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Author Self Promotion > We Only Came to Dream

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message 1: by John (last edited Mar 07, 2016 06:51AM) (new)

John Vollmer My book, We Only Came to Dream, is available on Kindle. It is a nonfiction memoir of the counterculture ("hippie) era. Here is a brief sample:

But the rocks ARE time.
Each crystal of quartz, sliver of mica or pebble of calcified limestone, by its grain and color and texture, reveals how old it is, what temperature and pressure formed it, from what mineral it developed — each stone is a snapshot of a moment in real time. Every drop of rain that had ever fallen in this dry place was only a day in the drowsy procession of seasons and the seas were the dominant chord to the tonic of the stones. The oldest sound on earth, a continuous sound thruout all those ages, has been the sound of the surf — the seas incessantly lapping against the crumbling aprons of rock. I could feel in my bones the thin skin of the present riding atop this deep ocean of desert eternity; the breadth of time suffused me. My mind half-slumbered: life is a rainbow, fashioning itself into pretty arcs after a morning shower. The whorls and racemes of evolution fold in upon the rock, recording the smoke-like passage and the fantastic colors, dancing in the sunlight.
And then, I don't know why, pumas came to mind. Pumas in the crevices. Oh, lord.
I began to feel awfully alone up there — why in hell did I finish that joint? Soon I began to think about scorpions and rattlesnakes and. . . .oh, shit. The car looked very small and far away. Were pumas really dangerous? I craned my neck to look up at the top of this miniature Matterhorn — oh, hell, what if I went ahead and climbed the rest of the way up? At least it would get my mind off of pumas and . . . damn, I had to do SOMEthing.
I got up, afraid to go back down to the car, afraid I'd begin to run in sheer panic, so I began to climb. And rather quickly I discovered something I had never really noticed before — hard as it is to go UP a mountain, it is a whole hell of a lot easier than trying to go back DOWN again. Ten feet up, I no longer had any choice.
This was not good. I moved slowly up the side of the cliff and swore over and over that I'd never, ever, try such a ridiculous thing again. I was no mountain-climber . . . what did I think I was doing? The image of Anton on the side of that fjord came to mind — I had to make sure I didn't freeze and wind up plastered on the side of that cliff like a bat skewered in the light of an arc lamp.
A foothold on a small piece of ledge, then a handhold in a tiny crack . . . inch by inch I sidled up and over, straining as much as I could towards a low saddle near the crest. That last little bit was the worst, but finally I made it — just a few feet to go, at last! Panting and sweating, utterly exhausted and nearly out of my mind with fear, I hauled myself up and stood on the crest, trembling but triumphant. By god, I've done it! I actually climbed all the way up this . . . er, . . . um, . . . what's this? On the other side . . . on the other side . . . there were kids up there! Kids! What in the hell are they doing up here? They're looking at me like I'm stark staring mad and there . . . are . . . STAIRS! Actual stairs going up the other side of the mountain! Stairs?!?
The parents of the kiddies hove into view and we exchanged dumbfounded looks. Nobody said a word.

John V.


message 2: by John (new)

John Vollmer It is very cheap and gets 5 5-star reviews.


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