I recently finished reading “Demon Box” by Ken Kesey. Kesey is one of the great American authors, best known for his 1960s book “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest”. I went through a phase in the late 90s where I read Kesey, Tom Wolfe, Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and Jim Morrison’s poetry. I also read a lot of Aldous Huxley, who remains one of my favorite writers. These literary figures were counterculture, pushing limits with drugs, free love, and other ideals and driving the hippie movements. Their writing showcases American during that mostly bygone era.
But back to Kesey. I bought Demon Box along with several Huxley books and Wolfe’s The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test in my second-ever Amazon order on January 30, 1999. I have had this book for 27 years and never read it until now. I guess there is a bit of symmetry that 27 is how old Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, and Janis Joplin were when they died, and they were heavily inspired by that era and literature – The Doors is literally named after Huxley’s book Doors of Perception. So I have had Demon Box sitting on my shelf for a long time. About time I read it.
Published in 1986, Demon Box is not a great book. It is more like a mixtape of essays written in the late 1960s to the 1980s. Like most mixtapes, there are nuggets that stand out, but a lot of flotsam and jetsam. The parts that do stand out appealed not only because of the story, but because of Kesey’s position in life. The essays were written after Kesey stepped away from the counterculture scene to live his life with his family on a small farm in Oregon. He was still writing, but focused more on his rural, quiet life. He was no longer driving around the country with a bus load of hippies distributing acid and preaching against the powers that be.
Many of the better stories in Demon Box involve Kesey’s friends and acquaintances visiting him as they continue their wayward lifestyles. There are people fleeing to Canada, people convincing him to go to jubilees and rallies, and a gaggle of Hell’s Angels who hang out in order repair their motorcycles. There are also a few wanderers and vagabonds who want the famous author’s guidance and wisdom of which he is not in the business of giving. He is done with the scene. It’s not that he is embracing modernity or the materialism of the 1980s, but he is enjoying isolation with his family. Sorta like a psychological Walden Pond if Henry David Thoreau had cameos from friends.
Demon Box reminded me a lot of the 2016 song “Dorks” by Aesop Rock, the chorus of which goes “Party over here, I’ll be over there”. Like Kesey generations before, Aesop Rock left his scene - mid-2000s hip-hop – to live in Oregon away from the mainstream. Like Kesey, Aesop Rock is also an amazing wordsmith. Check out his song “Lotta Years” which preceded Dorks on the album, and is also about facing the passing of time.
Both Aesop Rock and Kesey have me thinking about scenes and aging. What does it mean to create as you get older? What does it mean to create and not be part of a scene? Perhaps you are a storyteller about the scene, celebrating what’s behind and recalling days past. Or perhaps creating for those who still ride with you in a way they understand. Maybe it’s a mix of both.
Time takes. It constantly moves forward. But time also gives. It gives opportunities to live, learn, love, and laugh. (Ugh, did I just use Live, Laugh, Love in a post? Sorry.) You can’t let getting older mean getting sad. Gotta leave room for new experiences. Sometimes a new excitement appears – such as my recent post on the Knicks winning the NBA Championship, something I never thought would happen. I might fall in love, get married, or have a kid one day. Yeah, I am getting old to be a dad, but let’s leave room for it. Let’s not close opportunities for moments just because of a number on a calendar.
My good friend Chris (some know him as SportsChump) recently wrote an essay on turning 58. Entitled “How To Tell If You’re “Young” Old or “Old” Old”, Chris and his friend J-Dub write about their life as 58-year-olds. While J-Dub is battling ailments and succumbing to an early bedtime, Chris is still bartending at a popular Irish pub, providing spirits for folks half his age. Chris golfs, goes to the gym, and is showing only a few signs of slowing down. He still works in the scene, albeit from the safety and financial benefit of behind a bar.
I am a decade from 58, but like Kesey or Aesop Rock, I have several scenes that I no longer affiliate with. Some of which I have never felt further from (looking at you, FSU). Many of the jobs and career fields I was once a part of I also no longer work with.
But it’s the people. The good people, the friends, the family, the friends who turned into family, the co-workers who turned into friends, the 10, 20, 30-year friends who keep life exciting. It’s the real people. And I also always leave room to meet new people.
This is where social media can be deceiving. Connecting doesn’t mean friends. I’ve been connected to old college acquaintances for almost 20 years. I don’t know anything about them besides what they post online. And most of us of a certain age aren’t posting like we used to, and some us are leaving social media completely, leaving only a profile and connections on a friend list, but nothing of substance. If I really knew them, their presence on social media wouldn’t matter. I would know them in the real world.
Besides the people, it is the classics that I also find solace in. Timeless art, music, and literature that yearn to be discovered. I’ve been listening to a lot of classical, jazz, and soul albums recently. After finishing Kesey, I began reading Anatole France’s 1914 novel The Revolt of the Angels. Going back even further. Perhaps this 112-year-old work will inspire a scene in a yet-to-be-written novel.
One of the benefits of going back to the classics is retrospection. You read, sing, or explore works you once admired to see if they still reflect your beliefs. Can you still relate? Media of the past provides insight to how we’ve changed. Are you still the angsty teen listening to counterculture music or reading counterculture literature?
Personally, I think I am done trying to change the world. I done with those scenes. Maybe I am just trying to save what’s left.
All this to say, I give Ken Kesey’s Demon Box 3 of 5 stars. Not good enough to stay on my bookshelf for another 27 years. Some essays were better than average, some were boring and haphazard. Kesey published Demon Box when he was 49. I will be 49 this year. Maybe that’s life.
