Wednesday, February 27, 2013

Ballad of Easy Rider

Oh, ho.  This is the song my mind sang to me as I fixed the morning oatmeal.  I'd forgotten the river lyrics - connection to yesterday's post?  Who can say.  The Byrds forever.

I saw EASY RIDER at a drive-in under the flight path to Los Angeles International Airport.  Regardless, it resonated then as it still does.  I didn't want one of the videos with clips.  I remember (I was much, much younger) that I yelled and wept in protest at the end.  Good thing it wasn't a walk-in theater.

Not that long before, I'd lived in Washington, D.C., volunteering for and living among what was called then The New Left.  Those months were leading up to the Democratic National Convention in Chicago, for which many were preparing.  At the time, I had no idea of financing sources for any of the endeavors, no idea of agendas other than stopping the war and trying to fit my liberal but very straight self into a counter-culture lifestyle.  I remember coming down the stairs in our Church Street co-op in the mornings to go to work, never knowing who would have taken refuge in the living room while I was asleep.   The experiences there, the companions old and new, remain unlike any other part of this river journey.  No matter how iconic the film, I will not, cannot see it again.  Knowing now that I have always been of hippie heart, some stories are too close to bear.

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