You see, John
Travolta is a Scientologist, and these people are
also deluded and exploited...yet, I figure they
probably have some viable lessons or methods that
could SHARE if they were a true religion.
The only reason I pied Guru Maharaji, as opposed
to another religious figure was timing. He happened
to be coming to Detroit to get 'Ket to the City'
while I was involved in the Underground Press. So
if you combine political activism with my
'mystical' background (along with the fact that I
had been doing theatre and performace art as well)
you can see that this poor 16 year old was in the
wrong place at the wrong time.
A few years later, when interviewed by Detroit
Free Press in a followup article, I was asked if
there was anyone else I would pie, and I mentioned
the Pope. (I got a lot of flak from inlaws for
that). You see, I didn't think I was anyone
special, I wanted and believe that everyone should
throw pies at all kinds of phony authority figures.
In that regard, I started a movement. Even a few
months ago someone pied Cretian, the prime minister
of Canada. George Bush Senior, coutless mayors,
university deans and various politicians at all
levels have been pied around the world. That is all
I wanted - for everybody to loosen up and get a
little crazy, or, actually, get real, and we
have.
By the way, one of the Detroit Free Press
reporters who misquoted me after the 'event' got a
deal lined up to do a cover story for Rolling Stone
magazine, about me. I was, as the song went, to be
'on the cover of the Rolling stone.' Fame, or more
fame, and certainly fortune, in the form of a book
deal, probably, a tour and all such trappings
awaited me, and, to the dismay of many of my
friends, and especially my parents, I turned it
down.
Becoming a cult figure myself was not the way.
Such would have betrayed everything I was and said.
I felt that I was making poetry, I was the poem, I
was not a hollywood movie and I was not even the
story.
Years later, as I wheel a cab down dark deserted
streets at 3 or 4 in the morning in blue jeans that
are faded and empty of cash I still remind myself
that I was correct. Actually, I had no choice, it
wasn't me that threw the pie...it wasn't me that
faced up dug up the concept of the cult. It was
fate, it was the wind, it was the three stooges, it
was infinity, it was the availability of cheap
ingredients making such an incident
inevitable...was the law or randomness, chaos...it
was me, and it was all of us.
So say hi to all the ex or present premies for
me, tell them that I said God loves those that make
him (her) laugh, wants us to laugh. I'd love for
the Guru to write or call me. He can come and watch
me play hockey with the boys in downriver Detroit,
and have a few beers with us. Tell him I'm not
afraid, that I know it was his corporate people who
ordered I be killed, (this I was told by Jupteswar
Mishra, one of those who crushed my skull with a
crow-bar). Tell the Guru to read the Conan the
Barbarian novels where priests and magicians are
routinely axed by wildmen from the north
country.
cont. next post
|