Berkeley Hippie Revival Project

BHRP WANTS YOU

That’s right, BHRP is getting EVIL. This means I need a concentrated band of havoc-wreakers to assist me.

If you want to help out with larger activities and community projects BHRP plans to conduct: EMAIL ME.

I need those willing to have fun and be mischievous.

While I’m not sure about every other reader, but one of y’all said you felt embarrassed to respond to the email in front of so many people.

IF YOU JUST REPLY, I WILL BE THE ONLY ONE RECEIVING THE MESSAGE.

Please let me know your thoughts on any stories, activities, or other content that may be shared.

Please…

There is a certain intimacy in the silent conversation that occurs when one and another, or just one, decides to no longer speak.

Are we now strangers? Maybe, but I don’t see that holding for those who have had entangled narratives.

The first day of returning to in-person classes in 2020, I was young and cold in the air-conditioned science room. I sat by myself; It was a school filled with those I didn’t know.

We would learn from a teacher over Zoom, as he stayed behind at home for the year. We all took the chance to fuck around in his class.

We would talk over his lecture while we all muted. We would play ping-pong on long desks we pushed together. We would trade answers during tests.

I met them here: Rena, Jana, and Paco.

I am no longer on speaking terms with Jana. Paco and I snap photos of creative projects to each other, sometimes. I will be seeing Rena while I party it in Tallahassee this coming Halloween.

With each of them, there is an ever-evolving perception as we mature and realize what we meant to each other in our teenage years.

We will learn, work, live, and reflect.

“This is my chopped list.”

“Am I too high to drive? I’ll do jumping jacks to test it out.”

“Do you want a shot?!” *pours vodka on my hand*

Rena is the girl you go to for a soap-opera-like story about a boy.

Rena is who you go to for advice on your womanly troubles.

Rena — what is she doing over in Tallahassee?

What life-changing tales and drama is she facing?

The first time I tried acid, I ate a tub of homemade nachos. It had a pound and a half of beef.

I didn’t sleep that night.

I go to class the next day and saw Rena in the hallway; she was the first to know.

Another day, she tells me about losing her virginity in the cafeteria. I laugh because the way she describes it makes it seem really awkward.

Milestones and teenage traditions, Rena has been there.

I’m sure they’re doing alright now.

I am not who I am now without them.

Jana made me homeless one night.

I was told I could stay over at theirs.

I hang out.

It’s 1 am now.

They said, “You must go.”

I said, ‘huh?’

They said, “Get the fuck out.”

I was 16 on the streets in the middle of downtown Miami.

I couldn’t return home because if I woke my parents up with an alarm system at that hour, it would not be ok for me for the next 3 months.

I walked around for a couple hours and found a bench at the park to sleep on.

Jana also taught me how to roll, and we watched movies, and we lived life the way Miami teenagers should: listening to ASAP and getting as high as 15 dollars would get you.

Their boyfriend made ’em stop speaking to the friend group. It happened before, but they didn’t call back this time. 

Years have gone by, and maybe I see them at a shop or show. We just lock eyes for a second and continue about our shenanigans.

From what I can tell now, they don’t seem to want to interact with me very much. Perhaps it’s the pain of all the shit we went through, or maybe it’s just lazy hatred.

I hope they’re doing well.

I am not who I am now without them.

He has an insane ability with pastel, graphite, charcoal, and the like.

He is an artist with an eye like not many others. He is a force of cartoon and comic realism.

We too got into incredible bouts of bafoonery, whipping around in his little red Chevy Spark, smoking it up in garage parks, and generally being a nuisance to people above the age of 23.

One time, he tried to back up from a parking spot in the garage park and hit a truck. When we checked the damage, his car was messed with, and the truck was clean.

One time, he crashed into a woman in front of him at 15 mph off of a Xanax. Again, his car was messed up, and the other one was fine.

One time, he tells me he figured out a new way to die, “just stepping on the gas and not letting go.”

Paco departed from my life quickly, because of some medical issues, we could no longer hang out.

He went and turned to Christ for a couple of months, got his GED, started working at the local Crate & Barrel, and is on the way with his Marine Science degree.

He’s got a girlfriend and a life at its own speed.

We still send each other photos of the art we work on.

I have hope that on a day not far from now, we will be sitting on a bench in Margerette Pace Park, looking out into the bay, and at the other end, we can see ourselves, a little younger, staring back, and we can tell, very clearly, we are far from them now.

I am not who I am now without them.

Yet another incredible Matty Davies piece. This one feels creepy and crawly and filled with fear and urgency:

The Final Rhythm Before Homogony

“Seeds cling like headless beetles as I name my every sin.

My seedy cloak doesn’t have an audience to win.

Together, the beetles realize, fashion was never the goal.”

“IronThroat has your soul.”

– Pedro Conway UCF Orlando, Florida