The House of Tofu Buddha's on the bookshelf Baba's in the hall Krishna's in the kitchen Ram Dass on the wall Shakti's in the basement Shiva's on the floor Govinda's in the bathroom Erhard's at the door The awareness terrorists are screaming about communication at the House of Tofu, their very chakras pulsing the salty nectar of miso, their blood, pure as comfrey tea, flowing through exclusive blessed veins. The awareness terrorists are calling a tribunal to discuss cosmic names for themselves and you are not on the agenda. And you're not clear you hear what they're saying. And you have some feelings about that you'd like to share, but you just can't transcend. Somehow the entire scene is costing you your aliveness. Somehow you just want to ask: Hey, Hamburger Breath, you got a smoke? |
-at San Diego, 1982
