Was at the fair one year. Took my cute little monkey girl and we walked around all the buildings and weird “C’mere man let me “_____”(fill in thing here)”for ya!” it’s crazy and reminds me of the original bazaar opened on the desert trade routes through the really big deserts in around sixteen hundred A.D. like a really good Swap Meet. Oh ya, Swap meet.
So I’ve been appearing recently at the local Swap Meet. At the drive in. yup. Big assed parking lot and theres the strange gypsy nomadic selling and buying that occurs. It’s a whole trip unto itself.
So there I am. It’s at least 4 A.M. in the morning, and I’ve been here for at least a half an hour and there’s people in front of me. At least six to eight cars, maybe more, are in front of me and It’s my first day doing this. At least for my shirts. I had been here before with a buddy who made quite a decent living at the Swap Meet. Very good living. But yet the shirt thing was new for me and it was my first time. It was a bad Mojo angle, but it ended up being quite good for I sold three shirts, but it was in the end of the month and according to lore and legend it was a bad time to go. No one has money at the end of the month, and the Swap Meet is a hard sell area for tye-dyes. I was able, through the love and polish of the shpleel, to sell three shirts that day. It was an up moment, the following week I sold nothing, and the week after (this one) I went to Hollywood and sold. Then to Ventura, to a friends house to sell to her as well.
Now this friend got married recently. Was a nice ceremony, and her dress was really beautiful now I love her, and her family. I’ve known her and her sister for years. She, the Ventura one, graduated in my class. Her sister has moved many times, and her son’s first ride was in her arms in my truck. A little Toyota I had many years ago, and I drove slowly for her, and carefully. She was quite persuasive, and no she didn’t have to inflict bodily pain upon me to get me to condone to the rate of speed and the turns. I did it for the stormy boy, and he knows whom he is. So, back to the Ventura one. Dress is beautiful, ceremony was in am Mormon Church and it was a total trip. No crosses, anywhere. Now for a Methodist baptized pagan and reader of strange cults and freaky deakies and hugger of trees, the lack of the sign of pain and suffering emblazoned everywhere else, it was a trip to find it absent here. That was the first thing. The other thing was the circular construction of the church. It was not unlike the bastion of a castle. Ringed by something and then cradled in the center of that circle. The belief of its people. Spiritually, their source.
