Understanding Terrorism

There's no drug like life. And Lithia Park was life.

Every year, thousands of tree people from around the country came to
inhale life at Lithia Park. We inhaled life in the form of Lithium from
the Lithium fountains. We did drugs, made music, had sex. We celebrated
life.

And Lithia Park was the ideal place to celebrate. It was a beautiful
pine forest with a winding gravel path. Lithia Creek ran alongside the
path, sometimes crossing it. The rushing creek sparkled and sang to
us.

Primrose was my East Indian girlfriend. We came all the way from India
to attend the gathering. It was the third time she'd been to the Lithia
Park celebration and my tenth time.

We partied through the day. I met my best friend named Greg. Greg was
a very tall, muscular hippie with long brown hair that hung down to his
butt. We'd grown up together in Ashland, OR, the city where Lithia Park
is. I hadn't seen him since the last gathering.

Evening was just starting to fall. I started to set up a tent for
Primrose and me. Greg approached me. I kept on working. "Do you want
some acid?," he asked huskily.

"Of course not," I mumbled.

"You never change, Sean," he said. He licked a paper.

I finished the tent.

"Let's go smoke some weed," I said.

"No, it's time for me to give my speech," said Greg. We walked deeper
into the park. Finally, we came to a huge crowd of hippies, mostly
young. They cleared a path for us. In the center of the crowd was a
burnt out tree stump, Greg's natural throne. He sat down on it.

"Brothers, sisters...", Greg started. "The sun is setting." A deep
purple sunset filled the sky. "Everywhere the forest is dying. The time
has come to fight or die."

"But we believe in peace," said an old man from the back of the
crowd.

"So do I. But there's a peace that can only be had on the other end of
war," Greg said in his deep, captivating voice.

"War!," cried the entire crowd, composed of muscular young men and
women. It was a beautiful group. The men had long hair and large
muscles. The girls were hairy and muscular but still beautiful.

With that, Greg and I got up and left. He had said enough. We were a
clan of few words.

And then, Greg and I engaged in our yearly ritual. I won't go into the
details because it might upset some of the readers. Basically, we went
deep into the forest and had sex. I wouldn't mention this at all except
that it was to have great significance.

While we were having sex, a flashlight shone on us. As we pulled our
pants on, a police officer came out of the trees. They were invading
the park.

"You're under arrest, fags," said the police officer. He was a burly
man with a butch and a muscular face. He was pointing his pistol at
us.

My mind was racing. Greg was in trouble. You see, Greg had a lot of
acid on him. He'd been arrested twice before for dealing drugs. Under
the law, if Greg committed another felony, he'd be in jail for life.
The tree people would be leaderless.

I couldn't let it happen. I pulled out a cigarette and a lighter.
"What the fuck are you doing, hippie shit?", the cop asked as he put
his gun away and pulled out a billy club. I raised the lighter to my
cigarette.

You see, the cop had crossed a boundary. He came into Lithia Park, one
of the last refuges of the pure life, the animal life. He came with his
gun and his bigotry. He came like a virus, trying to infect the tree
people.

You see, we tree people aren't terrorists and murderers like they've
been saying on the news lately. We're the last real humans.

We don't like to drive on congested, artificial roads. We don't want
to live in a world filled with sickening gases. We don't want to
worship the money god. We don't want to live chained to machines. This
mechanical world is a sickly scheme that will produce sickly products
and sickly humans.

We want to have sex. We want to take drugs. We want to make music. We
want to make art. We want to hunt and be hunted. But above all, we just
want to return to the forest.

We want to celebrate. We want to keep the party going for as long as
we can. And this cop with his robotic mind and his death giving gun had
come to end the party.

So I lit the cigarette. And a second later, it shot a bullet into the
cop's face. His soul departed for hell and Greg and I started to run.
But a shot rang out from the forest and Greg fell down. I hid. I looked
at Greg. He was shot in the leg. He was breathing hard, scared.

There was a moment of silence. I waited for the cop that was hidden in
the forest. But he didn't come. He was too smart.

I won't bore you with the details. I hunted him down and shot him in
the head. And then I carried Greg out of Lithia Park.

Primrose and I are hiding somewhere. She's making curry and a dahl for
lunch so I have to go. I just wanted to explain why the tree people
went to war. War's the worst thing on earth, aside from the destruction
of the forest.