Preface
Oh sure, there’s plenty of documentaries and movies about the 1960’s. You’ll get all the standard scenes, such as the hippies in San Francisco, Viet Nam war protests, civil rights marches, political assassinations and blah, blah, blah. But what was it like for all the millions of regular kids in America?
This is the story of just a typical kid back in that summer of 1967, the “Summer of Love” the media christened it. America was in its heyday and despite all the turmoil going on, most people were living the good life. Technology was on the rise helping to increase the standard of living to previously untold heights. In my view, the USA was transitioning from the analog to digital age. The nation’s wealth now afforded the general populace the luxury of concerning themselves with noble causes such as “world hunger, “world peace”, and people’s “rights”. Worrying about where the next meal was coming from or how the rent was to be paid was left for the hoi polloi and the third world. The privilege of moral superiority, previously an indulgence of the idle rich, was now available for all who cared to care.
This unbridled free time gave the American teenager ample opportunities to explore. Since it was a new age, there were no rules yet. It was a nascent time where anything goes. The do-gooders hadn’t had a chance to ruin it yet. We felt strong and alive, there was nothing we couldn’t do. We were immune to all the ills that had plagued generations before us. We were preborn with a secret knowledge, we were smarter and wiser than our parents or grandparents would ever be.
And then, gradually the great revolution wound down. It turned out that we were just as misguided and confused as anybody else, it’s just that we had more ways to display it. But for some of us who felt innately blessed for a little while, we still have a sparkle in our eye. The music we listened to had names that didn’t make sense. Buffalo Springfield, Jefferson Airplane, Disraeli Gears, the titles didn’t make sense by themselves. They only made sense within the context of the times. But that’s what made it psychedelic. It was a secret code without a key. It could only be deciphered with a soft smile and a faraway stare. If two unrelated words didn’t make any sense when you put them together, well that was just gibberish. But on the other hand, if two unrelated words just seemed to mysteriously fit, if they enticed you to say something goofy like “far out,” then you had cracked the psychedelic code.
So it is with the Psychedelic Daffodil. It’s more of an experience than a book.
