Bob Dylan's voice is raunching and rheuming in the old jacklegged chants in huge volume from out the speakers up in the redwood tops up on the dirt cliff across the highway__He-e-e-e-ey Mis-ter Tam-Bou-rine Man__as part of Sandy Lehmann-Haupt's Non-Station KLSD program, the indomitable disco-freak-jockey Lord Byron Styrofoam himself, Sandy, broadcasting over a microphone in a cabin and spinning them for you__Cassady revved up so tight it's like mechanical speed man sprocket__Mountain Girl ready__Hey, Kesey!__ Hermit grin__page ablaze__men, women, children, painted and in costume__ricochet around the limelit dell__Argggggghhhhh__around 3 P.M. they started hearing it. p.152

Then Allen Ginsberg was in front of the microphone with finger cymbals on each hand, dancing around with a beard down to his belly and chanting Hindu chants into the microphone booming out over California, U.S.A., Hare Krishna hare krishna hare krishna hare krishna__what the mollyfrock is hairy krishna__who is this hairy freak__but you can't help yourself, you got to groove with this cat in spite of yourself.

The filthy kooks__by nightfall the cops were lined up along the highway, car after car, just across the creek, outside the gate, wondering what the fock. The scene was really getting weird. The Pranksters had everything in their electronic arsenal going, rock 'n roll blazing through the treetops, light projections streaming through the gorge, Station KLSD blazing and screaming over the cops' heads, people in Day-Glo regalia blazing and lurching in the gloom, the Angels going Haw__Haw__Haw__Haw... p.54

One night Kesey took about 1,500 micrograms and several other Pranksters took lesser doses and they got down on the floor and started the Humanoid Radio. They started babbling, going into echolalia, ululation, all manner of nonverbal expression, talking in Tongues, as it were. The idea was to try to hit that beam and that mode that would enable you to communicate with beings on other planets, other galaxies...They were all high as hell... p.173

By this time more of the Pranksters have come up to the platform. They have found some electrical outlets and they have run long cords up to the platform, for the guitars and basses and horns. Kesey is the next to last speaker. He is to be followed by some final Real Barnburner of a speaker and then__the final surge and the march on Oakland.

From the moment Kesey gets up there, it is a freaking jar. His jacket glows and dusk, and his helmet. Lined up behind him are more Day-Glo crazies, wearing aviator helmets and goggles and flight suits and Army tunics, Babbs, Gretch, Walker, Zonker Mary Microgram, and little Day-Glo kids, and half of them carrying electric guitars and horns, mugging and moving around in Day-Glo streaks. The next jar is Kesey's voice, it is so non-forensic. He comes on soft, in the Oregon drawl, like he's just having a conversation with 15,000 people...

Whereupon he reaches into his great glowing Day-Glo coat and produces a harmonica and starts playing it right into the microphone,Home, home on the range, hawonking away on the goddamn thing__Home...home...on the ra-a-a-a-ange hawonkawonk... p.197

They hear that all right. The sound of the phrase__Fuck it__sounds so weird, so shocking, even here in Free Speech citadel, just coming out that way over a public loud-speaker, rolling over the heads of 15,000 souls__

__Home, home on the range hawonkawonkawonka, and the Pranksters beginning to build up most madly on their instruments, now, behind the harmonica, sounding like an insane honky-tonk version of Juan Carrillo who devised 96 tones on the back seat of a Willy's jeep... pp199-200