KRIS KRISTOFFERSON

KRIS KRISTOFFERSON
Who was Kris Kristofferson?,.I'll tell you who he was !!,. He wasn't some little punk ass dude with a freakin' ball cap spun around on the back of his head,. He was a scholar who was tapped into the Mysticism of William Blake and the writings of James Joyce and ten thousand other Bang Hooty writers that laced this planet with incites, teachings, and goody bags full of instant Satori and JUJU. Kris was a Captain in the army when he got to Nashville with the "HOTS FOR Hank" vibes, hunting his own voice like Deneiro in The Deer Hunter..Kris didn't cow tow to slinkin' into scummy ass writers rooms with two or three other limpid dudes or dudettes,.he cordonned himself off from the clap trap and slammed for hours in unfurnished dumps grinding on his guitar like a jack hammer operator till he coaxed the gypsy of cool to lay a tidbit of wisdom on his sweet soul that he could turn into cash to keep the lights on and the cold out..Kris went for the Art Jugular with fury and hell steam that engulfed him in torrents of screaming bouts of archangel cigarettes, and Troll beer, throwing himself into the sweat of wrap around legs of heaving blondes in shanty dive's so roach ridden even lucifer was repulsed,.but the foaming yeast and dangerous hops would ferment into flagons of delirious songs that skewered hearts, groins, livers, entrails, and brains in Rivers of deliverance,.a true seeker of the muse,.rebel outlaw in the tarnished land of ingratiating suits that saw him as a stench and disaster..My friend Kris sliced the world into nubs and kibbles with a guitar and a soft untrained voice,.Honesty can topple dynesty's of stupid, bringing peace and hope to pilgrims who needed a voice. Kris did that.