[Archive] [majorlinksl


Date: May 24 1996 6:35 PM EDT
From: JosiePeron
Subj: Stuff and directories

Hey now,

I've been in and out of your archives for a few weeks. Thanks for trying to take the Web to the next stage. It's refreshing to see your journal grow, and kind of cool to get in your head a bit. ("So that's what's in Hunter's brain! No kidding!")

This note was prompted by a comment from your journal. When Xian responded way fast to something you'd posted, you wondered about your site being watched 'n' stuff. Do you know that just anyone can read your directory structure? As I was browsing your site, I lopped the filename off the URL in Netscape and hit [Enter], and got a listing of all the files that were there. (I suspect you know this and it's OK, but thought I'd warn you just in case you don't or it isn't.)

I've never been into poetry much. Mostly I just groove on musical sounds. There are songs to which I've known the lyrics for 25 years, and I never knew what they were about. I started on a new spiritual path about 9 months ago; and I've listened almost exclusively to the Grateful Dead since Jerry died. And lately, your words have started to sink in in a whole new way. Thank you for verbalizing some things, and explaining other things, that I just can't find words for. And keep up the good work!


(aka, Juan Peron's long-lost, illegitimate granddaughter, which would be a long, fascinating story if only it were true.)


OK by me if people want to hack into my directory. If that's fun, by all means do it! Maybe I'll give the files some salacious names to make it worth the trip. Which reminds me, it's time to clean up that rat's nest of a filing system that takes an hour to upload.


Date: May 31 1996 10:35 PM EDT
From: BPSmith
Subj: Message


First off, thanks for your work and presence on the web. I feel honored to be part of this new phase, and couldn't resist writing before you start "playing arenas."

I guess the main thing I want to send is a little autobiography, which might give some reasons for optimism beyond those readily apparent.

I'm a classical musician (cellist) who has devoted his life (literally- you know how young we start!) to absorbing and transmitting the musical treasures of my tradition. The true challenge is to bring to life (filtered through one's own times, sensibility, and audience) the music which is in some ways timeless. So much for that.

I also learned a lot from Louis Armstrong, Doc Watson, Alan Lomax, etc., who do the same thing.

I heard you play at the 5th Avenue Theater in Seattle, Halloween 1986. I had been drawn to the music and magic, yet never seen the Dead. And before I weathered the seductions and distractions of "the Scene," I knew where the true inspiration (as I felt it) had its source: not you as an individual, but really every musician and troubador who has ever taken a stage or put pen to manuscript paper. It was a tremendous experience for me, and I cherish the memory of your performance. Thanks.

So, as one of the "transmitters" of this whole art form, I've devoted myself to working with kids, as a music teacher. In no specific way am I preaching anything but the basic values of hard work, practice, and the rewards of music as a part of one's life. In a big way, however, the years I've spent with you and the rest of the gang showed me exactly where I needed to go to make my little contribution.

I think there are way more people doing similar things in subtle ways than might be apparent to the naked eye. They probably just don't write e-mail. Not to say we shouldn't go for the overt operations as well, but I take great comfort in knowing that the mark has been made and will continue to work regardless of what we do. That's the way culture moves, to my mind.

Thanks again for everything, from me and a couple hundred kids who don't know what hit them. Forgive me if these sentiments are more obvious to you than they were to me at the time!

Bret Smith
Ann Arbor, MI


It's taken me a long time to answer your letter. Some times it does. Anything so perfectly stated seems to answer itself, wanting only an acknowedgement. It can take weeks to figure that out. Well spoken.

rh 6/11

Date: May 31 1996 3:20 PM EDT
From: (Philip N. Wheeler)

Hi Robert,

Thanks for the great job you are doing with the Grateful Dead
Web pages. I especially enjoy your journal entries.

I just learned of the deaths of two more people for whom I had
great respect: John Kahn and Timothy Leary. They will be missed.

Coincidentally, my father is also in a nursing home, and his name
is also Norman. We have had the same type of problems that you
have described. He's in his second nursing home now. This one
is run by Amish people, and the care and food are much better
than the commercial home. Each resident has their own (brought
from their real home) chair (usually big, padded recliner-type
chairs) grouped in a large living-room type area. Of course, a
few are bed-ridden, but about 15 sit in the living room for most
of the day. No TVs or radios are allowed. They have lots of
sing-alongs and occasionally get to go on some type of outing
(those that can survive in a wheel chair, that is). Anyway,
I wish you and all of your family the best.

You have mentioned the possibility of adding some type of tape-
trader resource to the Dead's home page. Here's an idea I had
for that: you might start by listing the shows that are not
known to be in circulation in any form. This information is
available on Jeff Tiedrich's home page. Your home page could
serve as a central point of reference on the "lost shows",
and perhaps a few of them might turn up as a result. The taping
community would really appreciate that, and maintenance on the
page should be fairly light. If this interests you at all, I
am willing to compile a list of "missing shows" from Jeff's
lists of tapes in circulation. I'm sure others would volunteer
to help as well.

Take care,

all I can do is pass your letter on to someone who can consider it. I'll email it to Dick Latvala, who won't answer because he only answers surface mail. Talk about a traditionalist!

Glad you could find an accomodation for your dad that eases your mind. We're a little short on Amish on the West Coast.

Date: Fri, 31 May 1996 09:11:16 -0400
From: Steve Wright <>


Thanks for the updates on the principals. I imagine that at some point Bill will become so completely water-logged that he may need to come up for's to hoping he resurfaces into a pond nearby....

Unfortunately, I must 'tickle your soft-spot'...I (we) do appreciate your honesty...

Salty retorts are certainly ok, and mostly even understood, but realize that most heads who find you available through this ever-expanding information infrastructure are just so damned tickled that you may actually respond to them, they sometimes don't err on the side of they don't exactly know WHAT they want to say, only that they want to SAY something..anything. I certainly understand that thought process, hell I am that thought process.

I had asked for Jer in one word, and while I appreciate your response, I'm beginning to understand your angst associated with questions like that...I'll try and think b-4 I type...I should know better, believe me.

As to hearing Jerry's response at your attempts at responding to intense "Jerry-Mail', might I suggest that the worrying should begin when you stop hearing the chuckle.

Please give us all the news you can about John Kahn...big loss.

Take care, have a good weekend


thanks for your understanding attitude re:saltiness. I know I shouldn't, but I just can't resist those quick zingers. And I think the one word that finally popped up, inquisitive, inspired by your question, was the best all round definition possible. That was him in a nutshell.

Date: May 31 1996 6:02 PM EDT
From: Jetntoto
Subj: Grr r oooo veeeeyy
To: K9Luna

There's not many people that 'know' me
tho I've beeen your wavy be 4
& you still told sparks on my fire
the ashes that burned far and low
that use to know the places
that belonged to the tao and traces
I've been shown amongst all lllll your places
would like to get to know you,
would like to get to show you,

Signed A Happy Place
In The Sun. . ..
l O O k king for a
60's P lace
IN nnnn
the 90's
TO 2 BE b IN n !
Hello where are You? Can you tell me your Name?
Just an observation: In one breath 'you guys' say let it go,
and in another you use 'it' as a sellin' point, hmmm
will it ever 'change'? XCapitolixmX .....alive and well,
N America . .

it changes from day to day. My name is Man. Nowhere special. Hi. I'm an alarm clock. Push the snooze control. In one breath all is said. The rest is inhalation. '60's is 30 years to the right. Next door. Can I borrow a cup of sugar? Sun? Up - that way . . . over your heels. . .rh

Date: Jun 1 1996 1:41 PM EDT
From: (Beverly)

Thanks, RH, for an incredible website. I linger here for hours, and don't
notice the time. The journal is a wonderful gift to all of us. All this
and Terence McKenna TOO?!!! Totally awesome use of the internet. I'm so grateful to be alive in this wonderful place in this wonderful time.

Sometimes people are cruel if they know you're a Deadhead. They make jokes
about Jerry's death and how now we can all get a life. I wish people would
understand that there are MILLIONS of individuals out here who are suffering
with a quiet grief that is very real. Thanks for taking the helm, RH, in
what seemed for a while like a rudderless ship. On to new horizons!


I find that doing the page gives as much back to me as I put in. It's a chance to stretch my wings and write what I want, the way I want, and to give it to the people who want it. What more could a writer ask for?

I'm ready to fade into an anonymous stance again when things get on track, but, for the time being, it's good to get a chance to use every ounce of direction I can scrape together. Better burn than rust.

Subj: The Beat Goes On...
Date: Jun 1 1996 6:46 PM EDT

Senor Roberto:
At the risk of getting annoying, I decided to write you one more
time. Reading the letters out of your mailbag, I notice so many people
wondering how we can keep on keeping on without our genius,
nomadic-champion band guiding the way. Friends and family, we follow the
example of heartfelt excellence that Jerry G. and the boys provided. Once
you take a bite of the apple, you become a part of the tree. Each of us is
a branch, and each of us will grow our own way. Try to set an example for
those who will follow, while treading respectfully in the path of those who
came before. The Grateful Dead were a one in a trillion magical mystery.
Trying to recreate the essence of that energy will prove impossible, but
that hardly means that their successors will not rise to the occasion.
Sometimes, when I'm out with other budding writers, musicians and artists,
I get a whiff of something tremendous looming over the horizon. A
split-second of awakening that so many of us reveled in during shows from
coast to coast. Wordsworth called these moments "spots of time". Moments
when it all comes together. His words from the "Prelude", Book Sixth,
lines 600-608 seem to hint at the wonders lost and wonders to be that
personify Garcia and the Dead. "...when the light of sense Goes out, but
with a flash that has revealed The invisible world, doth greatness make
abode, there harbours whether we be young or old, Our destiny, our being's
heart and home, Is with infinitude, and only there; With hope it is, hope
that can never die, Effort, and expectation, and desire, And something
evermore about to be..." Something evermore about to be. That is where we
are at friends. Gather tight your love around you, and let it go. We CAN
keep on keeping on. Keep spreading the good stuff Robert, and thank you
for inspiring so many of us to inspire so many others.

Karl J. Heimer

never be another car like the '49 Ford, huh? Now that car was made of IRON. Design started failing after that - cars started stretching out, drinking down that Texas gas, mass production took it's toll. No, there never was a car like the '49 Ford. Until the '57 Chevy.

Subj: For the Mailbag-Deathsong
Date: May 31 1996 11:57 PM EDT
From: (Peter S. Oleson)

I was going to write a little more today, I was up half the night reading the new page: our clock reads different than yours. I went to bed with the news of another death, that of John Kahn. I awoke and went through the new rituals of summer, the kids sleeping yet, it being summer vacation, sleepwalking my way out the door for another day of giving and taking; hoping to come out ahead at the end of it all; feeling bad; listening on the way to town to the new best of Quicksilver tape I just got Wed., thinking that almost all my heroes are gone. Got to the shop, another day solving others problems while I have no clue what to do about mine.
No one here yet, radio says TL gone- never knew him, looked up to him?, as if anyone of us can bear being looked at that way. I don't know why; "who among you who is without sin..."; totally stupid slant on the dominant media. We need our own media.
Looking forward to
A night of dancing
with the man
who danced with
the man in the moon.
May the one who holds the strings be nimble this night.
May I in some instant be blessed
To share the one-ness we have but ignore.


Subj: life
Date: May 31 1996 1:52 PM EDT
From: (Byron Alterman)

Hello RH.

Great to see your diary again. As a reader, I feel as though I am a spy in
the intimate space of your words, but then I crash down into the abyss of
your self-consciousness, and I feel as if we have become mutual parasites.
How very odd. I have no questions or riddles for you, nor do I have any
intimate secrets except to share with you how I now feel. Since Jerry has
departed, I feel as if all the time that I spent inside the concert halls
and out at the venues are part of an elaborate dream. The only things that
now remain are the words, the emotions, their multiple meanings and that
same old song. I have been working faster and more frantically. I have been
letting loose a little less. I have no more dionysus and the world is a
worse place. But these memories of Johana are now all that remain.

As far as the band goes, I really don't care what the next step is. I don't
care about gathering with the tribe anymore, especially at these fabricated
jerrysploitative gatherings. The tribe link for me was the music and
those who understood it I could understand. The scene was and always was
bullshit, as is a scene by definition. I do care about words and I do care
about music. I watch the news and sometimes I cry. There will be no more
transformation from I to We unless we make it happen again. That WE,
however, is a very genuine one and cannot piggyback onto an "I."

Anyway, this is what you may consider feedback to your diary. I certainly
don't want you to take this message as a put down to you, it is actually
quite the opposite as I feel that I am paying honesty with honesty

or perhaps with a bit of brutality. Ouch!

As I pointed out in the journal, the Laguna Seca gathering wasn't Jerrysploitative, to my surprise and delight. There was a healthy sense of getting on with the business of providing music by those whose life's work is doing just that, and of enjoyment by those who were open to it, which appeared to be most of the crowd.

If you want to call someone who has spent most of his waking (and dreaming) life helping create the music you remember so fondly "parasitical" I guess that's your business. If a "scene" is "bullshit by definition" we must have different dictionaries.

Don't understand your statement about piggybacking on to an "I," other than the bitterness of tone. You assume so much you aren't giving us a chance. It would be more to the point to have a listen or a look see than to assume there's nothing here but a "looking back." I'd get an honest job pumping gas before I'd be part of that.

I've finished beating up on you, so let me thank you for sending a letter I can get my teeth into. Your viewpoint is valuable and you speak for lots of others. I want this part of the dialogue.

Subj: Re: 5/31
Date: Jun 3 1996 10:04 AM EDT
From: (Byron Alterman)

Thank you for the clarification. I must say that I wrote my letter in haste
and perhaps in a bit of anger. I will say, however, that beyond any insult
you may feel I have given you lies much love for your life's work and much
appreciation for what I have already gotten from you.

I wrote the following in my letter original letter:

>>As a reader, I feel as though I am a spy in the intimate space of your
words, but then I crash >>down into the abyss of your self-consciousness,
and I feel as if we have become mutual >>parasites.

You responded with offense and perhaps thought that I called you
parasitical. This is not the case as I have called us mutual parasites.
Perhaps the use of the word parasite was the wrong choice of words to have
used. I meant that to be read by saying that we both feed off of each other.

In rereading my letter, however, I do see the pissed off tone and the shitty
attitude which I conveyed. I apologize. I guess I wanted to send out more
of a probe to see where you are really at. I also wanted to play a bit of
the devil's advocate. I will be glad to try to explain away the rest of my
letter, but I can see that you already got the jist of it. I too appreciate
this dialog with you and want you to know that what I said was in the heat
of an emotion and was spurred by wanting to keep an honest dialog between
you and your readers/ fans.

Thank you for sinking your teeth into this letter. I look forward to a long
and illustrious RH career! I will certainly stay in touch. Your words are
etched on the sands of my mind. Thanks for the one or two moments of all
you have got.


was awaiting your reply. Certainly I understand where you were coming from. The word you were looking for is "symbiotes" which is a situation in nature where mutual dependencies occur to the benefit of both parties - like the bird who picks the alligator's teeth. He gets fed and the gator gets his teeth brushed & would never think of snacking on the bird.


Subj: Re: 6/3
Date: Jun 4 1996 9:15 AM EDT
From: (Byron Alterman)


Well, now that that is all said and done, let me just say that
I am looking forward to seeing what is to be. I certainly am a symbiote,
perhaps a bit frustrated, as you can see. In this situation, I was perhaps
pecking on the alligator's gum because the food supply is uncertain.
Anyway, I will be at the Further Fest's opening day in Atlanta. I must say
that I need it. Thanks for the punch.


Subj: Your Dad Hears the Quiet Footsteps of the West's Rise and Fall
Date: May 31 1996 9:05 PM EDT
From: (Paul Freedman)

Dear Robert, the words you wrote about your father were very powerful.
The photograph of his editorial proofmarks---epiphany. Not simply
flashing on the personal biographical evolution of a writer, but, about
writing and recollection. I couldn't locate an archive of your journals
so I'm not sure if your father is staying now or only apprehensively
looking towards staying in a nursing home. All we can do, as audience,
or as participants in the whatever, is to wish him the best. Which
becomes an inescapably lame gesture before the concrete needs of a
situation but there we are.

I thought of that entry when I read the exchange about Western culture,
and the dissolution of structure's imperialism. I honestly don't believe
meanings are so transient and incommunicable, languages so impenetrably
hermetic that our words, our symbols, our expressed selves come across
the span of generations as so-much dog barking.

The language of the oppressor--I dunno. After a while we end up staring
at the insides of our own eyeballs. Hard-on as fascism, etc. Genetic
oppression. Gnosis de jour. Becomes self-hypnosis, Rosecrucian
incantations to the invisible entities of transparent political
perfection. Sometimes people hurt other people. Does this pollute the
poet's lyric? Style is the trickster's sincerity, the magician's
flourish, the truth of misdirection. The bunny pops out of the tophat
just the same, just as real.

If I've learned anything from the Dead and from your work it's that the
shinola can be as tangible as the spit. Language is a craft as well as
throwaway revelation. There's that element of pottering, of futzing
around, recalculating the stress here, the tensioned release there.
Ghosts and blood run through all of it. It's work as honest as any.

I know there are times when, having learned the meanings of our fathers,
we fear that they can no longer understand ours. Somehow, though, the
same tools are passed on and used unto generations and the conjured
visions find their audience. All graceful instruments are known.

If someone cares to repeat them, the old songs are sung forever.

Take care.


Your tone is reassuring, well couched in the "language of the oppressor." There's a tendency, especially in rock culture, to view monosyllabilism as "real" language as opposed to the high falutin' stuff. I agree, by and large. Since"Pop" is the music of the people, we are all more or less relegated to our own ethnicity for audience. But anti-intellectualism is just another prejudice.

Your letter is so well spoken, I'll just let it rest on the page and not try to address it point by point. I've already erased about five paragraphs that strayed wide of the mark. May I hear from you again down the line?


Date: Sat, 1 Jun 1996 02:12:42
Subject: just a thought

dear robert very sad to hear about john what can one saybut theres a hell of
a band going on.Can't believe Phil's stepped back only time will tell? and
didn't know bill loved the water so> it really gets me off to that's one of
the reasons I chose to repair boats they always have tattteredsails from the
wind.glad to hear mystery box went well but I heard ratdog was so so !got to
fix that . so your looking at 55 i'm looking at 40 they say your as old as
you fell right now I fell about 68 HB any way Sad aboutyour dad} these nurses
sometimes just don't care my mom's been in and out of hospital's a mental
thing hears andthinks things when she doesn't take her med's so I know how
those place's to raise your VOICE once and a while .got upset
yesterday found my 7yr old danielle playing you show me i"ll show you with
the little basterd {boy} next door talk about mixed feeling's wow!!!!!! tryed
to handle it like a adult this kid was poking around thank God everything ok
Lori and I had a long talk with danielle then I had a little talk with the
kids father get this kids name is ROBERT can't tell ya how i felt. just have
to keep talking to danielle try to explain right and wrong.hey thanks for
listening you know after 20 something yr's your page is the only way to
communicate beside's howling at the show's thank you !for hearing your
calling; getting late work tomorrow thing about going where those chilly
winds don't blow had a offer down south very hard to make a living in long
island just wish there were more shows down south good nite for now JIM
p.s I think you got a great voice and play a hell of a guitar i remember
you & jerry doing tiger rose at the calderone i will never forget that COME
RAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!rain last sunday shucks ha ha

Hi Jim.

Your first daughter, huh? I know how you feel, but it's perfectly natural. Have a good talk with her, sure, but don't make too big a thing of it. Probably be more abnormal if she didn't have an experimental game or two of doctor with the chap next door. Unless, of course, he's 20. Sexual curiosity is intense around 7, and, of course. it doesn't fit with our image of our little angels. If the boy is around her age, the same applies. I remember Penny and Yvonne next door when I was 7. I think the big error would be to come down too hard on either of them and fill them with the idea that sex is terrible. My advisor tells me: find other things for them to do, Under supervision.


Subject: Re: normal

dear robert
only daughter I did not come down hard at all also remember
little genie next door thanks for your advice running late see ya soon .

Subj: Greetings from Northampton, Mass.
Date: Jun 3 1996 3:18 PM EDT
From: (Jim Klar)

Dear Mr. Hunter,

Hello there. I think your page is great...

It's nice to see a journal unfold - when in history has that ever been
possible? It's fascinating. We've actually met very briefly - I work
at the Iron Horse Music Hall in Northampton and talked in the dressing
room in November '93 before a spoken word gig you did here. I gave you
a few poems of mine. Will you be returning to New England for any
performances? It would be fantastic if you would play the Horse again.
I've seen many a dead show between '89 and '94 while I lived in San
Francisco and am dying to get a dose of that West coast energy here in
New England. You've created many provocative images through your
writing and many ways, your work has been as or more
influencial as anything else I've encountered in my life (along with
Dylan, of course!!) So, I'll say thanks even though it may not be
necessary. I write journals and things and have dabbled in web page
design...would you mind putting a link to mine on your page? It is It's a work in progress but comes from
the same spirit that has compelled you to turn on to the

Thanks for your time,

rock & roll!

Jim Klar


No touring plans at present.

I do remember you. You brought your friend whose brother had just died. How's he doing?


Date: Jun 4 1996 2:19 AM EDT (David Potorti)

Hi Robert,

Help! I have a serious music jones (tho' not for serious music). It started
with the Dead, took a veer towards jazz, did a drive-by of classical, and
is now parked in the long-term lot of folk music. I'm curious what you're
listening to these days, and if you could point me in the direction of any
lesser-known tasty folk or old-timey artists you care for. I'm especially
fond of Vassar Clements, Peter Rowan, and Dan Hicks.

Hey, what's with the sixties revival? McCabe's Guitar shop here in LA has
hosted Arlo Guthrie, Richie Havens, Paul Kantner, and John Sebastian
(coming up). On hearing the likes of them in such an intimate context, I'm
(sadly) reminded of a quote from Bob Dylan-- "people today are living off
the crumbs of the sixties." Havens, for one, brought a palpable feeling of
emotion and humanity to the room, which moved me deeply. If we've gone from
Woodstock to police state in our lifetimes, can we go back? I'm feeling
some Luddite inclinations here, though smashing my modem is at odds with
that feeling. Guess I'll start taking those guitar lessons I stopped twenty
years ago.

Hey, speaking of revivals, the last time I saw you on stage, in person, was
in my home town of Ithaca, New York, circa 1977(?), around the time of that
classic GD show at Cornell. You were opening for Robert Palmer, and had the
misfortune of hiring a local sound crew who knew how to mike instruments
but not voices-- well, how important are words to a lyricist, anyway?
Anyway, it was a fun show and you had some damn fine theatrical

I'm enjoying your website and your thoughts.



suggest getting the New Lost City Ramblers records (Vanguard, I think - or maybe Folkways) and following out some of the artists they choose to emulate.

Sixties are, as all time is, an illusion. These people aren't picking up crumbs. They're playing the music they've always played. It's the audience changes. Not everyone can, or should, try to join Neil Young in keeping pace with changing musical tastes. As Humpty Dumpty said to Alice "Be what you would seem to be." Best advice I ever heard.

Subj: Sing Me A Song Of My Own
Date: Jun 4 1996 5:58 PM EDT (Jay King)

The Big And Tall Radio Hour Remembers John Kahn and Timothy Leary
Monday June 3, 1996 - WGDR 91.1 FM - Goddard College - Plainfield VT

Space> - Garcia/Saunders/Kahn/Vitt 'Live At Keystone'
Black Muddy River (Garcia/Hunter) - Norma Waterson - New Rykodisc
Oh, The Wind And Rain (trad. arranged Jody Stecher) -
Jerry Garcia Acoustic Band 'Almost Acoustic'
Dear Prudence (Lennon/McCartney) - Jerry Garcia Band 'JGB' (1990)
Rhapsody In Red (Kahn/Garcia/Hunter) - JGB 'Cats Under The Stars'
Lonely Avenue (Doc Pomus) - Saunders/Garcia/Kahn/Kreutzmann
2/6/72 Pacific High Studios (KSAN Broadcast)
Peggy-O (traditional) - Garcia/Kahn acoustic
Bushnell Auditorium, Hartford CT 11/26/84
You Can Be Anyone This Time Around
What Do You Turn On When You Turn On - Timothy Leary
'You Can Be Anyone This Time Around'
Gone Home (Bill Carlisle) - Jerry Garcia Acoustic Band 'Almost Acoustic'
Keepers (Saunders/Kahn) - Saunders/Garcia/Kahn/Vitt 'Live@Keystone'
Simple Twist Of Fate (B. Dylan) - Jerry Garcia Band 'JGB' (1990)
Down Home (Kahn) - Jerry Garcia Band 'Cats Under The Stars'
White Dove (Carter Stanley) - Old And In The Way 'Old And In The Way'
Ken Nordine's 'Word Jazz'

Subj: checking in
Date: Jun 3 1996 6:59 PM EDT (Marian Wright)


just when i thought this couldn't get any better...

glad to see many others admitting to being addicted too.

btw, we admire your honesty :) :) :) . kidding aside, more than just
admiring your commitment to honesty, we appreciate your candor (is there
a difference?) and your genuine caring about us and this Thing we value
so highly, which comes thru loud and clear. self-interest does not negate
this in the slightest because just the fact that this GOOD THING is where
your interest is invested completes that circle. of this one thing in this
moment i feel certain (all else is ever increasingly mysterious to me).
Nothing for you to live up to. Relax. we already have Jesus, Buddha, Lao
Tse, Ghandi, Garcia... (please laugh).

just want you to be the real, fallible, struggling (i could insert a million
adjectives here, but i'll assume you get the idea) being that you "are", and
to keep sharing it with us. it's the sharing that's the awesome part. we
see you and feel you and can't help but love you. we (my opinion) are just
trying to learn to love one another and i can't think of a more, i'll dare
to say, noble human endeavor than attempting to facilitate that. on that
note, i promise to try to not bring this up again anytime soon.

yes, i wish i had a diary that talked back. alas, i'm afraid i haven't
much very interesting to say. tried to start a journal some months ago but
started boring myself.

i've noticed that you seem to have stopped editing out the big bad words.
courageous decision. i think our response to the attempt to censor the
language should be a hearty "Get Phucked!" :)

the giant's harp glossary that i need is pronunciation. how do you pronounce
Aeoui(and sometimes y & w)? and Aor? i guess the rest are pretty easy--
JabaJaba from Nikaba--does he say that with a straight face? of course
you're right not to change their names (ala ellis island or american indian
civilianization), how audacious! can you imagine what Frodo or Gandalf
would have to say?

i've heard a few cuts from Mystery Box and you are right on. definitely
makin' me smile. gonna pick it up in the next few days. also have $10
earmarked for the hog raffle. got 2 brothers, one has electra glide;
wouldn't i love to present the other with yours. i'll send you the numbers
on my ticket stubs :) .

love the naked flying lady at the bottom of page. don't quite understand
the white folded brick wall tho, or is it rows and stacks of file storage
boxes (archives, duh)? it's ok, i guess, but i sure do miss the lovely
ripply lake. oh well, as long as the chili's still there i reckon i'll

i have my sunglasses ready awaiting your reply :) , but since there's not
a hell of a lot to reply to, i'll not be disappointed if you just let me
know you got it.



there you go tickling my soft spot! Shameless. Not looking for reassurance here, just trying to get relationships straight. It's a dangerous place, thrusting (suggesting, cajoling) ideas on people from a stage - and this web page is a stage. Anyone on stage is to some degree acting, even if it's only acting "natural." This is probably a lot more obvious to me, after nearly three decades of such activity (the lyric page is a stage too) than it would be to someone without that odd kind of experience. What seems simple and obvious turns out to need a lot of explanation - and still doesn't quite connect.

The "white folded brick wall." hmm. I see it as an endless monolith with no top, sides or bottom. It gives me a touch of vertigo when I'm working on it. The Wall represents my current attitude better than water. It seems to take objects well and provides a more or less readable background for print.I'll change The Wall when I change my attitude.

Pronunciation guide: Aeoui: yowee Aor: ay-or (like a wolf howl)

You can put your sunglasses away now.

Subj: Several, including Hello...
Date: Jun 5 1996 3:39 PM EDT
From: (Richard Jones)


It is with delight that I come across your archive; it's a great
treat to have access to some of your more recent work, as well as
to be able to get some perspective on past efforts.

I've read with interest your comments (and some reactions to them)
concerning the disintegration of our culture. Actually, I agree with
both you and some of your readers; our world is coming apart at the
seams around us at a dizzying rate - just walk down the street 'til
you bump into a fourteen year old who gives a shit for nothing but
the next hit, thinks the Simpsons is high art, Steven King is
literature, and everything else in the world should be disemboweled -
should take most of us about three minutes, wherever we are. Chances
are excellent he/she will be wearing clothes that provide free
advertisement for some earth-swallowing conglomerate, and they'll
think it's just too hip.

It has indeed been going on for millenia, but the pace has gone from a
steady slog to a lope to a full-blown panic/gallop, with the precipice
coming into better focus by the day. What's a semi-concious human to do?

After mulling the matter over for twenty-five years or so, the only
thing I've come up with is this: our job, here and now, is to start
rebuilding. It's an interesting piece of work, to be in there jostling
with the bosses' wrecking crews, wondering how to rebuild the
foundation while the walls blow over without warning, ducking brickbats
and sidestepping the more obviously dangerous debris (Debris' Diamond
Blues? contact your local DeBeers monkey, and for god's sake stay away
from the judge).

The preceeding generation, with a handful of notable exceptions, is
lost. The Great Depression, WW II, Korea, and the Bomb are handicaps
most of them simply can't get past. The generation we've parented is
under constant attack by an infinite host of free-enterprise pirahnas,
and without our help and perspective many of them will go under in a
cloud of money and blood. And those are the lucky ones, the ones who
might have a parent or some kind of mentor who can give them a moment
of shelter now and then. So, it would seem that the mid-century folks
have a job, all right. One problem is that the job is so big it's hard
to see at all. In my experience, the trick has been to reduce the scale
to something that can be touched, can be worked with. Something, like,
oh maybe raffling off a hog to benefit a group that's hell-bent on
putting a dent in the darkness. Your work, Rex's work, and that of the
rest of the band has been a gratifying and comforting thing, and I
thank you all for it.

Traditional medical doctors can deal with symptoms by dishing out
goodies from the phamacopoeia; healers who work on a deeper level can't
give what they don't have. So, since healing some of the gaping holes
in our world is a fundamental act of revolution and rebuilding, it's
incumbent on us to work fearlessly and stubbornly on the rebuilding
(really, the rediscovery) of our own souls and hearts. No matter how
often, it's always amazing to me how different the world's problems
look after a time of confronting my own demons.

Your songs have gone a long way towards expressing all of this, and
towards generating thought and energy in that direction. Whether or
not immortality is relevant or even desirable, I think you'll be
remembered for some time to come as a man who tried hard to give
himself some good advice, and was generous enough to share it with
the rest of us, idjit be damned.

One quick (well, maybe not so quick) thought on your journal. You
just never know what line here or there, tossed out as another
loose end yelling to be set down, will launch itself straight into
some readers heart with the most remarkable results. This is, in
general, a real good thing.

Your story about visiting your dad in the home, and the woman in
the hallway turning "help, help, help" into a sorrowing windchime
song, did that to me. Ten or twelve years ago I couldn't make ends
meet for my family, so took an extra night job as a mobile wheel-
chair repairman, working for an acquaintance. We made a regular round
of nursing homes, coming in after the residents were supposedly
sound asleep, wheeling the chairs out of their rooms to somewhere
we could work, then trying desperately to get them all back to the
right rooms.

Fixing them was all right, but cleaning the chairs was a revelation
of sorrow. People live in these things, in a human vacuum, and it's
tough to face it night after night (Grandmother, whatever else you do,
save me from ever being 'case hardened'). But the absolute killer
was to be on some bleak floor at midnight, hearing someone calling
out from a darkened room "help, help, help!" and having it go on
and on and on while the night orderly sat at the desk reading Field
and Stream. For me it was like a screwdriver to the belly, tightening
and tightening, no mercy. I handled that job for about a month, then
fled gibbering back to the relative safety of the machine shops and
warehouses where at least the only misery I had to confront was my
own. My profoundest respect and thanks to all those who can contribute
to easing that misery and stay solidly within their own hearts at the
same time.

A possible answer to the heartbreak-question of nursing homes:
cohousing is gaining ground fast in our land, and will gain it faster
still as the dream of the 'single family dwelling' fades further and
further from the mainstream. The cohousing settlement where I live
has several elders living there, who are an integral part of the group,
making what contributions they can, and in turn are cared for as needed
by the younger generations. I personally am still in 'own the house and
land' mode, but you can bet in twenty years or so I'll be scouting
for a village that will take me in, and let me become a part. Who
knows - it may be next year.

Well, you said long was okay, and I took you at your word. Thanks again
for being as true to yourself as you can, and for the courage and
generosity it takes to put it out there and watch what happens.

Richard Jones

yeah, long's fine. You covered the bases on that one. I like a letter that swoops from a tall pine, snatches a fish and returns to its roost in one perfectly calculated arc. Your writing has the authority of lived experience translated into convincing abstract thought. Every once in awhile a truly comprehensive letter comes, and this is such an occasion. All I can do is say "thanks," load it in the mailbag and count myself lucky to have such readers as you.


Date: Jun 6 1996 3:58 AM EDT
From: F Hageman
Subj: first time caller, bob . . .

greetings robert,
i kinda feel like i'm on talk radio. first time caller, bob. but, i've listened to your show for *years.* there is a certain surreal element here, as well as a fine symbol of the way this medium is changing communication. after all, with no small degree of trepidation, yet buoyed by the notion nonetheless, i am sitting down to write you with every expectation that, for hopefully better and possibly worse, you will actually see it. (sidling up to one's icons has it's dangers for both iconer and iconee. there may be no place like home, but we all want to get out and see the wizard now and then. what that's like for the wizard, well . . . )

i've been checking out your page for about a month now, slackjawed by the very idea that you have one. to me, you were always the guy half shrouded by the shadow of the grateful dead behemoth, going about your business in relative quiet. now that you are out front here like this, it's a whole different take. as you have witnessed up close the slather heaped upon our favorite broken angel, i imagine you must weary somewhat from the incoming kudos, probably reading it with a shaker of salt sometimes. (and, yes, reading your 5/22 journal, i *was* admiring your honesty and would have said so here. laughed out loud when you beat me to it. if honesty has been sidelined, let me at least run bravery up the pole. i, for one, salute it.

there is a certain difficulty in writing this because of the sort of stuff you touch on in your journal. after all, there ís a certain amount (read large) of gratitude and admiration pent-up over the years, and it's bound to burst out given an opportunity. i'd just as soon not come across as a slobbering fan, so let's just say i have pockets brimming with respect.

(however, if you'd like a little balance here, i will take you to task on what i see as your incomprehensible insistence in keeping jack o' roses off cd. the wrong terrapin? played a c# instead of c? (these being the two reasons offered on the two occasions i asked you about it at book signings for box and idiot's delight.) hey, we're hungry out here, pal! and although my vinyl sounds like rice crispies, it ain't very filling.)

when i was around 14, i somehow found in my possession an 8-track of aoxomoxoa. loved it immediately from start to finish (and, i must say even before the advent of my experience with 'substances,' i adored what's become of the baby. in that delightful interview you and jer did with bj in golden road around 90, you said had it worked, you two would be congratulating yourselves instead of apologizing for it. well, as a majority of one, i say congratulate away. amidst everything else, a few lines just roared out, serving as the beginning of a long love affair with your stuff.

one-eyed jacks . . . crawling up and down your sleeve
no one may come here/ since no one may stay
new ones comin' as the old ones go. . . but much too slowly
ladyfinger dipped in moonlight . . . bids the day goodbye
one man gathers what another man spills*

i wasn't sure what they meant and didn't much care. i just knew they were deeply resonant for some reason and that was enough. (*this being the exception, which i sussed immediately, thinking it was wisdom then and now.) the next little 8-track i got was american beauty (aptly titled, that) and it was obvious you were offering no quarter. i signed up for a lifetime hitch. :)

in your journal you stated that you had written 10 good songs. you said we shouldnít ask which ones, so i'll just tell you which ones they are for me.

days between*
attics of my life
stella blue
brokedown palace
black muddy river
box of rain
boys in the barroom
book of daniel
lazy river road

that's 11, but that's the way it goes.

*it was instant and unrelenting, my love for this song. i have made a nuisance of myself on more than one occasion extolling itís virtues. :) from the first time jer started playing that opening figure at the coliseum on the night of it's breakout, i was stunned by its power and beauty. every show i saw after, it was *the* song above all others i wanted to hear. (yeah, even stephen took a backseat.) i take great succor in the fact that the last song you two graced us with was as good as anything ever in my book. thank you, thank you, thank you.

i liked your comment about us turning you folks into saints and champions and such. having an abiding interest in saints and mystics, (but not dogma) i have been careful not to lay that on you or the boys and have always been disturbed when others have tried to do so. still and all, i've often wondered what your interest, if any, in the mystic might be. for ex., attics is, for me, about as perfect an oblique (is there any other way?) reference to the mystic as you could ask for. crazy fingers, too, although i don't presume that this is at all what you were after. but it seems to pop up a lot to my eyes. you ever read any rumi? (14th century sufi poet, founder of the whirling dervishes) first time i read him i thought this guy's had to have read hunter. :)

when i see stuff like:
what should have been the moon
whirls like a scimitar swung round the
turban of some blood-drenched Saracen
beheading stars.

it tastes similar to:
Leaping up onto the roof
My head split open
On the moon.
Crying for joy: not a sound

as does:
Stars fall down in buckets like rain
Till there ain't no standing room.

with one silent laugh
you tilted the night
and the garden ran with stars.

and this one makes me think happenstance just isn't the answer:
went to the well, but the well was dry
dipped my bucket in the clear blue sky
looked in the bottom and what did I see?
whole damn world looking back at me.

well, i'd better close here. i wish you exceeding well with your work to keep the dead alive. as nice and needed as further is, this site is the medicine i really need to soothe the ache of papa's passing. i've long felt that so much of what we love about jerry (*not* loved; i will not let him go gently), the essence that made it far deeper and more personal than an audience/performer thing (that connection that those on the outside just could never grasp) is the result of the gift of those songs that you gave him/us. we owe you and your muse debts we cannot pay.

take care,

gawrsh. Um . . . shucks!
Look at it this way: if you could hear those songs (many can't) then you're an equal partner in their creation.. It takes talent to hear them as gracefully as you do.

As for Jack O'Roses, I have no idea where the master is. I recorded it in England. and have lost track of Nick Ralph who produced it. It was his idea. He provided the studio and we whipped it up in two sessions. It was so cold in there we had to put gas burners in front of the echo plates before they'd reverberate! I guess I wouldn't mind putting it out. You can probably get a reasonably good tape of it from tape traders. I've also decided to chuck the re-make of "Tiger Rose" and re-issue the old Garcia mix, soon as the CD making machine is free at Club Front, which tends to be never. Ryko is up for replacing the new one with it.

Subj: glad I've tuned in
Date: Jun 5 1996 5:18 PM EDT
From: (McAllister, Deirdre)

No long critque from me, just a big thank you for the interesting and
honest postings. Especially love the journal. I know my journal
keeping has led me to many unexpected places.

While the others here at work take coffee and ciggie breaks, I tune in to deadnet. Ahhh. So relaxing. I'll be reading....
Merci again, Deirdre


I don't have a lot of mental pictures of the places my work might be read. Hadn't crossed my mind, but it's an interesting thought. Lets see . . . a submarine - the Dairy Queen - prison library - (Oh, here's one: the lounge of a house of ill repute while waiting for either customers or servicing!) . . . I have a mental image of Peter S. Oleson reading it in an igloo - he enjoys that one. I think they're planning to have a computer pavilion at the Furthur gigs, so I guess the web page will go on tour, though I'll be in England. Let's see now: A Moorish Castle - an Arabian Harem - I wonder if anybody famous reads my page? Maybe Meryl Streep on location in a submarine movie filmed in a Moorish castle? Naw - probably mostly on office computers when the boss is out of the room. Thanks for the lift.

Subj: Re: Ageism & Other Pursuits
Date: Jun 6 1996 8:12 AM EDT
From: (Paul Freedman)


The wonderful thing was that the balladeer humanity, the black peter folk roots of Hunter/Garcia, layed down this balance, some center tone from the beginning. Some kind of continuing tug from circumference to center--never split off into irreconciliables. So method never got too torn from moment. I mean there's Neal with a five minute rap which apparantly revolves around his inability to remember why it is he can't express himself, boddhivistah bells and blue lights peek through the void. Or maybe John Lennon in reply to how he and McCartney write their songs: "I whistle to him and he whistles back."

Take care,

Subj: introducing myself...
Date: May 30 1996 9:22 AM EDT

twenty odd (!) yrs. a deadhead (answered the original "deadfreaksunite" message--hi, eileen!), three wks. since i discovered yr site!!!

wrote this piece about yr lyrix for Spiral Light, "Europe's GD mag" back in 91, and should send it to you soon along with first 7 pages of a wierd gospel i edited a while back. think you might like.

but i'm writing today just to say LOVE LOVE LOVE GIANTS HARP!!! just got ch.9 today,here at work, taking it home to read... mmm mmm mmm

thank you for that, a truly generous gift...

"here at worK" is Univ.College of Wales @ Aberystwyth. There's a very good Amer.Studies Dept., staffed with Beat fans & the like. Went to see Ginsberg in Swansea last yr, my mate James just returned from the Burroughs Stanford Archive with photocpoies of original N.Lunch ms. etc ETC. am busy turning'em on to yr work... If I have my way, I may yet write a PhD thesis on yr lyrix...(Would you mind, i suddenly wonder, in the light of yr response to "Fractals", response which i agree with -- I dont NEED to know all this
about Franklyns, tho' it is kind of interesting to me as a fellow
practitioner of the craft).

Lovely part of the world here, so if you ARE planning to be in Europe this summer, as rumour has it, you may like to visit. If so, you are most welcome to do so. This part of the world is a bit like the UK Eugene, lots of long-settled hippies etc etc.. no rabid deadfans, but some longtime deadheads...

be that as it may, thanx again for all the turn-ons (I'm a musician/lyricist too, we got a 10 yr. retrospective CD out next month, will mail you one), and currently for the much needed insight into what's going on out there w/you guys. thanx for passing on Phil's remark of 5/14, clarifying the thought i'd been growing these past months.. yes we are the GD now I guess... but dont stop ok?
DeadNet coming right in the nick of time to keep it all together, this just may all work. sure hope it wld be a poorer place...

gotta go, didnt mean to go on this long this time, was gonna save it to send w/ the above-mentioned 2 pieces, but s#*t, life's too short...

always did like the v few paintings of Maureen's i ever saw... more please

goddess bless and keep you always


got your letter. I'll be in the UK 6/19, hang out a couple of weeks to get over the jet lag, then hope to get to Limerick and Edinborough.

Didn't know they had a Bourroughs archive at Stanford. Good for them! I figured he used his pages for target practice when he'd rewritten 'em.

A PhD on moi? Good luck! I promise not to knock it unless you DARE to publish! Anything published is fair game. Hmm - wonder if I could get a PhD writing about me? I know! I'll submit my journals to Harvard and demand a Doctorate.

ps Maureen thanks you

Date: May 29 1996 9:49 PM EDT
From: (Steven Solomon)


> The healing will come via the music, not the internet. All I got is a big box of bandaids. What we need >is a band. I believe we've got one. God, does it feel good!

Amen... and, if I might offer an unsolicited and perhaps unnecessary
bandaid from my box: it's likely that a number equal to a small nation has some idea of how deep your caring is and grateful for this "thing" we Live and Love in the World.

Btw- if you're of a mind to check the dusty drawers for slivers of ancient, quite incidental memories, I'd be that nervous kid who picked you up at the airport in Hartford back in the early 80's and took you to the club with the airplane smashed into the roof... Mike Densmore sends his best. The guy who hiked from D.C. and walked across the swamp to sit on the floor at the edge of the stage skulked back into the night... soggy, smelly, smilin', never to be seen again 'round these northern parts.

Be well...

I remain yours in blessed, fevered dreamin' with feet on solid spinnin' ground,

Steve S

Date: May 30 1996 2:00 AM EDT
From: (Alan Dorchak)

I just checked into the RH Archive site: A truly inspired attempt to
keep some good info flowing. What better source than RH, man without
you GD would be just another garage band. I look forward to future
editions, and will also check out the archives.

Personally, I think new material is the only way for GDP to sustain
itself. Obviously not everybody will like, or appreciate, all of it;
but clearly innovation is the only way to go. I

Anyway, I have loved the GD since the first time I saw them in 78 and
have learned more about life,living and loving from the band, the music,
and the scene than from any other single source. I for one intend to
keep this going.

Peace, Love & Light Alan


without the GD I'd be just another guy who didn't get a chance to develop what talent he had. We were all part of a big weird machine that just felt like it was meant to be. Maybe I'm just pipe dreaming that it isn't all over now, but it was all based on a pipe dream anyway, so what else is new?

Date: Jun 7 1996 8:48 PM EDT
From: F Hageman
Subj: Re: 6/6

hi robert,
. . .
i was very interested in the way you spoke of terrapin "edging into this dimension" when you were speaking of writing it (in some interview years back). i am curious about days between. i have this vision of a board meeting at muses, inc. where it's decided "we're going to have to give *this* one to robert. he'll know what to do with it." so i am wondering how you landed that one. did a tendril of it come passing by and you grabbed on, reeling the rest of it in over time, or did it flash in whole and you had to work it through to match the original inspiration? or is it something completely different? (i know you are loathe to talk about the meaning of your stuff, i have no idea how you feel about the creative process of it, so if this is too personal, i apologize.)

last night i went to one of those dead night things over here in berkeley where they play tapes and you can dance all night. it was a fervent hope of mine that this sort of thing would go on. the nice and weird thing is that it doesn't have any sense of "nostalgia" or past tense to it. it just lets you into that zone. this got me to thinking (again) about a notion i've had that this thing didn't start with the grateful dead, nor will it end with them. it feels far more like you guys were/are the shepherds of a certain (i'm leery of saying pagan, not wanting to wander into unmeant connotations, but it would work from a classic, old religion perspective) energy that will not be dislodged by dint of current fashion or dominant clime. does this ring anywhere near true, or are you too close to it to think of it in these terms?


the Bacchanale is old as humanity. We just presided over it for a time.

Days Between - I wrote a verse while Jerry was working out something on piano - I gave it to him, he said he liked the rhyme scheme and idea and began working out the melody - as he was doing that I wrote the rest of the verses. An hour's work.

Subj: future of the roughshod net
Date: Jun 8 1996 4:07 AM EDT
From: (Shava Nerad)

Sleepless at 1am, why am I writing *you*?

Hi! I'm Tyler Hart ('s partner, and he was sharing some of
your email with me, and I thought I'd pass a couple thoughts on to you...

I've been working on the internet since 1981, which makes me an "old man"
as such things go (I'm 37 and female, last I checked). I've watched this
environment writhe and metamorphose in some series of indiscrete quantum
burps for a decade and a half. It makes me wonder/speculate/muse where it
might be going.

Something Tyler showed me made me think you were celebrating the roughshod
frontier character of net discourse. For myself, I've assimilated the
talk -- I "grew up" in 1970's-1980's hacker culture at MIT, back before
hacker was an epithet. As a woman in a field mired with men, I have a
reputation -- cultivated and tuned -- for being a butch, a bitch, a sharp
wit and a bad enemy in a flamewar.

But let me tell you, now that the net is wide open, I'm realizing what all
that means.

It means, I'm barely recognizably female in print.

This culture -- this flaming, ballbusting, unforgiving, show-me, shoot first
and let the bits fall where they may, forever straining at the traces
netspeak -- is not a welcoming place to most women who aren't used to
holding their own in a testosterone authored world. Men make the manners,
the polity, the convention on the net. The net is low-bandwidth. Smileys
don't convey much. If everyone knew how to write their heart to paper, we'd
all be poets [standard fan accolade elided].

So, the women may be smarter, but they get discouraged fast when the boys
are playing rough. The net will be a sad place if the majority of the
majority sex don't make it here.

So, without damping this superball, how do we invite the ladies? Do we
insist that women's culture change? There's something to that -- I don't
consider myself a full participant, and that's not a deficit in my book.
But the net isn't going to change women's culture, it'll just polarize
women away from each other and their technophile guys.

This technology has such potential to draw people together, but for now,
it's simply delineating sharp lines, between class, education, sex, learning
styles. I talk to people every day who believe that net-consensus on any
particular issue maps to some greater reality, much less to the greater
consensus of the people who live within 5 miles of their ergonomic swivel

No answers. Maybe a few more questions, but in this context, who would

Shava Nerad
(p.s. is most of the site really done with pagemill/sitemill? Geez... ;)

now just what did I say to Tyler that got me included with the good ol' boys in your otherwise righteous harangue? Clue me so I can defend myself! I remember I wrote him a very long letter one night, and several shorter ones in a very interesting volley, but I write so many letters the substance and/or attitudes espoused escape me.

Speculating on where the net might be going: it's going the way of things that show commercial viability. I throw my Archive into the gears by adopting a pereversely commercial free stance. Sure, I hype my friend's records and shows, but I don't sell tickets. My hare brained scheme is to help spawn free discourse by example. My association with the Grateful Dead causes a certain amount of my verbiage to be directed towards keeping that venerable entity at least symbolically present - and a sense of fair play dictates giving some voice to the other side via the newsgroups column which Craig O'Leary gathers for me, since wading through much of what you're vociferating about can be a disheartening experience. Paranoid delusion presented as fact reads differently when you know the parties involved and know how wide of the mark most of the ugly rumours are -even wide of the city the target ostensibly occupies. Honest flaming based on differing value judgements (i.e. criticism) is another matter.

On the other hand, we must defend to the death the right of anyone with a modem to spread slime in a public forum and simply trust to others to balance it. With an address at, you know this to be true. Free speech is the first principle. If that slime ever disappears, it'll be replaced with something worse: silence. We must tolerate what we hate. But we don't have to wallow in it.

Obviously I'm not saying anything here that you and the readers of this Archive don't already know. With that understood, it would seem that those desiring a more gentle and/or feminine consciousness on the internet know the URLs to find it. In this way, the net is much like science-fiction style telepathy where the sensitive mind reader must learn to block out the onslaught of disturbing thoughts generated by the population. I'm not exactly Mr. New Age gentility myself, but I hope my page is not part of the problem.

How do we invite the ladies? Well, you asked if this site was mostly generated on PageMill and SiteMill. As a matter of fact, it is. That means the net is open to everyone now, not just left-brained techies. Sorry lads. Nice job building those tools - now step aside.


Subj: Franklin's Point
Date: Jun 8 1996 7:26 PM EDT
From: BURQUHART@POMONA.EDU (Ben Urquhart, Pomona College)

Mr. Hunter-
I've got an interesting little story to relate. Some friends and I
drove up to the Bay Area (From D.C. to Atlanta to Various places in Texas etc.)
a few weeks ago. We got in pretty late, had nowhere to stay and all the
campgrounds listed by Rand Mcnally were closed up. Well, the gates to these
sites were locked anyway, apparently California State Parks do not allow legal
admission after 8PM. So we wandered around in the Haight for a while. Went by
710 Ashbury, where a strange trick of streetlights and foliage cast an eerily
familiar silhouhette (ouch, I missplelled that one) on the front bay window.
It was Garcia in sunglasses...ah the old man made a little appearance, or my
brain convinced me of it anyway.
Needless to say, we paid a few respects, I did my Weir impression on
the stoop and we got under way.
We decided to head out of the City, catch the sunrise and a few short
winks at Half Moon Bay before our "appointments" the next day. Two of the
group fell asleep, while three of us gave color commentary on the mornings
surfers. THEN, from the backseat, Bell gets excited:
"Uns," he said. "Look at this map, it has this point down here labeled
as Franklin's Point."
"Uh huh." I said, awaiting the connection. At this moment Bell
produces a second map of the Coast, matching geography etc.
"Now look at this map, it's got the same point marked as Pelican's
Point, but there's a lighthouse there."
We looked at each other and back at the map.
"And look Bell, La Honda is only a few miles away from there."
"Uh huh." Said Bell, awaiting the connection.
"Ken Kesey used to have a ranch up there."
We started driving. So we made it down to the Pelican's Point, at the
base of which is a Hostel. We read the sign and smiled at each other, convinced
we had located Franklin's Tower. We took the self guided tour and discovered
that the lighthouse had stood on the grounds for almost a hundred years. Then
we started piecing together lyrics. Bell would sing a line, I would sing a
line, Hoover (who we had woken up for the occasion) would sing one. We chatted
about the significance of each, first geographically. Then, metaphorically.
We were being imaginative. I figured that Kesey had some party up in
the woods and somebody had driven some crazy kids (yourself included) down to
the coast to listen, watch, breathe, etc. The rythmic turning of the light, so
musical in itself. Fog upon the shore like cotton candy. Wind ripping through
the tall grasses.
There is a wildlife refuge less than a mile away. The big blue sits
gloating in its own timelessness. The sun, the clouds, the friends. I do not
know if the lighthouse we found has any real relation to the lyrics. But I do
know that that morning was fantastic. It reminded me again, I say again
because this particular information is so easily forgotten. It reminded me
again how wonderful it is to be, as you say, "x'ing"(sp?). Everything was
there, I experienced a moment of clarity, so profound that it wasn't at all. I
enjoyed being.
I'd just like to extend my thanks for the words, for being a part of
the universe's music, for being a positive piece in the puzzle.

Ben Urquhart


an Xing indeed. I'm glad my eexplanation of Franklin's Tower didn't prevent it. I dislike getting too precise about my personal take on a song, which is often only a place I happen to glimpse and barely manage to report. If my terms resonate with others, I'm lucky -and of course it's all flavored by the music, and associations with the music, so that it becomes a "fractal of familiarity" as Jurgen Fauth so aptly put it.

Date: Jun 10 1996 1:43 AM EDT
From: KiraKalani
Subj: The Golden~

Dear MoonDog...
Someone special told me you will turn 55 this year...
I will turn there are 21 years between...
all three of which are "Fibonacci numbers"
named after an Italian mathematician named Leonardo Fibonacci de Pisa..
who lived around 1180 A.D...
The numbers begin with 1...
and add the previous...
to get to the next...
so the Fibonacci Sequence looks like this:
1,1,2,3,5,8,13,21,34,55....and goes on infinitely~
perhaps you are familiar with this sequence as it relates to the music and art of the Renaissance...yet I would propose that we may witness the New fact, may well be a part of its becoming...
You see dear sir...and others who may also read this...
the Fibonacci Sequence reflects The Golden Mean,
a ubiquitous dynamic pattern found throughout nature...
with beauty and power to surge through Da Vinci and Bach...
whose technically aesthetic prowess can serve us today...
and to you...who feels the rhythm of the language...
to feed the grey haired maestro with angelic words...
we love him with you sir...
yet it was he who gave voice to your words...
and you gave him the language...
your sublime synergy has blessed us...
thank you...
the willow is planted...
and has only begun to grow
may we continue...


I thought there were no straight lines in nature, but what do I know? Thanks for the lovely sentiments.

Subj: tim leary
Date: Jun 9 1996 2:52 PM EDT
From: (Ken Babbs)

Zach Leary asked if Kesey and I would send him something to read at
Tim's memorial service today in L.A., so I sent him this:

well, i never did get holt of kesey last nite nor this morning either.

i guess what you better do is pass on our condolences to those
remaining and our congratulations to tim for a life well lived and a death
well done. his life was an ongoing delight the way he pricked the balloons
of pomposity and his dying was inspirational in its grace and dignity. he
done showed the way and it is up to us to continue in forsame manner.
we'll certainly miss the man but his spirit will always be with us. it is
the greatest honor to call tim leary our friend.

talk to you later. babbs

Subj: Fire! Fire! Fire!
Date: Jun 8 1996 11:27 PM EDT
From: (Peter S. Oleson)

Greetings, rh.
Lots of things happening up here, seems sometimes like the whole shithouse has gone up in flames. By the way, although we now have indoor plumbing, the old privy still stands functional in the back yard. I once swore that I would live no place where I couldn't have a crapper.
Fire to the east, fire to the north, fire to the south.
It was a winter without much snow, nothing on the ground to stay until January or February, such is the state of my memory, I don't remember. I do know that I only had to fire up the old snowblower for 2 consecutive weekends. So it didn't snow much.
The ground up here is covered with moss. Some of the lichens support the caribou. The willows support the moose. The spruce support the grouse. The grouse support the hawks. The hares have their own schedule, it seems to rise and fall as the grouse population falls and rises, thus providing a constant, but varying diet for the owls, and the eagles, the eagles also need the influx of salmon, as do most of the bears.
The spruce also need a lot of water, without which, they become tinder.
That is the fuel that supports these fires.
It is very dry here, and consequently, we are having a lot of trouble with fires.
Indeed, it is a veritable oxygen orgy around here.
What is the big idea sending me on a DMA quest?
I was as happy as I get just harmlessly surfing around, I only got connected in February. Comes March, I find your page and suddenly, I am driven to write.
Now, I am consumed by this new weirdness.
Mushrooms telling smart apes what to do, harruumph!
Thanks a lot.
Although we are in no immediate danger from the various fires, who knows what tomorrow will bring? I will let you know.

read in the paper that the fire should be contained by today. Good luck. Michrel L. Standefer forwarded the following item:

If you think your day is bad...

Fire Authorities in California found a corpse in a burnt out section
of forest whilst assessing the damage done by a forest fire. The
deceased male was dressed in a full wetsuit, complete with a dive
tank,flippers and face mask. A post mortem examination revealed that
the person died not from burns but from massive internal injuries.
Dental records provided a positive identification.

Investigators then set about determining how a fully clad diver ended
up in the middle of a forest fire. It was revealed that, on the day
of the fire, the person went for a diving trip off the coast - some
20 kilometers away from the forest.

The firefighters, seeking to control the fire as quickly as possible,
called in a fleet of helicopters with very large buckets. The buckets
were dropped into the ocean for rapid filling, then flown to the
forest fire and emptied. You guessed it. One minute our diver was
making like Flipper in the Pacific, the next he was doing a
breaststroke in a fire bucket 300m in the air. Apparently, he
extinguished exactly 1.78m (5'10") of the fire.

Some days it just doesn't pay to get out of bed.

Subj: 'the flight'
Date: Jun 10 1996 12:06 PM EDT
From: (kevin depew)

rh -

wow. i haven't been to in months and i am just blown away by
the amount of quality information to be gleaned from the archives.

that having been said, i'm dying to ask you who accompanied you on Flight of
the Marie Helena ( a musical narrative [unlike any other!] ). the-i came
upon an unopened vinyl copy in an obscure record store in Lewisburg,
Pennsylvia some years ago and could find no hint as to who was providing the
musical portion of the work.

i'm so glad to see you on the net! i removed my flight.html pages from the
net about 6 months ago because i had heard you weren't down with your lyrics
being posted. thats what i get for listening to rumors.

welp, i'm a great admirer of your work and just tickled to be sending you
e-mail. keep up the great on-line work!

cool runnings, kevin depew

I played all the tracks on " Flight" myself. Piano, organ, guitar, harmonica and bass.

Date: Jun 11 1996 2:10 PM EDT


I continue to find your pages the most dynamic and entertaining thing on the
web. Its almost too good to be true, a real time portal into the mind(s) of
some of the most mysterious yet familiar universes. Waiting for new and/or
straight information from the Grateful Dead was like dealing with family,
always too late, never what you hoped for, and probably bullshit.

I am hoping that some recent live Grateful Dead music can be released soon.
The past couple of years have been a rollercoaster of ups and down for me
at Dead shows. From bliss to horror to wonder to resignation, all in one
show (song?) As always, time mellows the emotions, and now I'm able to
enjoy the recent music more and more without the feeling of impending doom I
had for the last couple of years when Garcia began to fade. He was still
the major force to the end when allowed to just play from the heart, ( i.e.
playin jams/space etc..) and not worry about words/chord changes and the
like. Maybe Bralove can come up with another Infared Roses type release,
though this time I don't think he'll need to do much editing. Many of the
recent drums/space segments were so concise and well executed and processed
that they could easily stand alone.

I am very much looking forward to seeing the Mystery Box live show. I think
that is where the thunder will be. The CD is amazing, a true work of

Thanks for listening

John Potenza



Thanks. I needed that. Sitting around with the blues this evening and being told I'm the most amazing at anything, right at the moment, helps put the dominos back in the box. Problem is, if what you say is even half-way so, it means I gotta keep at it, huh? What I need is a burst of fresh energy. Hoping my visit to the old world will do it.

Date: Jun 11 1996 3:28 PM EDT
From: (John Salmon)

Dear Robert,

I am mid-way through my first listening of "Mystery Box" and I must say I
love it. The lyric about Garcia in "Down the Road" really tore me up. Damn
near lost it. In a good way.

Nice job! I can imagine you're quite proud. And this is certainly a side of
Mickey most of us haven't seen. As the era of the GD has come to close,
it's nice to see what appears to be the beginning of something new &
wonderful for him.



P.S. Did you supply the album title? Just wondering. It's certainly rich in


I did. Glad you're liking the record. I said to Mickey back when we were getting the first songs together: "What we're doing is very vulnerable. We've got to put it all on the line and dare to make fools of ourselves if we're going to make a great record. Fuck the cynical attitude of the 90's. Who needs more of that shit? Let's open our veins and bleed all over it!" One hell of a record, isn't it?

Subj: Re: Update--I've Got Those DMT Terry Cloth Blues
Date: Jun 11 1996 8:30 PM EDT
From: (Paul Freedman)


These are a few extra coins tossed after the two cents of my last post,
occasioned by your email and your last journal entry, new flares on the
doppler, radar returns still visible from previous scans.

To be perfectly honest, I would as soon prepare a nice warm mug of cocoa,
scrawl Hilary lives on my forehead in brilliantine magenta, and aim a Colt
45, one bullet in the spun chamber, barrel trembling under the fleshy
underside of ambiguously skeptical chin, than I would voluntarily inject
myself into the quizzical universe of the transcendental pixies. Hold that
dwarf and spare the pliers, please. I'll forego the frequent flyer miles, I
believe there is a VERY interesting expose on chimpanzee tool utilization
on National Geographic and, by golly, if evolution means we gotta give up
prehensile toes, well HoJo, I'll devolve, thank you very much.

I know, I know, I know. The whispy ghostsmoke of self-afflicted
doppleganger suspicion insinuates itself into the back regions of the
nether skull. Reprobate! Sell-out! Sacrifice the eye-wide breath-held lunge
into the vasty deep, adrenaline edging up to heart-bursting immediacy, race
between final lung spewing explosion and green heaven's grace of the oyster
gently opened, the clittoral litoral teased to revelation, pearl in
hand...and for what? For what ambiguity, mulch smooth resigned acceptance?
Is this subtlety or some quietly fractious despair past healing, past

Whawhawhawha--the little critic runs through all the old routines, id gone
apoplectic in superego's embrace, psyche-delphic recriminations aim for
soul conscience's tender vittles but, frere I cannot hear thee, his mouth
all flapping in meaningless circles, sanskript semaphore, puffs of cloud
shred and dissolve against candy blue sky.

The plucky watchguard--oh protect me in these dolorous climes my trusty
lighthouse tower of internal rectitude--goes for one last semi-tumescent
try but, even this futile, bammm, slumps over snoring in hairshirt's
La-Z-Boy, a sinuous spent little dribble easing out from slack lips.

For sure, next stop ahead, the terry-robe shuffle, uncertain glances
shrouded in unkindness' waning surprise of perpetual bafflement, eternity's
unwanted clarion signpost-frailty unread, unreadable, a fragile
transparency open to anyone who will stop and see, here, this was such a
man, behold. It's been a great ride. A few bumps along the way. To
everything there is a season. I remember, I do. She played the piano and
then we danced and I thought my heart would burst, I could not believe and
when she inclined her head on my shoulder and all the words in all the
tongues of the world flew from my throat and hung above us like colored


Take care,

Subj: Update on Terrycloth Robes
Date: Jun 11 1996 10:58 PM EDT
From: (Paul Freedman)


Just a few additional comments based on your kind reply and your latest
journal entry. My university server has gone patchy. Hopefully you haven't
received repeated variant versions of the same two or three paragraphs.

I think there's a built-in tension between DMT Reality and Terrycloth Robe
Reality. From experience, there is no easy answer to dads in terrycloth
robes. Age is unkind, blind, and without discernment. It can shrink
personality into quietly horrific shtick, all truncated riffs and tics,
capriciously adding unexpected behavior, frail and cantankerous. I don't
react well on this shore of the process. Some resolute part of me refuses
to see the distant twin. Thank God we have defenses. To the tree but not to
the dry sandy beach. To the beach, then, but not to the stones which ford.
To the stones but not to the other side. . .

Maybe some feel the compulsion to blame TRR on somebody, anybody. Rich
people. White people. Gay people. Those people. These people. That man,
officer, him, he conspired to drag, drag the dream down into life after
Eden, flaming sword behind us, the anonymous Lord weeping in his blasted
garden. Lost his pocket watch, he did. Him and the banks.

Imagination as restorative. Does it claim truth? Is it science? Should it be?

I went down the street
& saw a dogmatism
blind in one eye
& rheumatic, & cold,
ruby winking in his pegleg. throws the
baby cheerfully in after the bathwater. But it's thought-provoking. And a

Take care, teach your children.



I crouch among the goats reading blue ribbons into distant shreds where lightning prevails. There is time where there was no time before, all of it potable, all of it eye locked with the lynx on the tunnel's slick and tilted edge. Then we are in, or one of us was, and there were remarks. There were cold compresses and someone slapping us softly, it seemed there were two, someone asking us please to 'come to' and we did. And then there was one. I don't know which of us stayed. Perhaps neither. Some ghost of an unbegotten child, or of that child's unbegotten mother. Yes, it is reasonable to run through the channels in Terrycloth and sip large glasses of sun in China. These are the Pleasure Isles. We were born here, if we were lucky. The difference is we will miss it. We still do. They neither knew nor cared. The distance between is difficult to bridge.


Date: Jun 12 1996 7:09 AM EDT
From: (Richard Brender)

Hi. Just listened to Mystery Box for the first time.
Outstanding! You've pushed the parameters once again. Heartiest
congrats. We were particularly intrigued by the last stanza of
"Down The Road", reminding us of your vision through the car window
returning from the day's shoot here last winter. Caroline sends
her love.
Speaking of the movie, it's doing well too. Financing's
complete; picture's locked; looping's finished; final scoring and
re-mix to be done by end of June to accomodate Toronto film
festival deadline. John Pearson, independent film guru (the guy
who discovered Spike Lee) saw a rough cut last Friday and was blown
away. Heard you might be in England for awhile, so please advise
when/where we can send a tape. You'll be very pleased.
Keep up the good works. Much love to all. RB.

(NB: the movie is Greg Lachow's "The Wright Brothers" in which I play the captain of a tramp steamer - rh)

good to finally hear from you by email. Hope you don't mind if I print your letter to let folks know about Greg's movie. Putting the new edition of the website up today. Are you on the net yet, or do you still have that Commodore 128k wired to a black and white television? Guess you send the tape to my house and I watch it when I get back at the end August. Unless someone wants to make a Brit video format copy for me. Love to Caroline.


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