…and the scorpions turned a phosphorous blue color and sort of hummed…
And it’s Sunday and I’m in need of a break from too much reality or maybe it’s the other way around and I need to come in from the cold and sober up.
It’s hard to tell which is which anymore…
I had a beautiful crazy week. That sounds more exotic than it actually is. Essentially I trained. I coached. I consulted. I mentored. I designed. I exercised the full gamut of my professional life. And still had time left over for fantasy.
I’m working way through The Soft Machine
. It’s definitely a madman’s dream of a book. Having read some of Burroughs letters and a biography of him, I can see where his life intersects with his fictional work. His art is his life all cut up and mixed like an alchemical potion turning lead into gold (if you like that sort of thing).
As I think through my own process, I can see why writers like Burroughs, Kerouac, Henry Miller, and Hunter S. Thompson appeal to me. I’m not the type who wants to sit in a room and dream stuff up. I need to live it, to be the protagonist of my own story. But of course, day in and day out is mostly composed of mundane moments. It’s the flights of fancy that liven things up. This blend of reality and make believe serves up something that truly engages the mind. It’s like the psychedelic experience I had with mushrooms in Amsterdam…the perfect blending of reality and non-ordinary reality.
We feel disenfranchised from ourselves when we don’t do the one thing we ought to do. It is only when we fully exercise our capacities and take root in the world and feel at home with ourselves that we grow.
What do I want to be known for? A question that haunts me to no end. It’s what all of the priest are looking for. All of the workers are running around loose like a thousand centipedes.
Break free from the control beam. Something that is easier said than done. The control beam is too much. Very few souls manage to break free. Sometimes I have the Will but not the strength to break free. Other times I have the strength, but not the Will. So here I sit.
You needn’t doubt the purity of my intentions though, I am just as confounded as you. But I have consulted with a Woman of Knowledge to see if she might reveal to me the secret meaning of the centipedes.
I used to “get my instructions from street signs, newspapers and pieces of conversation” I’d snatch out of the air. Now it’s all social media feeds, the flick of a thumb while I’m standing in line or pretending to listen to someone talk to me, telling me about their life.