Tag: heads: a psychedelic biography of america

I’m going to try to start reading again–books–and I’m beginning with all the stuff I’ve been sent by such lovely people, to whom I’ve been so rude.

It’s not that I don’t want to read their books. I do. But they are so long, even the short ones, and books ask you to concentrate on one subject for hundreds of pages at a time, instead of reading half-an-article  about the lunch habits of a dead dictator, and then enjoying various pornographies, and then looking at pictures of animals doing thing that animals should not be doing. (The cat sits like a person!)

The great Jesse Jarnow’s America: A Psychedelic Biography of my Head is—

No.

Not the title?

Close, but no blotter.

Ahem. The great Jesse Jarnow’s Dongs: A Cultural History of Coke Dick should win-

Stop this.

Again? Was I mistaken a second time?

Everyone sees through you.

Sorry.

Be serious.

You’re right. The great Jesse Jarnow’s Fancy Talkin’ About Shady Fuckers was released–

Excuse me.

…

splish splish

splish splish

spliSHWASHNARFAFRAZZ

NOM

NOM

NOM

shlooooooooshwaaa

…

Did you just play pitty-pat on the water at the edge of the lake until an alligator ate you and then slid quietly back beneath the surface with your remains?

Yes.

Suicide in Florida is cheap.

And tempting. Please continue plugging Jesse’s book.

Everybody should go buy it, unless they only have enough money for either Jesse’s book or the Donate Button, in which case they should choose me over him. Otherwise: it’s a damn good read, and I haven’t hit one sentence that angered me yet. It’s funny and smart and Jesse has way more patience for oogie-boogie spirituality than I do, which is good. My version of his book would contain many more passages accusing people of being fuzzy-headed doodlebugs who’d slept (or not slept) on too many motel mattresses and forgot their skepticism under one of them; Jesse does not do this, and that was probably the more fruitful choice.

Heads is also worth the purchase just for the names: travelers on the Map (I’m not telling you what that means; it’s the central metaphor of the book; buy it yourself if you’re so damned curious; stop asking me questions) often adopted the most ludicrous noms d’ergot and the pages drip with them.  There’s Dealer McDope, and Jacaeber Kastor, and the Lord Nose, and Whelming Brine, and Dick FaceBat, and Goa Gil, and the Legendary Marty, and Bilrock 161, and Turk 182, and N. Stan Taneous, and Kosciusko Pulaski, and Big Momma Blurf, and Phreaky Butthole, and Tennessee Dennis the Friendliest Dentist.

(This may be the reason I could not be a mover and shaker in the status game of psychedelia: I would either be unable to play along and just go by TotD, or would get too into the game and start introducing myself as Captain Fuck.)

Anyway, go read the book. Wait, no: fuck that. “Read the book” leaves open the possibility of borrowing it from the library, and libraries are communist scams that teach children that sharing is a good thing. Also, it does not rule out illegally downloading it, or shoplifting it; do not do these things. Just buy the book; what you do with it after that is up to you. Sex stuff is fine, or use it for violence against those weaker than you.

Please don’t use Jesse’s book as a weapon.

You’re right. Just use it for sex stuff.

Tell them about page 212.

Oh, right: tear it out and chew on it ’til the jewels fall out of your eyes.

Good plug.

I’m great.

Sure, champ. Where’s your book?

SHUTUPIHATEYOUFUCKYOUOHMYGODJUSTDIEALREADY

I’ve never been afraid of admitting I was wrong: in my case, it’s the pragmatic way to approach life, as I am wrong so often that I might as well accept it, learn something, and move on. There will, in fact, be a stream from tonight’s surprise Fillmore show; I linked to it in the previous post and–since it’s on YouTube–I might just toss the sucker over to my big screen and peek in. Maybe I’ll even let you know what I think.

(Anyone there? Send me some pics, so I can stop stealing them from people on Twitter and Instagram.)

But until the show starts, here’s some excellent reading material: the always illuminating Jesse Jarnow reports on the Dead Scholars convention, and Deadology in general. Serious critical study of the Dead has been building for years; the field’s gotten almost large enough to be respectable, due to two facts: one, the Dead and their corpus of work is as worthy of study as any other 20th century artist; and two, there are simply too many academics in this country. I advocate a cull.

Please stop calling for culls.

Are you saying the professorial herd doesn’t need some thinning?

In no way am I saying that. Pointy-headed flibbertigibbets, the lot of ’em. But you can’t call for culls.

Aw. Anyway: it’s a great article; go read it. As usual: I have many grievances. Firstly, Jarnow uses the piece like a whore uses a pee-soaked mattress. He plugs his book, Head: A Biography of Psychedelic America, so relentlessly that you’re tempted to check out the book, or perhaps this glowing review from the New Yorker about it, or maybe even go to the sidebar and purchase the sucker.

(TotD sniffs at commerce, of course.)

But second: as with so much written about the Dead, there’s so much he left out. I refer to this passage:

A whole academic rainbow prisms outward from the Dead’s Steal Your Face logo. There are sociologists, economists, feminists, philosophers, historians, poets, radio hosts and more. Nick Meriwether wishes there were more anthropologists.

Jarnow has merely scratched the surface of Dead Studies, and I will almost certainly accuse his of being in the pocket of Big Dead some time soon, but for now, I’ll just share some Dead-focused academic fields not mentioned in the article.

Ethnomusicology After a five-year study, a team of respected ethnomusicologists decided that the Dead’s music was “not all that ethnic.”

Maritime Archaeology Billy has sunk so many boats that three separate researchers were granted three separate grants to study the situation; only one drowned.

Psephology At the last Dead Scholar’s conference, a guy came in and said “I’m studying the Dead vis-a-vis psephology,” and everyone said, “Oh, really?” Then, they asked him to write the word down, and it did not help. Cool guy, though.

Zoology Was all the road crew human? And: was the road crew all human? There’s fascinating work being done in the field.

Theology Father Seamus O’Seamus has rocked the academic Dead world with his recently-approved dissertation: Five Men Think They’re Jesus, One of them’s Gotta be Wrong: God, the God Complex, and the Grateful Dead.

Philosophy of Music One would think this would be an attractive and welcome member to the Dead Studies family, but it’s just hundreds of pages of “But was that a D minor chord, or a ‘D minor’ chord?”

Indonesian History Not a lot of attention being paid to the Dead by the Indonesian History experts. Gonna be honest with you. Racism? Maybe.

Philology It means something else.

Plus, Enthusiasts, there is a lovely mention–the kids call it a “shout-out”–to TotD in the article; if you’re too busy to read the whole thing, then here it is. You’ll notice a lovely compliment in there from a very big muckety-muck, Sir Nicholas von Meriwether:

The expanded universe reality-show aspect comes to the fore most vividly via the freeform Grateful Dead ahistorical blog known as Thoughts on the Dead.

“Some of it’s absolutely magnificent work,” says Dead archivist Nicholas Meriwether of TotD

I would like to thank Sir Nicholas for those–

Hold it.

–kind words…yes?

Don’t do that.

Do what?

Why does the quote cut off like that?

…

Paste the rest of it, please.

Aw.

’s fact-laden kin.

Ah. Changes things.

Just a bit.

Only the meaning.

Right.

I can’t even look at you.

Also: the livestream that I posted? Since I started writing, it has been revealed to be some idiot scamming asshole fuckwad troll.

No stream?

Apparently not.

I can’t look at anyone.