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The Early Digger Papers
San Francisco,
Fall 1966
Supplementary
NOTE: these sheets are listed in the order of their catalog number
(e.g., DP001, DP002 etc.) BUT this is not the order in which the sheets
appeared. For example, we now know that DP006 was the first
Digger Paper. (See Ringolevio, p. 238) The catalog number is the order in
which I accessioned the collection over the years.en
These sheets were the first printed communication from the two
comrades who would surreptitiously mimeograph them in the SDS offices at
the SF Mime Troupe studio on Howard Street. They were then distributed
anonymously in the Haight-Ashbury. Everyone wanted to know who "The
DIGGERS" were. One of the sheets here answered the question: "regarding
inquiries concerned with the identity and whereabouts of THE DIGGERS:
happy to report THE DIGGERS are not that." |
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[Catalog No.: DP001]
"therefore an erection in the panhandle"
NOTE: no date. Possible internal clues in the mention of the police
captain's offer "of men and machines."
where is PUBLIC at?
where are PUBLIC streets at?
therefore
an erection in the panhandle.
the PUBLIC parks here you can pitch a tent anytime.
PUBLIC streets on riot with truckloads of arms protecting the
private property of super-charging merchants.
the PUBLIC beaches here you can paddy-cake any old time.
PUBLIC streets where fantasy laws justify the concepts of
LOITERING & VAGRANCY.
the PUBLIC schools here you can be conditioned to PUBLIC
opinion in order to express yourself
in the PUBLIC consensus.
PUBLIC streets where agents patrol, undercovered in 'hip'
costumes.
the PUBLIC transport system here drivers black and white
riders for free.
PUBLIC streets where parking meters tick off legality.
the PUBLIC hospitals here you can born, healed, passed away
away.
PUBLIC streets where exhausting autos pollute the air and
mutilate the people.
the PUBLIC housing developments
here you can live a life now
done.
PUBLIC streets where lonliness crowds silent, up-tight sidewalks.
the PUBLIC officers here is the understanding of PUBLIC
service.
- Where in the street can two fingers touch
- Where in the street can you get out of neighborhoods
- Where in the street can you escape the economic net
- Where in the street can you trip out your door and smile
at sincere
- Where in the street can you hitch a hike down the block
- Where in the street can you take off your shoes and sing
and
- dance without disturbing the death called peace
in voice THE D I G G E R S demand an ERECTION!
THE BALLING BOWL
a FREE PUBLIC structure in the panhandle where individuals can
swim in vinyl pools filled with vaseline, WAIL LOVE to downcast
brows, and carry-on as much as they want until they think it
beautiful to stop.
THE D I G G E R S fully understand that the cost of erection
can be added to the PUBLIC debt and especially appreciate Captain
Kiely's generous offer of men and machines to quicken the rise of
the ERECTION and give meaning to its eventual climax.
UP THE BALLING BOWL!
THE D I G G E R S .
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[Catalog No.: DP002]
"The Public Is Any Fool On The Street"
NOTE: no date, but announces the Intersection Game that took place on
Halloween, October 31, 1966.
Public Nonsense Nuisance Public Essence Newsense Public
News
- The Public is Any Fool On The Street
- The Public is Any Fool On The Street
-
- PUBLIC INFORMATION FOOLS ALL OF THE PUBLIC ALL OF THE
TIME
-
- The Public is Any Fool On The Street
-
- PUBLIC STREETS CONVEY MACHINES -- ONLY A FOOL WALKS IN
TRAFFIC
-
- The Public is Any Fool On The Street
- The Public is Any Fool On The Street
[graphic rules]
2 (TWO) SQUARE EVENTS
(for any foot on the street)
THE D I G G E R SQUARE
[graphic of a painting frame]
A square frame to view reality
"An informed public is its own worst enemy." -- M.
McLuhan
Public enemies watch reality don't change that dial an
eventful new season of enemy spectacles
FREE FRAME OF REFERENCE to be worn around the neck, carried,
displayed
Watch the D I G G E R news!
[graphic lines separating columns]
THE INTERSECTION GAME
[diagram of a street intersection with dashed lines crossing each
direction]
Any number of fools can play
Game Board formed by intersection of public streets
OBJECT: Complete all designs within diagram
- Lesser Triangle
- Greater Triangle
- Double Triangle
- The Square
STYLE: DON'T WAIT DON'T WALK
- (umbrella step, stroll,
- cake-walk, sombersault, [sic]
- finger-crawl, squat-
- jump, pilgrimmage,
- philly dog, etc.)
BRING A SQUARE TO DIG THE INTERSECTION GAME
TEST MATCH HAIGHT AND MASONIC MONDAY OCT 31 5:30 pm
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[Catalog No.: DP003]
"When will they all hear the death of Lenny Bruce?"
Note: no date. Internal evidence may provide a clue. Lenny Bruce died August
3, 1966, which preceded any of the Digger Papers.
Let Me Live In A World Pure
Let Me Have Around Me
The Pure
The Pure Heros
there are no more negroes, jews, christians. there is only one
minority in America. and we ask:
- When will BOB DYLAN quit working on Maggie's Farm?
- When will RALPH GLEASON realize he is riding in a Hearst?
- When will TIMOTHY LEARY stand on a streetcorner waiting
for no one?
- When will the JEFFERSON AIRPLANE and all ROCK-GROUPS quit
trying to make it and LOVE?
- When will NORMAN MAILER fill his brooklyn town house with
presses and feed words to a day-tight night-tight
generation?
- When will OSWLEY STANLEY expose the traffic of
alkaline acid and pour his background into LSD-25?
- When will the NEW LEFT RADICAL POLITICOS stop laying down
limp and liberate the consumer?
- When will PABLO PICASSO take the seven thousand paintings
he has in storage and give them away with a smile?
- When will KEN KESEY swallow the ocean and take us all to
Yucatan?
- When will MICHAEL BOWEN and friends use, look through,
but not package the expansion of human consciousness?
- When will ALLEN GINZBURG be blessed by his own seed
and golden hairy nakedness?
- When will ART-FOR-ART'S-SAKE climb higher than the social
responsibility of the civilized past?
- When will they all hear the death of LENNY BRUCE?
Our bowels quake
in constipated false alarms.
We are often naked and nameless
in boring rooms with tedious records
and toy tops that make colored sparks
for drug stained eyes,
smelling of weeds.
Ghosts haunt our heads,
demons are loose in our spinal fluid.
Uptite over glass beads
that focus where we are at
for just a little while...
on dirty strings hung
from Victorian gas fixtures.
Somebody cries in a slow motion bag
and blows the mind
of a skinny, drab redhaired girl
freaking out the gathering
sending everybody to the icebox
checking out the seconal supply.
Somebody in the tall, dark highway
is still c r y i n g for Lenny,
and won't come down just yet.
THE D I G G E R S . |
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[Catalog No.: DP004]
"So, don't worry about surface reality... Trust the
specialists."
NOTE: the date of this Digger Paper is Friday, September 30, 1966 which is
known from the reference to "Terence O'Flaherty in today's Chronicle."
A-Political Or, Criminal Or Victim Or Or Or Or Or Or Or
"And so, on the surface of daily life, consciousness
forms beings and bodies that one can see gathering and
colliding in the atmosphere, to distinguish their
personalities. And these bodies form hideous cabals where
every eventuality comes into the world to argue against what
is beyond appeal.
I am not Andre Breton and I did not go to Baltimore but this
is what I saw on the banks of the Hudson."
- You're born a citizen of a nation.
- A citizen of a nation with rulers who legislate rules
commanding you to be free.
- Free to be conditioned in school until you're sixteen.
- Free to be a compulsory soldier.
- Free to pay sixty percent of your taxes to the military
budget.
- Free to get legally married.
- Free to work for a minimum wage.
- Free to vote when you're twenty-one.
- Free to vote for the democratic or republican party of
your choice.
- Free to buy clothes, food, and property from the 200
corporations which account for 45% of the total U.S.
manufacturing in 1966.
- Free to obey arbitrary curfews.
- Free to have your freedom regulated by officers who are
your friends and who protect you.
PROTECT you from obscenity.
PROTECT you from loitering.
PROTECT you from nudity.
PROTECT you from sedition and subversion.
PROTECT you from marijauna, LSD, DURGS. [sic]
PROTECT you from gambling.
PROTECT you from homosexuality.
PROTECT you from statutory rape.
PROTECT you from common-law marriage.
PROTECT you from abortion.
PROTECT you from lonely you.
PROTECT you from demonstrations against your protectors.
So, don't worry about surface reality. Afterall, Terrance
O'Flaherty in today's Chronicle, says you're the average fool on
the street and have no right to speak for yourself. So trust
society. Trust the specialists. And trust the merchants,
especially the associates of the Psychedelic Shop, the Artists
Liberation Front, and the I/Thou. They have a dialogue with the
protectors, who cordially greeted you 8:15 Thursday night, for
your own safety and their own private property. Police are
your friends. But don't by all means, don't ask George Metevsky
[sic] his answer would be a medley of incoherent shouts of
fury.
THE D I G G E R S .
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[Catalog No.: DP005]
"Never-The-Less, Walter Slezax pumped the pomegranite..."
NOTE: no date.
Cool Cranberry Horsehaired Mouth Cluttered With Apple Cores
and so, i suffered from an awful frenzy of collapsed
assumptions.
Regardless, I tried to pick my nose on the handlebars of
willowed macaroons as they tripped towards the vestibule of
Tracy's funeral parlor and danced in the middle of the ice block
where Super Spade directed jellied traffic to the high way of
chewed Bazooka bubble gum and fat city dog kennels.
Needless to say, REVOLUTION NOW -- now spinning -- now now --
invisible -- now floating -- somewhere -- outthere -- waiting to
grind someone's brain. Someone questioning Something without
getting Somewhere and Somehow losing inner rest while revolution
g o e s spinning -- floating -- outthere -- somewhere -- waiting
to grind someone's brain.
Never-The-Less, Walter Slezax pumped the pomegranite until the
concrete swill of crisp clear delusions squeezed the galaxies
between the corniced web of my purple laughing cheeks.
but i did tell the personnel manager and his shirt and tie and
parted hair that i would accept three dollars an hour for fifty
forty hour five day weeks and fully appreciate the overwhelming
opportunity to do what i wanted to get done on all those fast
backed saturdays, sundays, legal holidays and two-week vacations
where all those wide-haired nipples suck the fun life.
Besides Chemical Heaven IS an old faithful preacher delivering
sermons on the impossibility of f i g h t i n g p a r a n o i a w
i t h PARANOIA while hecklers mill about a Mercedes Benz waiting
to be taught old trips.
SPOON DOON MOON COON HEY SPOON YOU'RE A BUNDLE O' JOY YOU'RE
AN UGLY MOTHERFUCKER BUT YOU'RE STILL MY BOY. yea. yea.
FLASH
striking results of guidelines -- between 1960 and 1965 profits
went up by 52% after taxes -- dividend payments to stockholders
increased by 43% -- the weekly after tax take home pay of factory
workers was up by only 21% -- oh yes -- ho hum............
AFTERALL: i need a sick school teacher lover for two weeks to
teach me where it's at. somebody ugly anyway. i hate moles.
anyone who could compare my age with the calendar of idols and
damn my drugged infancy for its bleating canals and cornponed
nostalgia. HOWEVER, i don't want to kiss her. but i need to. i
need you. i just want to hold you...you. you really gottahold on
mi. i say you really got a hold on me. you really do. and so they
do. reely. speaking of all these incredulous
thoughtsmellsofyodel. and i want to know why i consent to words
when so many other possible scenes do really exist for some who
are on welfare.
I say what I have seen and believe and whoever says I have not
seen what I have seen, I will now tear off his head.
THE D I G G E R S . |
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[Catalog No.: DP006]
"...expanded consciousness is a selfish hippy kissing the
system's ass..."
NOTE: according to Ringolevio (page 238) this was the first Digger Paper.
Time To Forget
FORGET the war in vietnam. Flowers are lovely.
FORGET America's 3300 military bases. Make music.
FORGET Wichita Vortex Sutra. Words are stronger than flesh.
FORGET planned war with China. Beauty is Carnaby Street.
FORGET the Dominican Republic. Todo Todo Hassan Sabbah.
FORGET police Brutality. The cops are your friends.
FORGET upheaval in negro ghettos. Spades ain't hip.
FORGET the Rumford Act. Show love.
FORGET the National Guard. Positively Fourth Street.
FORGET inmates on deathrow. It's a long time passing.
FORGET hypocracy of business. The merchants are your friends.
FORGET U.S. billion dollar investment in South Africa. Money is.
FORGET HUELGA DiGiorgio. We all live in a yellow submarine.
FORGET organized crime. Eternity is long and, sometimes, wide.
FORGET HUAC. The sun's not yellow, it's chicken.
FORGET concentration camps for subversives. It's a bummer.
FORGET FSM, VDC, SDS, SNCC, MARK COMFORT. Big Brother and the
Holding Co.
FORGET Mime Troupe, Lenny Bruce, The Beard. Strobe lights are
groovy.
You're free to forget. So forget! Follow the calm business
tactics of the Psychedelic Shop, the I and Thou, and all other
marketeers of expanded consciousness (Moe's Bookstore is
important, really!) and dig yourself. Touch reality only for sex,
only to eat, and only to join the Artist's Liberation Front for your
own safety.
Afterall, expanded consciousness is a selfish hippy
kissing the system's ass for the greater glory of the lonely
dropout, isn't that right, Uncle Tim!
THE D I G G E R S .
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[Catalog No.: DP007]
"...and so ... take a cop to dinner this week and feed
his power to judge the morality of San Francisco...."
TAKE A COP TO DINNER
COP A DINNER TO
TAKE A COP DINNER
COP A TAKE
Mr. Answer Man | what is a weapon | worse | ten times | worse, | than
the
Hydrogen | Bomb?
Why a cunt | which is | ten times | larger | than the largest | cock
| | extent, | mickey.
Degoutante, | said mickey | kissing cop | to hedge the bet.
Take a cop to dinner. Racketeers take cops to dinner with payoffs.
Pimps take cops to dinner with free tricks.
Dealers take cops to dinner with free highs.
Business takes cops to dinner with graft.
Unions and corporations take cops to dinner with post-retirement jobs.
Schools and professional clubs take cops to dinner with free tickets to
athletic events.
The Catholic Church takes cops to dinner by exempting them from
religious duties.
The Department of Justice takes cops to dinner with laws giving them the
right to do almost anything.
The
Department of Defense takes cops to dinner by releasing them from all
military
obligations.
Establishment newspapers
take cops to dinner by propagating the image of
the friendly, uncorrupt
policeman.
Places of entertainment take cops to
dinner by admitting them without
charge.
Merchants take cops to dinner with
discounts and gifts.
The Psychedelic Shop takes cops to dinner by
catering to them with signs in
their window.
The I/Thou takes cops to dinner with free coffee and
discussions offering
discriminating insights into hipsterism.
Cops take cops to dinner by granting them immunity to prosecution for
misdemeanors.
Cops take themselves to dinner by inciting riots.
AND SO, IF YOU OWN ANYTHING OR YOU DON'T, TAKE A COP TO DINNER THIS WEEK AND
FEED HIS POWER TO JUDGE THE MORALITY OF SAN FRANCISCO.
n.b. GOURMET GEORGE METEVSKY WOULD REMIND EVERYONE NOT TO MAKE THE MISTAKE OF
ARNOLD SCHUSTER WHO SERVER [sic] THE RIGHT COURSE AT THE WRONG TIME.
THE D I G G E R S*
*regarding inquiries concerned with the identity and whereabouts
of THE D I G G E R S: happy to report THE D I G G E R S are not that.
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[Catalog No.: DP008]
"You as consumer are a frozen product ..."
AND NOW I LIVE AND NOW MY LIFE IS DONE MY LIFE NOW AND I LIVE DONE
[Vertical text:] INSTANT CONSTANT
elaine esposito thirty-one a world record in human tragedy
twenty-five year coma is longest period of human unconsciousness
consciously known listed in guinness book of world records marathon
begins on 6 august 1941 only child given anesthesia during surgery for
ruptured appendix NEVER TO KNOW consciousness NEVER TO KNOW mother or
father NEVER TO KNOW incipient encephalitis NEVER TO KNOW the life she
clings to NEVER TO KNOW the baffle of medical science NEVER TO KNOW
meticulous nursing of mother NEVER TO KNOW immaculate as a baby NEVER TO
KNOW eight onces [sic] of special formula through a nasal tube four
times a day NEVER TO KNOW desperate effort to rescue her from
quarter-century nod NEVER TO KNOW the unstirring figure in the pink bed
with the blue bows.
SO WHAT!
COMA
THE ESTATE means it Jesus Christ.
THE ESTATE means it Adolf Eichman.
THE ESTATE means it Julius, Ethel Rosenberg.
THE ESTATE means it Sacco, Vansetti.
THE ESTATE means it Carl Chessman.
THE ESTATE means it Lee Harvey Oswald.
THE ESTATE means it Goodman, Schwerner, Chaney.
THE ESTATE means it Andrew Johnson, Leonard Deadwyler.
THE ESTATE means it Patrice Lumumba, Malcolm X.
THE ESTATE means it John Dillinger.
THE ESTATE means it Arnold Schuster.
THE ESTATE means it Dow Wilson.
THE ESTATE means it Lenny Bruce.
THE ESTATE means it Thalidomide Babies.
THE ESTATE means it Six Million Jews.
THE ESTATE means it Hiroshima.
THE ESTATE means it David Carnevale.
THE ESTATE means it Firing Squads, Gas Chambers, Electric
Chairs, Tar and Feathering, Crucifixtion,
Garroting, Hanging, The Rack, Dunking,
Drawn and Quartered, Burned At The
Stake, Economic WARWARWARWARWAR.
And so by THE WAY
YOU ARE BY YOURSELF, ANY FOOL ON THE STREET. NOTHING IS REALLY
IMPORTANT. IF ONLY THEY LEFT YOU ALONE. NOT A CHANCE. DEATH IS THE LIFE
OF THE ESTATE. YOU AS CONSUMER ARE A FROZEN PRODUCT. YOU LIVE IN THE
CEMENT ENVIRONMENT OF THE AUTHORITY INSTRUCTORS. AND IF YOU SAY THE
RIGHT WORDS THEY'LL GIVE YOU 20 YEARS EVEN IF YOU DON'T.
THE D I G G E R S .
[Vertical text:] AND LIVE MY LIFE NOW DONE AND DONE LIVE NOW LIFE NOW
DONE
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Letter to Innerspace Magazine:
[Catalog No.: DPxxx]
"any articles by metevsky or zapata may be considered D I G G E R
PAPERS. for now."
This piece appeared in Innerspace No. 3 (December, 1966), a
publication edited by Linn (Freeman) House in New York City. It is
important not just for its content but as a missing link between the
early Digger Papers that were distributed in the Haight in September and
October 1966 and the early articles in the Berkeley Barb that were
variously signed George Metesky and Zapata.
inner space:
inner space:
any articles by metevsksy or zapata may be considered D I G G E R
PAPERS. for now.
the diggers have been giving out, providing each other with free FREE
FOOD since the first week of October. and have never missed a day.
diggers have gone to jail for giving FREE SHOWS on the street.
diggers have gone to jail for suspicion of stealing slabs of meat, sacks
of potatoes, etc.
diggers have gone to jail for giving out free acid, grass, dope.
diggers have gone to jail simply because someone wanted them there.
but diggers have never gone to jail peace-fully-ably.
everyone tries to find out who sponsors the digger FREE FOOD. the CP
thinks it's the SP, the SP thinks it's the CP, SDS thinks it's PLP
they all know it's a conspiracy.
well the diggers despise conspiracy
the old left
the new left
they're indifferent to their tactics and don't even bother talking to
them
(SDS NATIONAL COMMITTEE invited D I G G E R S to their national
conference: "no thank you, but thanks just the same. you see. it's
getting late. and well. the turnips. for chrissake the turnips!"
d i g g e r s are street people: they just don't give a fuck! they
live their protest. they have nothing and nothing to lose. they do their
thing for free. and you can ask why? and how revolution? and if you did
this then maybe
but the diggers don't. no, they really don't. and it's
hard for me to understand, but it's true. they're tough. they put down
the psychedelic fashion (revolution is killing people and taking their
property away. if not literally, then figuratively. but never asking
them to buy
), protestors (who keep their leftovers in DOW chemical
baggies) guilt-ridden gift-bearers (a favorite: a guy will come up to a
d I g g e r and say I think what you're doing is beautiful and sort of
palm a ten or twenty across and then have his stomach turned when the
throng is brought together to thank the gentle-man and burn his offering
to saint george metevsky who really hated all those buildings he nicked
with bombs for twenty-three years. all anarchists have a strange fear of
buildings
the diggers, if they are anarchists, don't
they've got a
FREE FRAME OF REFERENCE GARAGE at 1762 Page St. (the address is not a
mailing one for who knows when blue coat will produce his chocolate gun
and duel them out
back to the granite.) where free clothes, food,
total, all, pans/pots
will be available from Dec. 3.
provos
. no, the d i g g e r s are not that. they're total drug
oriented mad ones, who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved,
desirous of everything of the same time, the ones who never yawn or say
a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn, like a fabulous yellow roman
candle exploding like spiders across the sky, and in the middle you see
the blue center light pop and "Awww!" people who have ridden the crest
of kerouac's bum's romance and slammed to earth wailing love! and lady,
they're wailing for maybes. maybe two fingers can touch. maybe streets
won't run into neighborhoods any more. maybe there is something beside
acid indigestion and copsuckers and the gladly dead. just maybe.
WHO AM I?: just a guy who overheard a guy named allan talking to a
guy they call Mr. D i g g e r about a letter you wrote and thought it
would be nice to, seeing he wouldn't
[In vertical typography:]
the black mask is only as conscious as izzy stone. silly coherents
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