1972, dig?
We went to a party at our friend Keith’s last night. Hundreds of bikies, surfies and musicians were there.
Then tonight we went to The Artist, by which time I was out of my brain on bacardi. We all sat on the floor and I was completely freaked; can’t remember what the music was like. What a scene, man. Then to Ray’s place and the usual band crowd.
Night work is a real drag now but I hope P uses my work nights to get some songs together. Man, he’s got the ideas. Right now I’d dig to do something for him — a painting, poem or something. Wish I could find The Prophet. He’d really dig that. — Kahlila Gibran 1972

