Hippies in the yard

Here’s another small clip from my novel, Hippies. In this one, several characters of the two-house commune are being introduced as they play around in the yard. (The two houses are the Duck and the Island.) Had you the decency to read the book, you’d know about half of these characters from the previous chapter.

Duck common residents: Ziggy, Jazmine, Ragman, Stormy, Rose Petal
Island common residents: Tex, Hoss, Gina, Pepper

x x x

Stormy paused, and Rag walked back into the elongated house, the Duck. Meanwhile, Gina and Hoss came out of the fat square house, the Island, from across the yard. Gina was a tiny, quiet thing, and Hoss a big, garrulous walrus of a man – perhaps too garrulous. Like Pepper, he did not know when to shut up, but with completely opposite results. She was all waspish wit, ready for a smack-down, and he was all love and trust and geniality, with a ready bear-hug for any stranger. Indeed, it was his affability that led him to think that a tray of pot brownies would be enjoyable for all at a faculty/student social his sophomore year. That he was expelled for such a kindness seemed a cosmic injustice, but he was good enough with the guitar to make a few bucks at cafes and on the street, and he did contract work at bigger music venues like The Warehouse, so he took it all in lumbering stride. Gina’s place in the Island was ambiguous, as the best anyone could tell was that she moved between the Island bedrooms of Hoss and Pepper, occasionally shifting to the couch if she needed her own space and no bohemian transients were in town and on it. Tex held the remaining bedroom in the Island and he mostly kept his room to himself.

“Hey, Stormy, where’s the Rag?” bellowed Hoss.

“He’s inside watching Rose Petal.” Rose Petal was Stormy’s two-year-old daughter. Together with Ragman, Ziggy, and Jazmine, this mother-daughter pair completed the permanent roster of Duck residents, at least for the time being. Of course, both the Duck and the Island had their parade of transients and hangers-on.

“Hahaha, that Rag,” roared Hoss inexplicably, shaking his head like a giant potato all covered with coarse, bushy hair.

He unclasped his guitar case, and he and Tex plucked out a few lines together. Then Tex strummed out the first chords of a song, and Hoss laid on with the notes. Hoss would sing this one, mellowing his voice to the sweet timbre of a Jewish cantor on a High Holiday.

A new day is coming, people are changing
Ain’t it beautiful, crystal blue persuasion . . .

In the pauses one could tell — Tex was good, but on guitar Hoss was master.

“My god,” Jazmine said. “Look at that crescent moon and Venus so bright. It’s like something planetary is really happening. A sign of something coming.” Everyone looked at the sky, a velvet blanket full of stars, no doubt, but with the moon and Venus most illustrious.

Stormy, spinning with her dress spread out as the song ended, chanted at the sky: “Gnomes of the earth, Nymphs of water, Sylphs of the air, and Salamanders of fire.”

“Where do you come up with this shit, Stormy,” asked Hoss cheerily, adjusting the guitar on his lap.

“Elemental spirits, baby, you can get ‘em from a book if it ain’t in your soul. Like Pepper says, don’t y’all ever read anything?”

“Hoss never got past picture books,” Tex quipped. Then he strummed another random chord while Hoss took a hit on the joint and sprawled back to look at the stars. But random as Tex’s chord was, Stormy knew what he was thinking, and as soon as he hit the strings again, she was singing along:

When the moon is in the seventh house
And Jupiter aligns with Mars

She sang it from a soulful, timeless depth, like it was no joke, and kept swaying, her carob skin gleaming a perfect blend of spiritual mystery and sensual presence.

Then peace will guide the planets
And love will steer the stars.
This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius . . .

Under that Venus and that moon on that early spring night of 1970, a half dozen hippies believed earnestly, joyfully, that indeed a planetary change was coming. The tragic naivete of their idealism had not yet hit.

* * *

BookCoverImage     year-bfly-cover     

 

Goodbye, Maggie on NetGalley

Goodbye, Maggie (160 pages), which was short-listed in the 2019 William Faulkner — Wisdom Competition, is available here on NetGalley for any bloggers, hippies, lovers, or friends who are in that program and want to download and read the advance copy. Spread the news.

The rest of you losers will have to wait for the official January 27 release (though you can pre-order the Kindle version here on Amazon now).

In a culture of health nuts, gurus, quacks and seekers, Phil’s stagnant life collapses when his charismatic brother, Magnus, announces that he has murdered Maggie Leblanc and asks for sanctuary. Thus starts a comic drama of rollicking misdirection, as Magnus disappears – with Phil’s girlfriend, Hermia – and Phil lands on an uneasy road trip through small town Louisiana with Gus, another rival for Hermia’s attention. Phil and Gus, white and black, find racism, madness, and unlikely friendships as they roll through the swampland and return empty-handed to New Orleans. But are they really empty-handed? And has Maggie really gone gentle into that good night?

Samples below:

Opening scene

Phil’s next surprise

x x x

  year-bfly-cover      BookCoverImage     

 (Click images for links)

Hippies running free

Hippies is FREE this week on Amazon (Kindle).

Go on. Do it. Release your inner hippie.

Click the cover below to link through. (Read some excerpts below that.)

hpp snow

So get your copy now. Or if you have a copy, gift a copy or two to friends. Just tell them to be polite and write a brief and honest Amazon review in return for the freebie 🙂

Excerpts

Tripping on tan acid

Magic mushroom head shop and dry cleaners

Beach scene from Hippies

Day tripping with the hippies

A past-life regression

Rebecca’s place

(Click images below for links)

  year-bfly-cover              BookCoverImage     

Beach scene from Hippies

A beach scene from Hippies

Summary of novel: In this Age of Aquarius epic, a group of hippies moving through the sights, sounds, and ideals of the 1960s counterculture discover an LSD-spinoff that triggers past life regressions and leads to a dramatic climax.

x x x

As Ziggy ambled naked toward the water, Jazmine thought there was a hint of Apollo in his stride. “But a little skinny,” she added in her mental narrative, smiling to herself, as she watched Ziggy plunge. She’d never had a guy best friend till Ziggy, someone she could love with all the doors and windows open. But not sexually. Maybe that was her problem. She had to separate sex and love, as if love were pure and sex were dirty. Like she was defending something inside but she didn’t know what it was that was being defended.

“You look hot!”

Jazmine started out of her reverie to see a lanky teen boy with black frame glasses hanging over her.

“Thanks.” The teen boy could see she was nervous.

“No, I mean sweating hot. I’m not hitting on you, I swear.” He grinned. “We got some beers over by the Plymouth.”

“No Thanks.”

Zig was walking up, squeezing water out of his long hair.

“Hey, man,” said the kid, “I was telling your old lady we have some beers over by the Plymouth.”

“Thanks. We’re good.”

“Y’all hear about the cops out here yesterday?”

“Never seen the cops out here before,” said Zig. Jaz kept sunbathing in her own mental space, trying to put closure on her thoughts.

“Yeah, cops took my friend’s weed and sent him packing.”

Zig commiserated: “Shame, man. Cops getting into everything.”

“Hey, I know you,” said the kid. He scratched his big toe in the sand, as if he were trying to draw a secret symbol. Then he looked up and straight at Ziggy.

“I know where I seen y’all before. Y’all part of Ragman’s army,” he said, grinning a little more cautiously.

Ziggy laughed. “If we’re the army, I feel sorry for whoever we’re defending.”

“Don’t laugh, man,” said the kid. Weird, Ziggy thought. That’s the second time somebody told him that today.

“Be careful around Rag,” continued the kid.

“Rag’s cool,” said Zig. The kid had touched on a point he felt strongly about. “Rag’s the coolest guy I ever met.” The kid fidgeted.

“Ever,” Zig repeated, letting the kid know that this was not negotiable.

“I know, man,” said the kid. “But be careful.” Now he was nervous, whispery. He looked over at a small group standing across the beach by a palm tree.

“That’s the problem,” he hissed, under his breath. “Ragman’s the one thing the cops can’t stand. An idealist in the drug scene. You think they give a shit about speed and heroin dealers? Shit, the cops are dealing half the drugs in this town. And cocaine and downers? The Man loves that shit. Speed to keep people working; downers to keep’m tame. What the cops hate is LSD. And maybe pot. And kids with the vision to change things. Fuck things up. And it ain’t only the cops.”

The more the kid hissed and whispered, the more Zig became intrigued.

“What do you mean, it ain’t only the cops?” Zig asked.

“Those fucking dealers coming in with the heroin and the coke. They just want money and zombies. They’d get rid of Ragman faster than the cops. Yeah, they got their fucking ways too.” He rolled his foot along the sand, smoothing over forever whatever imaginary symbol he had started. “Their own fucking ways, man.”

“Why are you telling us this?” asked Zig.

“I don’t know. I like Ragman. I admire the guy. And your chick there looks cool.” He thought for a second. Someone from the group by the palm tree gestured to the kid. “And because I’m a fucking idiot,” the kid said, and he walked briskly off.

x x x

  year-bfly-cover              BookCoverImage     

 (Click images for links)