A Simple Blog
Robert Stone writes in The New Yorker ("The Prince of Possibility," June 14 & 21, 2004) of an interlude he spent with Neal Cassady and Ken Kesey near Manzanillo, Mexico, after the New York World's Fair of 1964. Cassady became inseparable from a parrot he named Rubiaco.
How the parrot survived its friendship with Cassady is beyond me; as far as I remember, neither he nor anyone else ever fed the bird. Twenty-five years later, on Kesey's farm, Janice and I woke to Neal's voice from the beyond. (The man himself had died by the railroad tracks outside San Miguel de Allende in 1968.) "Fuckin' Denver cops," he muttered bitterly. "They got a grand theft auto. I tell them that ain't my beef." We rose bolt upright and found ourselves staring into Rubiaco's unkindly green eye.