Word: marijuana
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Dates: during 1950-1959
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...characters on the screen mouth lost words. On the sound track Kerouac talks on, speaking for them. Visitors knock. "Button your fly and go answer the door," says Kerouac for the mother. The little boy opens the door. Enter Poets Ginsberg and Corso. They drink beer and wine, smoke marijuana, look out the window, where "90-year-old men are being run over by gasoline trucks." The audience now knows that Pull My Daisy is not just another she-bugs-me, she-bugs-me-not story...
...photograph he considers ill-chosen. In effect, what Mailer has produced is a record of an artistic crackup. By the early 1950s the spare, controlled prose of The Naked and the Dead had turned sour and turgid, and its author was drifting in a haze of liquor, seconal and marijuana. Mailer has stopped using "the minor drugs," he says (although he believes that after a few more years of suppression marijuana will be as widely used as was bootleg gin in the '203), but his book gives no sure sign that the wreck is under effective repair...
...noted, the heat was oppressive; the area was a slum; the killers had contacts with a marijuana salesman; they were all Puerto Rican immigrants; the two leaders had stepparents, and one lived with a sister whose husband had deserted her. Yet the city scoffed at the "theory that blames juvenile crime primarily on environment...
...from the shadows came half a dozen teen-age youngsters. "Where's Frenchy?" demanded one. Nobody knew, although some were aware that cocky Frenchy Cordero, from downtown, had recently been chased out of the neighborhood after he tried to sell marijuana to a Clinton woman. The intruders withdrew. Scared, the Clinton kids decided to hurry on home. But as they started to go, the invaders appeared again...
...sandaled beat likes to be with his own kind, to riffle through his quarterlies, write craggy poetry, paint crusty pictures, and pursue his never-ending quest for the ultimate in sex and protest. When deterred from such pleasures by the goggle-eyed from Squaresville, the beatnik packs his pot (marijuana), shorts and bongo drums, grabs his black-hosed, pony-tailed beatchick and cuts out. Lately, beatniks in increasing numbers have been cutting out of the incipient squareness of San Francisco and swinging in the shabby little Los Angeles beach community of Venice. There last week the regular inhabitants were howling...