I Saw the Devil

I saw the devil and he was dancing in my shoes
I saw the devil and he was making moves on you

He always knows just when I need him
He always knows just what to do

I saw the devil and he was breaking all the rules
Laughing with his friends and acting so damn cool
He was breaking all the rules and winning all the games
And leaving just in time to make you want him again
He was crawling on the ground and standing nice and proud
And knowing all the time he was the star of the crowd

He always knows just when I'm weakest
He always knows when to turn the screws

I saw the devil and he was trying to walk the line
I saw the devil and he moved in just in time

He always knows when you need some comfort
Whispers in your ear and tells you it's all through

Feeling Psychedelic

Some who know me may ask "When are you not feeling psychedelic?" Well there are times when I do not feel the interlocking ebbing waves of oneness but that is not what this is about. I am talking about the music. I have been listening to a bit of psychedelic lately and thought I would share some thoughts.

My current resurgence started when I listened to a short documentary on Roky Erickson head man to the 13 Floor Elevators. Months later I was watching High Fidelity and realized the intro song was "You're Gonna Miss Me" by the 13th Floor Elevators. Check out Tommy Hall playing the electric jug.

I also recently discovered the Monks (Monks - Monk time) which hit my synchronicity spot.

These new old discoveries reminded me of how much I loved and was intrigued by underground Psychedelic music when I was younger. I had been interested in psychedelic music since I was a kid when I first heard 8 Miles High on a show about 60's music. I think this was the actual video I saw.

The Byrds - Eight Miles High
Uploaded by scootaway

I tried, and failed, to emulate the intro solo many times. The Strawberry Alarm Clock grabbed me as well with Incense and Peppermints.

I had wanted to delve into more of the 60's original psychedelia so I asked my quite older brother Bob to make me a mixed tape. I was a little disappointed. Even though he grew up in the era of psychedelia and had a great feel for music, he didn't seem to provide me with what I was looking for. I wanted twangy guitars, colorful organ sounds and songs about Butterflies and zebras and moonbeams and fairy tales. I think some of the bands like Strawberry Alarm clock were a little too poppy for him. I wish I had the tape. He might have put some stuff on there that I just wasn't ready to listen to yet. A few years later, at 15, I went to visit Bob in Bellingham, WA for a summer vacation of mountaineering, smoked salmon, hitchhiking adventures, general hippie activities and a musical education. He brought me to a record store downtown and encouraged me to get my first Jimi Hendrix album. The Jimi Hendrix Experience was the perfect mix. It had that pop psychedelic style to it but was concurrently blues that Bob respected immensely.

At the same time there was an 80's psychedelic revival going on referred to as the Paisley Underground. The 3 O'clock from LA was so nerdy cool and they were based right in my home town, as was the Redd Kross whom some of my friends claimed they hung out with along with some members of the Bangles.

As an adult Bob asked me a question so he could gauge my knowledge of the California 60's underground music scene. It was something like who was the best psychedelic band from LA or SoCal? Of course to answer anything else but Love would be foolish.





I discovered Love through The Damned, one of my favorite bands, who covered "Alone Again Or" in the late 80's. It then became popular to know about Love if you were in any type of cool/hipster/garage band.

When all is said and done I can beat anybodies psychedelic resume' save those who were actually in a kick ass psychedelic band. I don't care if you hung out with Redd Kross. I don't care if you were were the double for Davy Jones in an episode of the Monkeys. I don't care if you have a really cool blog called The Psychedelic Music Blog. I don't care if you followed the Dead around till they gave you a nick name. At 12 years old I was baptized by James Lowe, of the Electric Prunes in his pool in Chatsworth California. I regularly went to his home spun bible study and played with his kids. I now regret that I never got to hear him play the autoharp. Later I backslid to an early teen lifestyle of partying in Chatsworth Park just west of their house and just east of Charles Manson's old hide out at Spahn Ranch. The Electric Prunes - I Had Too Much to Dream (Last Night)

That's it. One more thing. If my buddy Chris from High School is reading this. You still have my Iron Butterfly album. It was a collectors item when I let you borrow it. It is even more valuable now. I hope you kept it in good shape and expect to see it sent to me shortly.

Bus Drivers are Nice

Saturday I had to take the bus to a friends. I got on the wrong bus and ended up at the square at the end of the line. I asked the bus driver if she knew of any other CVS stores on the way since I knew that is where I was supposed to get off. She pointed to one in the square and said this is the only one. I described the store I was looking for and she asked me if I knew the street. Of course I didn't know the street as I do everything by instinct. I am like a finely tuned instrument that can intuit it's way threw the most treacherous of mazes. "Ummm ..." she said, "do you know the street." On the way back she drove slow and looked at all of the street signs I think she hoped that I would recognize the one I was looking for. Finally she said there was a CVS on the other line and she dropped me off. The next day I was waiting for the same bus and she came by driving another line. She stopped and stuck her head out the window and said, "On Sunday the 73 picks up upstairs". I said "Thanks, your the same one who helped me yesterday." Then she said, "Really? I'm usually not that nice."

Peace

The other day someone mentioned to me that Japanese people in Florida are always flashing peace signs when ever their photo is taken. I was at work and I was asking people why this is the case and before I could even get the question out one of my American Chinese co-workers said and I paraphrase "You mean the ubiquitous Asian peace sign. We all do it." My Indian co-worker then said ... hey wait Indians are Asian too and we don't do it. Which was funny since she is always feigning offense when we forget that India is part of Asia. Any way I decided to do a little research and here is what I found.

The V sign might have arisen from inspirational and unflappable ice skater who performed in the 1972 Olympics at Sapporo. It indeed is not just Japanese (Asian peace sign Flickr set). I guess there is also the side ways gangster peace sign. Nuff said.

Japanese Fairy Tales By Lafcadio Hearn, Grace James, Basil Hall Chamberlain

Japanese Fairy Tales By Lafcadio Hearn, Grace James, Basil Hall Chamberlain: "CHIN CHIN KOBAKAMA THE floor of a Japanese room is covered with beautiful thick soft mats of woven reeds They fit very closely together so that you can just slip a knife blade between them They are changed once every year and are kept very clean The Japanese never wear shoes in the house and do not use chairs or furniture such as English people use They sit sleep eat and sometimes even write upon the floor So the mats must be kept very clean indeed and Japanese children are taught just as soon as they can speak never to spoil or dirty the mats"

Helping the Blind (Synchronicity)

The other day I got off the Bus at Harvard station and walked with the disembarking crowd through the station center. We soon mixed with a counter current of passengers leaving the inbound Redline train. In the crowd there was a short dark haired young woman with a dark dog walking by and looking a little lost. As I past her she looked in my direction and I realized she was blind. She called me out and asked for my help. She wanted to be directed to the Dunkin Donuts located right across the concourse. I told her sure. I paused then went for her arm. Every other time I have gone to help a blind person they ask me to hold their elbow or they insert an arm into the crook of my elbow as if I was leading them into a lavish ball. As I touched her arm she stopped me and informed me that I could just walk in front of her dog to lead her to the line. I did so and she thanked me.
I went out to meet some friends last night for some drink in Davis Square and I asked if this was a common occurrence. It did not seem to be very common amongst this group. I took the bus home that night and was struck by a woman with a huge head of wild white hair and a very stylish preppy/alt/nerd red wool suite. She was very talkative to her companion who I soon realized was her assistant as she was blind. The apparent synchronicity occurring led me to think of past interactions.
A few months back I was to meet my friend Dana, again in Harvard Square, for some delicious Pinocchio’s pizza. I got off the T and my way was hindered by a not so small middle-aged woman who was also blind but without a dog. She called out for help and I was the only likely candidate within earshot. She asked me to escort her to Harvest restaurant where she was planning on meeting some friends. I was a little concerned since I was slightly late for my lunch meeting and I was starting to get a reputation of being a flake with Dana. But I knew I had no choice. I think you go to hell if you don’t help a blind person. I was also concerned, as I didn’t quite remember the best route to Harvest. She asked me to grab her elbow and I led her in the most efficient manner that I could and tried to come up with some small talk. Once I got to Brattle Street I ventured down a few false alleys with this poor misguided woman. I finally found the right path but it ended up they were doing construction behind the Brattle hall so I was trying to describe the precarious metallic walkway we were about to go over and explain away the alien noises and dust. I left her at Harvest where her friends who were waiting. I made it to Pinocchio’s where Dana was more then willing to forgive me for my tardiness.
Digging back further into my consciousness I remembered an intimidating man who frequently could be found in Westwood Village California. He was tall, pale and bald. He was also blind and would often cry out in the middle of the village … “Would someone help me?” I understand why people were reluctant to help. His manner was slightly alarming and his large body moved around awkwardly and somewhat aggressively. But I crossed the road to ask him what I could do. He asked for my arm and wanted be lead somewhere. I have to admit that it is always a little bit awkward to have a stranger grab your arm or to grab a stranger’s arm and lead them threw a public square. Despite his loud voice and threatening appearance his personality was ultimately very disarming. His shoes were never tied but as I was walking with him people would tell him that they were untied. He would flatly explain to those concerned that he bought them that way. I have continued to use that line as I am constantly found with untied shoelaces. I saw him a few more times while I was taking my Village breaks from my studies at UCLA.
My ultimate experience assisting a blind person has to be that with my high school history teacher Mr. Robert Acosta. He was a very attentive instructor and despite his handicap did a fairly good job at maintaining order. Students seemed to respect him. My older sister had Mr. Acosta for three years and said he was the only teacher who really cared. She was often late and she told me she remembers him saying repeatedly, “Mendy, sit down!” as he recognized the sound of her clunky late seventies shoes enter the room. I was not the best student in high school and was barely passing his class. He presented a challenge to me. If I get a B on his final and I would get a B in the class. To quell cheating in his class, which we all swore was not an issue; he performed his final by open book oral exam one by one in front of the class. I studied hard for the exam. On the day of the exam I listened with interest to the students who came before me. I felt that I could have made a good showing had I been given any of the questions the prior students had been given. After several students it was my turn and I bombed. I could not answer any of the questions and as I leafed futilely threw my notes. It seemed like all of the good questions were gone and only the most obscure left.
I was in bad shape. I might not pass history. A few days later Mr. Acosta asked if anyone would like to help him by driving him to a meeting downtown on Saturday for extra credit. I volunteered immediately. Based on some hindsight googling I gather that I might have been bringing him to American Council of the Blind meeting but I am not sure. I borrowed my moms red Ford Mercury hatch back which I thought would perfectly fit him and his German Shepard. I later crashed that car but that is another story. I folded down the back seat to give his dog plenty of room in the back. I arrived at his place and met his wife. As we started to leave he asked if I could give his wife, who was also blind, a ride. I didn’t respond because I was trying to work out in my head how to explain that the seat was down. Mr. Acosta said “Sure you can” so I mumbled something and ran to the car to fold up the seat just as his wife found the car door and was climbing into that back. Mr. Acosta stepped into my front seat and his dog fit easily between his legs. I was relieved but felt bad that I didn’t seem more welcoming to his wife.
The day was nice. The meeting was in one of those woody red-chaired early 70’s LA restaurants that served things like burgers and Monte Cristo sandwichs. I talked to one member of the group who was into some cool music and that made me feel like less of the odd man out. On the way home I put on some old ventures surf music and Mr. Acosta new the words to all the standards that the Ventures had turned into instrumentals. I was glad that he appreciated my music. He told the class on the following Monday that I had great taste in music, gave me the extra credit and I passed his class.
Going back even further I remember my mom volunteering with the blind when I was very young. She was very appreciative of their talents and the ways they compensated for their lack of vision. One day she showed me a mosaic of an owl that one of the women she worked with created. It looked like an owl and my mom was very impressed and was excited to share this with me.
So I wonder. Does is it that once you encounter a particular type of person then they regularly make reappearances? Are we trained for the possible interactions we will have in the future. Probably not. Most of these instances could be explained away as artifacts of awareness. Is awareness a synchronicity generator or is synchronicity an artifice of awareness. Either way it is nice to help people out and be connected one other way to the human experience.