95 I'm going insane

Knock knock knock. Bang bang bang. "And the lord..." Blah blah blah. Every day. Oh every fuckin' middle of the night.

Womenfolk

No. I am not going to go into the kitchen. This was 1972. I was defiant about that at five, I'm not caving in now. It's only been a few days. I've hardly seen LBJ but in passing. I am not liking this.

Alright. Leave me alone with your ideas on what my work should be. I'll do something on my own.  "Ok. I'll sweep." I should have said "I'll fuckin' sweep" but I was too god damned polite. So I swept the dusty wooden barracks floor. The front porch. The mess hall and the office porch. Oh no. Don't you dare go near the men's barracks. Ok. Ok. Stop telling me that. Oh yeah. Don't worry, I won't go in the office either.

Sweeping around the mess hall I figured out why they had to get up at three every day. It's hard to believe. Before almost every god damned thing they did they stopped and prayed about it. Let's say a pray before washing the dishes. Alright, I'm really a believer in letting people go on with what they prefer, with that ever present phrase "just so long as they're not hurting anybody." But I wondered how these women, and men, got to the point where they thought they had to be so submissive?

More of that later. So I swept the floor by my lonesome every day. Good. I'm playing with my cat now. I finally got to see LBJ as he was heading out after one of the dumb meetings. I wasn't hep on leaving him there and hitchhiking my way out of there by myself. "I hate this place. I want to leave." Whew. The city boy was hit with the country. Well, I was too but not with these people. "I just want to go." "Aww, not yet. I get up on that hill when the sun rises and look out over the fields. It's beautiful." Well nice for you but I'm here watching a bunch of brainwashed chicks praying over dirty oatmeal bowls.

Aaaaarrrrgggghhhhhhhh!

Ok. I'm getting all judgy here, but I was living there. I am sure these people had huge holes in their psyche and were just finding anything to patch it up. Whatever. Later on that.

Ok. He's been through a lot. I'll wait a little longer. While I'm here maybe I can sew up my patched bell bottoms. They were beautiful. All kinds of colorful material pieces. They were hardly pants anymore, just patches.

Probably 3 times as many patches as Alvin Lee & Ron Draper's jeans

I asked one of the few men that was in the "farm" during the day if I could get a needle and thread. "No. We'll give them to the sewing group to work on." "I can sew them myself." "Everything must be done as a community here." "That's ok. I can do it." He just kind of took them from me. I should have kept them. Jesus Christ.