Fletcher Quill Chapter 121

"Can you float through the universe of
Your body and not lose your way?"
Timothy Leary, Immortal

It has been two full days of getting adjusted to deep wilderness tent camp and all that means to this oblique crew of fly fisher’s led by Supreme Court Justice Fletcher Quill.

His most trusted boy’s including Glimmer Twin Keith Richards who can only hang for another day before heading back to start rehearsals’s for some kind of Stone’s 50th dealy to be announced?

The humbly surreal other worldly Dali Lama dressed in deep red robes that glow at night, and the just arrived Radio magnet Jimmy Ferguson are all suited up and wading an inlet stream about 230 miles due north west of Anchorage where several rivers converge, an area only choppers can easily access.

Rainbow’s are abundant and Quill has been taking time to make sure Dali is hooked up to several big trout and comfortable casting his new fly rod...

The Black Messiah has not been seen for several hour’s and Quill gets a little nervous.

"Dali, think your finally getting the hang of this my Brother! Now remember watch the fly line stretch out behind you Un Holy Man and then when you feel the line loaded begin an easy throw, like this."

"Yes, this is like making a complicated Mandela of fine white sand with my young Monks in training. It is tedious, yet the rewards are like meditating hey Quilly?

I begin to understand your addiction my friend. Fire up that big Fatty I rolled, its Jerry Garcia’s 70th Birthday today, this joint is for you oh Rock God of Gods..."

"Quill, hey man lets go find your Pal the boy President been missing too long Dude! I gave him another big hand ful of those killer Schrooms to go with the LSD and the Whiskey!

The boy is fucked up and tripping, his Secret Service boys are wasted as well. We got our hands full Pally!!"

Quill, Dali and Jimmy spread out and start looking for the lost leader of the western world and find him in what appears to be a severe bout of psychedelic induced psychosis known as Acute, Sudden, Historical Mimicry (ASHM)!

He is picking what he imagines is cotton just like his great grand mother did in the last Century, he singing old slave songs as the secret service helps him bag and tie the wild flowers he has been picking for the last three hour’s, Quill and the boys stand clear and watch this little drama unfold mouths open in disbelief...

"Cuse me Sir, you been workin awful hard in the hot Georgia Sun and we been stacking these bags all mornin. Now who get this bag again?"

"That bag goes to those Bitches over at the fucking New York times, especially that Hotel Maureen Loud mouth Dowdy, hate that fuckable white Bitch, too fucking smart! Give that other bag to that ancient asshole wind bag Harry scary Reid and his fucking henchmen, uh huh.

And that bag over there full of Georgia slave picked white cotton balls, give one toShit homely the whitest fucking Khaki wearing super spoiled wanna be nerd who ever wanted to take my Black House away hey Boys, come on lets sing that old song I loves one mo time, come on Quill, you to Dali Baby.

"We hall over come my ass, we shall do as we told or , how do that thing go Quilly?"

"Think it’s time we get back to the Plantation and clean up for supper Commander and Chief. Here take a few of your well packed bags with you and I’m sure we can think of afew more worthy recipients hey Keith, Dali, Jimmy?"

"Man, Quill, he be tripping Buddy. Hell my new killer camera phone got all of this time warp psychosis, its solid fucking gold Pal. My 100 Kabillion Radio listener’s are going to go ape Dude!

We still have three more days, lets get back to throwing lines man. It’s three am and the Sun is up and those fat Rainbow’s been jumping hitting Mosquitoes last two hour’s, Let me use your three weight custom Bamboo Quill, come on man, let me play with that magic Bamboo Son?"

"Here smoke this Fatty I just rolled and keep walking we have a long way to go before this ends Cowboy..."

It I now 4am and our beloved Leader of what the fuck left o this western world has been busy back in hi latest dimensa filling bag after bag with imaginary cotton balls picked back in Georgia ala Slave days...

He has made special gift bags for all his least favorite human’s and has stacked the bags twenty feet high sixty feet long.

He looks almost exhausted as Quill and Dali make lat least an effort to walk The Black Messiah back into a contemporary hallucination, Dali doe his best wizardry..."

"Would you mind terribly letting have just 100 more bags sir for my many young Monks back in Tibet (the few that still speak to him any who!)

Perhaps we might take a break and prey together all of us for a continued safe bountiful fly trip into this splendid Alaskan wilderness. Please join me if you feel this prayer, " All mighty ruler of all things that live and breath above and below the oceans and ground and mountains...

Wash our tarnished souls in your infinite wisdom and sweetness while we rest in your most sacred of sacred palaces deep remote Alaska... And maybe help us release this poor confused, over worked young President from his wicked dreams.

Do this in the Name of all that is good and kind right. Bless us with your eternal love and grace now and forever. Rashneash, Ali Lama, Lama, Dali, Suma, Krishnew, Vishnew, Vishnew Krishna, Dali, Dali...

"We repeat this again and light the Frankincense Haight Street incense, we are one and quiet, time to sleep now...."

This lovely invocation unfortunitly did nothing to alter the fated course of Chaos and her sisters, Chancella and Endofthelineia have established their presence as the atmosphere slowly changes and the smell of San Francisco hippy Pachuli Oil incense makes both Quill and the Dali Lama look around and become quickly aware of a rare most highly exhaulted visitor. Hippy Lord of Lords Jerry in the House Baby!

Jerry Garcia upon his 70th Birthday

"Oh yeah, Nice to see your up to your hippy ass in mayhem and psychedelic revelry Quill! Love the Slave retro psychosis, the best Man! Reminds me of old Pigpen and Janis Joplin swilling down that shit Southern Comfort until comatose, remember that fucking insane train ride into the deep Canadian wild ass wilderness?

We drank all the liquor from several stores along the way man. Fucking great times man. Remember Janis fucked almost everyone and Billy Preston was off the hook with me playing and rolling along, uh huh...

Quill lets do, " Riding That Train High On Cocaine" "Where is your Blues Harp Fly Fisher, come on Man, take us into High On That Train..."

"Happy Birthday Jerry. Great to see and hear you Homey of all Homies! So what is your routine on this your 70th my Man?"

"Hey Man, been hanging and banging with some very fucking famous cats Man! Like old Yankee American Icon his Dam self here with me right now Quilly, It’s none other then Davey Crockett, Or Sargent Crockett or Congressman Davy The Wild Frontiersmen, Bear Slayer and Hero of the fucking last Stand of allLlast Stands, kinda like Haight Street San Francisco circa June 1967! The mother humping Alamo Baby, The Alamo, everyone knows that story hey Davey?"

"I reckon they do Jerry. We in the end had only 183 standing fighting fucking Patriots who knew they were going to be over run and die! Against that Mexican stealthy ruthless Generalismo Santa Ana and his 1,800 men.

It was all over in ninety minutes that bloody day in American/Mexican History, men were tortured and some chose to kill them selves and be spared the final indignities my friends...."

"Yeah Man, that sounds just like that day in the Panhandle at the end of Haight Street when Pigpen and me heard that the fucking Feds were out outlawing LSD Man.

A truly dark sad day for all real Stoners Man, just like fucking Santa Anna and his Bitches Man!!"

"Maybe not quite their my new Hippy friend from the future. Of course it was old Sam Houston who caught up with Santa Ana and pay back was a mother fucker that bloody day Jerry...

I do see your point in Haight Street and LSD’s demise as markers of a cultural revolution extinguished by the host government, not quite the fucking Alamo Cowboy? Know what I mean Pilgrim? Might be more like contemporay shit in the Middle East hey Boys?"

"Now, hold on their Davey, I mean you did hold out after the boys were all killed and tried to cut a deal with Santa Anna who turned you down and had his own guards mutilate and cut you and the few combatants left into very tiny little pieces via their shiny well extremely sharp well used swords, hey Davey?"

"That is about it Cowboy! Tried to say I was just passing through and waiting for the fighting to stop.

Santa Anna looked at me smiled and looked at his guards who went to work like smiling butchers my friends."

”Tough way into the after world, don’t recommend it, so how is the trout fishing here Boys? You been grassing any big fat dinner size? And what kinds herbs you all smoking?

Smells like that evil shit Jim Bowie the famous knife fighter was always loading his cob pipe with that smelly shit the fucking Injun’s smoked and danced around fires fucking the shit out each other’s woman, ahh good times hey Quill?"

"You are still a fucking Hero to me Davey, you go Mr. Coon Skin Hat, get some fame where and how you can Frontiersmen, oh yeah!! Dali Lama Baby my main spirit keeper, how bout a little quick Prayer for old Davey’s soul Un Holy Man?"

"No problem, repeat after me, " In the name of those in charge of the Pantheon of Immortal Forever Young Hero’s (POIFYH), I ask the spirit and Soul of Davey the Bear Slayer be embraced and allowed to exist in company with all the eternally blessed fighter’s for the common good...

Sabena, ala, on going Bala, sue Walla, bong city titi fucking is best.... Repeat again, and again..."

"Ahh, Thanks Man God, nice ring to that invocation. Lets go check on the Black Messiah, hope that sedative we slipped him has chilled the Slave Bag thang, come on Dali, we go check on the Boy President, till November any ways, Man pass that fucking Bong Keith, dude load it with that Purple Train Wreck from Haight Street Jerry left, right Jerry Baby?"

"Great mean shit Quill, gotta run Man, Muddy Waters , Stevie Ray Vaughan and your main boy Duane Allman are screaming at me to come play, later boys, come on Davey, Hey Davey you paly the Drums I hear Frontier Dude, just like with those drunken Injun’s join us Man!!"

Time moves quickly and the boys have found their routines and feeding habits to coincide with the early morning trout rise and the multi available Alaskan species from Dolly’s, Rainbows, King Salmon, move from hole to hole.

The boys use float tubes and heavy waders in some area’s, mostly they wade and throw fly line 40/80 feet into rises or after gangs of ever moving Kings. Lunches on the run often include a few fat Bow’s though it is frowned upon.

Black Messiah has chilled out and is taking casting lesson’s while smoking and handing a big fatty Quill rolled from the baggy the Pope sent along with his Stripper Pole Video.

The video featuring Sugar Tit’s , Quill’s for the moment Main Squeeze??? And her main slut helper’s/installer’s lap dancing the Hell out of all the main Cardinal’s and his lowness the main Child Molester Enabler the Pope (MCME).

The Dali Lama slowly walks into the shallow water where Quill is teaching the BM how to throw fly line and whispers in his good ear.

"Call for you, think it may be your girl friend Sugar Tit’s or maybe Sharon Stone again? Not sure, be careful..."

"Hi Baby, miss your sweetness my weakness your sweetness. Have you run the Tarot Cards on me or us or what the fuck is next in this mortal existence my sweet thang..."

"The Magican keeps haunting you Quilly, him and the King Of Swords. Time to slow down old man..."

(Time waits for no one and it won’t wait for thou, for whom the Bell Toll’s? It Toll’s for thee!)