Memory from an old lady: New Year’s Eve as we enter 1975. Am in a candlelit apartment somewhere in DC. It’s lousy with wannabe artists, pot smoke and Pink Floyd. Just took a hit of Windowpane and am waiting to get off. Across the crowd I spot two guys. One reminds me of Sunday school pictures of Jesus Christ from my early childhood. His face is ruggedly tortured, his eyes so soft and sad. Jesus’s buddy reminds me of a Ken doll with his chiseled good looks and flawless plastic hair. I am fixating on these dudes when I suddenly realize the hit is starting to kick in. Psychedelic Jesus and Ken. They’re only real if you’re trippin’. True story and you illustrated it. How did you know?
Memory from an old lady: New Year’s Eve as we enter 1975. Am in a candlelit apartment somewhere in DC. It’s lousy with wannabe artists, pot smoke and Pink Floyd. Just took a hit of Windowpane and am waiting to get off. Across the crowd I spot two guys. One reminds me of Sunday school pictures of Jesus Christ from my early childhood. His face is ruggedly tortured, his eyes so soft and sad. Jesus’s buddy reminds me of a Ken doll with his chiseled good looks and flawless plastic hair. I am fixating on these dudes when I suddenly realize the hit is starting to kick in. Psychedelic Jesus and Ken. They’re only real if you’re trippin’. True story and you illustrated it. How did you know?