Brautigan Week: Free City House by Lily Pond

23 January 2007

"it was probably the weed, soft on the air around us. and we sat, occupants and stragglers, around the table, helping richard pack his seeds."



'free city' was a house, it was a community, it was a hang-out for dreamers, and for those who made dreams come true.

on willard between frederick and parnassus stood a rambling old white victorian mansion with a yard planted with vegetables, swing sets, and garbage cans borrowed temporarily from golden gate park so they could be painted "better colors."

it's inhabitants came from around the country: beat poets mixed with friends of buckminster fuller, young first-time hippies and entrepreneurs and junkies and madmen all gathered on pillows around the many sets of doors which served as the dining room table, telling stories, smoking dope, eating whale meat (that had been donated) stew with spotty tomatoes donated by the grocer down on the corner because they now looked to ugly to sell. candles and incense lit, jam-jars of flowers, gallons of gallo wine... long into the night.

among the frequent guests was brautigan. i think he was mainly a hero to us all for his poem, 'all watched over by machines of loving grace." yes, precursors of the dot.com era all.

All Watched Over by Machines of Loving Grace

I like to think (and
the sooner the better!)
of a cybernetic meadow
where mammals and computers
live together in mutually
programming harmony
like pure water
touching clear sky.

I like to think
(right now, please!)
of a cybernetic forest
filled with pines and electronics
where deer stroll peacefully
past computers
as if they were flowers
with spinning blossoms.

I like to think
(it has to be!)
of a cybernetic ecology
where we are free of our labors
and joined back to nature,
returned to our mammal
brothers and sisters,
and all watched over
by machines of loving grace.

Richard Brautigan

brautigan's girlfriend of the moment was hilda who lived in a tiny room off the dining room. hilda's familia recipe served as commune breakfasts every morning, serve yourself:

1 lb. wheat germ
2 lb. oat flakes (oatmeal)
2 lb. rye flakes
2 lb. wheat flakes
2 lb. soy flakes or flour
1-2 oz. lecithin
1-2 oz. rice polishings
2-5 lb.  raisin, dried fruit, nut mix (how much you want)
2 lb. sunflower seeds
1/2 lb. pumpkin seeds
any soft groovy grains
hot milk & honey good

while the women ran the two floors upstairs, cooking, sewing, etc., the men ran the basement, keeping a single, ancient mimeograph machine busy. a "1% free" campaign was going on; somehow, just by us suggesting it, all corporations were to give us 1% of their income, and, see, we'd know what to do with it that was good, and true, and right. kinda like the night one of the guys shanghai'd a city bus and gave all the riders a free city tour.

fuller manifestos were printed up, ''how to make the world work." peter coyote, who actually lived a couple of blocks away, often gave away our flyers while he lectured (performed) on the steps of city hall each noon on alternatives, and possibilities, and the life that we had the opportunity like no one before us to create.......  and etc. and etc. and etc.

when some kid was arrested for featuring an american flag on his clothing, the next day we all showed up wearing american flags. yes, this was a revolution, but a revolution won with peace, not with war.

and by planting seeds.

it was the spring of 1968 when richard brautigan produced a small folio called 'please plant this book" (reproduced in its entirety here). in it were eight multi-colored paper packets, squash.... sweet alyssum.... each with a poem about how gardens will redeem us. these packets had to be filled with seed.

it was a sunny afternoon, but the sun coming in through the bay window at the head of the dining room table seemed muted, fuzzy. it was probably the weed, soft on the air around us. and we sat, occupants and stragglers, around the table, helping richard pack his seeds.

the lettuce packet, periwinkle in color, read:

the only hope we have is our
children and the seeds we give them
and the gardens we plan together.

by putting our little handsful of seed in to the envelopes, sealing them, and passing them on, we knew that, at that moment, we were changing the world.

---

lily pond