One of my favorite Mothers albums.  Right up there with Fillmore East - June 1971 and the soundtrack to that insane movie 200 Motels.

I'm waiting for the human earthquake to erupt here in Texas over the new gun legislation.  Meanwhile, every time I can appropriately work it into a conversation, I encourage every person of color who lives in an Open Carry state to all start open carrying weapons.  Strap on a pistol or shoulder a rifle.  Down here in the Bible Belt they think that law was only written for white people.  As much as I despise the notion that the solution to gun violence is more guns, can you imagine what that punk ass bitch's reaction in El Paso would have been if every fucking Mexican was packing heat in that Walmart?

Last edited by Baywolfe (2019-09-11 18:42:04)

Baywolfe wrote:

One of my favorite Mothers albums.  Right up there with Fillmore East - June 1971 and the soundtrack to that insane movie 200 Motels.

I'm waiting for the human earthquake to erupt here in Texas over the new gun legislation.  Meanwhile, every time I can appropriately work it into a conversation, I encourage every person of color who lives in an Open Carry state to all start open carrying weapons.  Strap on a pistol or shoulder a rifle.  Down here in the Bible Belt they think that law was only written for white people.  As much as I despise the notion that the solution to gun violence is more guns, can you imaging what that punk ass bitch's reaction in El Paso would have been if every fucking Mexican was packing heat in that Walmart?

In 1968, I walked out of the hills into a small town in Northern California with a 1917 Springfield 30.06 over my shoulder, my pack, and knife hung on my belt.  I had been living rough about 18 miles from the nearest road, and I walked into town on occasion to pick up rice, catch up with friends once a month or so.  That day, I heard a car engine idling behind me as I walked down passed the mill, the local school.  Looking over my shoulder who but the local gendarme were following me.  I kept going, eventually ending up at my friends' place. As I walked in the cops drove away.  "What the hell are you doing with your rifle today?" my friend asked, which was peculiar as I didn't leave it behind when I came into town. "Why?" I asked.  "Bobby Kennedy was killed today, assassinated." came the reply.

After watching the demise of Haight, gathering up the flowers of paranoia, I had fled north... where there were rifles, and shotguns in every truck window, people opened carried all of the time.  It seems so innocent now, even with the locals shooting at hippies then, beating them up etc. Some of us kind of resisted that. A year later I had to defend the commune I was living at with a rifle.  Never had problems after, as brandishing it had chased the assholes away.