some of the finger painting of the topless female festival-goers.

 

Wow, this is really far-out! I thought, and immediately put my time travel card away, at least for the moment.

 

After we exchanged greetings, Aron fired up a well-packed number (no New York ‟pinner” here), and we enjoyed the smoke as we began talking each other’s ears off. ‟Wow, Mischa, I haven’t seen you since the Pot Parade a few years back,” Aron continued. ‟I remember you mentioning something in D.C. during the Inhog that I’ve always wanted to ask you about. You told me that you had found a way of time trippin’. Was that for real—are you really able to do that?”

 

A bit of a smirk crossed my lips, and I relayed to him that I had been, in fact, just about to leave this event and trip to a more Zipster-inspired activity, such as the Smoke-In of ‛84 or the legendary Pot Parade of ‛74 (the event highest on my agenda), when he had appeared.

 

‟I don’t know about you, Aron, but I am growing weary of being here, and quickly at that!”

 

‟I agree, man. It’d be really cool to be at a Yipster Pot Rally instead! Ya know, Mischa, I’m thinkin’, would it be possible for us to go to a future Pot Rally, like ‛82 or so, or–or–or, better yet—how about the legendary rally of ‛74!”

 

‟Wow, now that’s a great idea! But I have never flown in time with someone else.... As of now, all I’ve done is travel solo. However, I’m really game for this! Care to be my guest on a trip back to 1974?”

 

Aron’s eyes opened wide. ‟Your kidding, right? That Pot Parade was was of the best damn times I ever had!”

 

‟Well, if you want to join me in the trip back, then...let’s fly!”

 

Aron looked puzzled, yet curious. ‟It really is pretty easy,” I assured him. ‟There’s nothin’ to it but to do it!”

 

I handed Aron a newly separated tab of acid from the Grande card, and looked him straight in the eyes. ‟Just follow my lead.”

 

We dropped the tabs together, and the LSD began its familiar effects, except that this time I was bringing along a companion, a fellow Yipster. ‟Hold my hand, Aron,” I called out, ‟as I just know this will be a most bumpy ride!”

 

Off we levitated, spinning in a sky of psychedelic wonderment. Aron looked delighted at this acrobatic flight through time and space. ‟That’s one powerful hit, Mischa!” he exclaimed, as our journey moved us through dimensions of time toward our goal of 1974. All the while, music reverberated in the timeless expanse through which we flew.

 

It was extremely intoxicating, very ‟belladonic” to say the least. Bass and lead guitars twanged out a thrilling sound, and the lyrics, echoing hypnotically as I had never heard them before...Eight miles high...and when you touchdown.... Screeching guitars, notes tangling in space, created new dimensions in both sound and colour; this effectively muted the lyrics temporarily, but Aron and I soon heard them screaming through loud and clear...you’ll find that it’s stranger than known.... Signs in the streets that say where you’re goin’ ....**

 

Suddenly, we knew we had arrived, for the sounds had changed and unmistakable voice of the King of Punk was heard by us both. I’m the King of Punk from the streets of the lower east side.... I’m the King of Punk from the streets of the lower east side.... Power to the people singing on the streets!***

 

How strange was this! The song that was guiding both Aron and me had yet to be released, or perhaps even written, by David Peel. Yet there it was, and here we were, with no question on the lower east side. I attributed this to the magic of time-traveling with LSD.

 

Aron and I looked at each other and both gave an affirmative nod. We had made it to our destination! ‟Damn, this acid of yours really works, Mischa!” he exclaimed exuberantly.

 

‟I know! Cool, is it not?”

 

‟Freekin’ mind blowin'!” came his reply. Within moments we were both back in our bodies, walking and singing near Washington Square Park, ready to begin our advance uphill on 5th Avenue towards Central Park, our voices connecting in song with others.... Marijuana, Marijuana, hey hey hey, get h-i-g-h!****

 

Viola! We were back at the 3rd annual Pot Parade of 1974!

 

Stay tuned for more excitement from this most legendary Yippie Marijuana event in Part 7 of ‟In The Time of Job When Mischa Was a Zippie,” from The Incredible Adventures of Mischa.

 

* ‟Sweet Young Thing” lyrics, Goffin, King, Nesmith, 1967

** ‟Eight Miles High” lyrics, Clark, McGuinn, Crosby, 1966

*** ‟King of Punk” lyrics, David Peel, 1978

**** ‟Marijuana” lyrics, David Peal, 1968