Not that much has been happening folks, but i've loved every minute of it. Sorry i haven't written in a while, but I chilled out and then my portable email connection didn't work in Hungary, so it took a while. I'm in london now, by the way, randomly. Yet again. Going home to the states tomorrow. I'm not sure I remember all of the junk since I wrote last, but I have my journal, so i'll try to at least give you the key points.

A week before the most recent sunday, I headed for Prague. Got a triple hotel room for D___ and Phyllis and I, met them at their bus stop, and headed back to check them in. We spent an enjoyable few days in prague. Marijuana possession is legal there, but not buying or selling, and the populace appears to have no desire at all to turn their city into the next amsterdam, full of american stoners. We tried stopping by a bar called TAZ (Temporary Autonomous Zone), which was full of young Czech's rolling joints, but they all sneered at us when we asked about buying.

We also saw a cool art museum for Czech cubists, and heard some classical concerts. Boy there are a lot of those in Praha. The second one we went to was particularly amusing - there were 4 people, a cellist and 3 violin/violists (i can never tell them apart), and one of them was this really old chick who had forgotten a bunch of her music. She had to sit out a couple of the songs, and the first violinist was trying not to crack up at how stupid this old person was. It was amusing. She even started one piece on a sour note cuz she had the wrong music out.

The most fun we had in Prague was when D___ and I were walking along, and we saw this way cool bar packed with people, so we went into the basement. We sat in the corner, and this czech guy was sitting there, and I chatted with him, and it turned out that he was the manager, but he was too stoned to actually be doing any work. This seemed like a good sign, so we sat and talked. We asked him where we could buy, and he named the Chapeau Rouge, a bar. After a while, a couple of his friends dropped by and said hi, then turned to go. Remembering our previous request, he said "Oh, if you want to buy, these are the guys." So we called after them, and negotiated quickly. For 250 Krona, or about...oh hell, i forget. too many countries. uh...10$? 15$? something like that, we could get what looked like a dime, or maybe only a nickel, of what we were assured was quality Skunk. (for those who don't know, Skunk is a famous dutch strain, very strong). We had been fiending for a long time (we never managed to score weed in berlin - the rug dealer didn't ever manage to get through to his herbal connections) so we bought a couple bags. The dealers took off, and I asked the manager guy if we could smoke here - the Time Out guide had said that it depended on the bar, some it was cool at, others not, you just had to ask.

He said that normally it wasn't, but hell, he was the manager, and he would let us, just this once. D & I being terrible joint rollers (we both prefer pipes) we let the expert do it. he took an entire bag (0.5 - 1 gram) and rolled a monster fatty. He told us that "Biella", a bartender there, loved to smoke, and all we had to do was say her name and hint at drugs, and she would join us immediately. He said she had the nose for such a thing, and would always show up when a joint was being rolled. So I went back to the managers office and I said "Biella! Biella! Marijuana!" And she said that she would be by in a minute. Sure enough, she showed up just as we lit up. Me, D___, the manager, Biella (the upstairs bartender) and the downstairs bartender all passed the chronic blunt. A good time was had by all. After about 2/3 of the joint, the two bartenders thanked us and returned to duty. D___ and the manager, having discussed the terrible lack of dancing downstairs, decided they would start doing so.

So the two of them got up and started shakin' and bakin', while I continued to partake of the sacrament of skunk. Deserted by all, I was forced to finish the thing myself, and ended up rather stoned. I got up and joined the two freaks, dancing like crazy.

No one else was dancing. No one else joined us. They just looked at us like we were freaks, and now they knew who had caused that funny smell from the corner, and like they were embarassed for us. We had a great time, movin and groovin, chillin and illin, waving and shaving, shaking our moneymakers. Fuck the squares. Internal reality is more important than external in such cases. I didn't last that long, eventually I had to go sit down, having smoked rather more than the others, but they danced for quite some time. I jotted incomprehensibly in my notebook and even sketched a little, not particularly well, but with excellent use of the name "Hasan il-Sabbah the Iranian".

Eventually, after a few epochs, we nabbed a cab home. There was a whole funky story about what Phyllis was doing at this time, having to do with a delicious italian dinner and a really cute waiter who turned out to be very, very amorous, but I don't know all the details and things didn't work out, so I bet they ain't that interesting. The waiter was obnoxious and eventually bailed, and Phyllis returned just the right amount of time after we did (well, actually a few minutes earlier than perfect, but she was lady enough to walk up the stairs very slowly).

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