Red Hurts

Here is the ultimate dilemma. From time to time I can infuse my body with the truth, as mystics see it, illuminated by sexual energy which has been redirected one neuron cluster at a time (a roughly twenty-second process) through a pathway close to the right side back of my neck by the part of me that dreams at night. In short, because of this cumulative rearrangement of neurons in myself (into alternate pathways), I have symbolic visions. It is a condition I have gestated, nourished and protected through decades of hard work (since about May of 1972) in the presence of a flesh-and-blood teacher. However, ... I cannot test my perceptions of electromagnetic reality (clairvoyance, magic, and the like) directly because the part of me that is capable of critical analysis is not poetic enough (it's actually downright fucking flat!) and therefore not allowed to use those same pathways! As a matter of fact, there are only three parts of me that are allowed through the dream gates: (a.) the part of me that likes to play; (b.) the part of me that wishes to live; (c.) the part of me that likes to make wishes come true; (d.) and the part of me that still has to piss and shit, in a roughly civilized manner, somewhere near the toilet. Oops! That's not three parts, it's four!


Trends and Everyday Events in

the Early Twenty-First Century

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Richard Ames Hart

Saturday 26 April 2003