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"Please to meet you...I hope you guess my name." Rolling Stones as performed by Jane's Addiction on their first album which we bought from Alicia in Camelot Records, Panama City, Florida. We have not written for 3 days since we've been in Panama City Beach and it has been enormously hot. We were camped at Raccoon River camp ground, just off the strip in Panama City, very close to the beach. But, the heat here is like a hot day in California only you have to wear an astronaut suit of humidity. It is hot now as we are leaving.
We just passed Scandal's Liquor Lounge where we dropped in yesterday to drink expensive beers while women danced nearly naked. Roxey was my dream girl, in fact she has been since I was 12 years old. She was pretty, black and naked. Larry took a particular interest in a tall, cocaine thin, blonde with a playboy bunny tattooed to her ass. She reminded me too much of my highschool girlfriend.
The whole strip scene is very confusing to me. How do the women justify it? Are they laughing inside at the men who put dollars in their panties and look at them with puppy eyes? Do they want to meet the men? Do they listen to the lines anymore? I like them, I respect them, if they know what their doing and they have a philosophy about it. Like, `I strip because all I have to do is dance naked and I make money, it's a hell of a lot better than typing 35 words per minute.' But, if they just don't think they can do anything else and they have a low self esteem and think they can't earn a living any other way than with their body, I'm sad for them. People have to have dreams, and like and believe in what they're doing. I gave Roxey a dollar on my way out, stuck it between her chocolate breasts and asked her to tell me her name, "so, I can murmur it in my dreams."
-Have to continue writing later, it's too thick, the air and I'm lazy. Got a lot of catching up to do though. -
5 minutes later - It's cool now because it just rained for a stretch of road. I feel bad for not writing. Guilty for not having recorded my every thought. Like how cool and easy I was just feeling with my arm hanging out the brown metal window of The Beast. The wind wing cleaned by the cloud burst, the air cleaned and lightened by the rain - green roadsides, light green grasses, tall and lush carpeting under the furniture of darker green trees, bushes and shrubbery. Complacent as I watched the sun-bleached hairs on my arm brushed by the air we're speeding through. Larry driving and my responsibilities and committments trailing The Beast on a long loose string, jangling down the road behind me, disturbing themselves, only. Just write.
There has to be consistency. There has to be discipline. There has to be persistency and commitment. For anything to come true all of these factors have to be cemented together with a belief and a positive trust that it's going to happen.
-The clouds are deep, grey-blue to our left, threatening, welcome. -
Keep writing. Keep recording. It's all important. We have just left Panama City where we stayed the night with Cyndee and Jackie, two CPA's from Georgia. We met them on the beach last night. Staying in their condo, that their boss had let them use for the week, with its air conditioning and hideaway bed was a tremendous luxury, us having spent the last two nights at Raccoon River where we had to drink whiskey and beer to go to sleep in the uncomfortable heat.
In the mornings at Raccoon River we would wake up in our tent which had heated up to something like 150 degrees and then walk past an open sewage pond to our bathrooms. The amusement park directly behind us fired up early and we could hear the loud speakers calling for lost children from 9:00am on, until the helicopter rides fired up just a few hundred yards away and then the intercom calls would be drowned out by the constant attack of Viet Cong helicopters dropping down into our wooded area, dropping off tourist soldiers and taking, transporting new prisoners of war.
