In the course of ridin' along with Fontegaia poem, I'm suddenly deep into Ecuador jungle, secret sacred plant-vision ceremonies, the famous Orson Welles' Martian hoax remake in Quito (1949), which cost many lives, &&&... some of this stuff doesn't seem to have been touched since Burroughs & Ginsberg & the Yage Letters (1961?). Which is pretty odd (that it's me, I mean).

How I got here... not sure, exactly. But it may all go back to that gold doubloon from Quito, nailed to the mast of the Pequod (in Moby Dick). & Viola Sachs's interpretation of that. & the mosquitos over the cemetery on the 4th page or so of Stubborn Grew.

Vision, vision... the psychoactive something. I seem to just get further & further way out of the American poetry box, which hath been belabored together by so many cozy literary ants & uncles.

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