Store up for yourselves treasures in Heaven
where moth and rust cannot destroy and thieves cannot break in and steal

Wednesday, March 6, 2013

A Memory

Lorenz says he's an official member of an American Indian religious movement. This by way of explanation for the huge “totally legal” steamer trunk filled to the brim with Peyote buttons. He doesn't have a similar explanation for the volume and variety of other drugs that seem to be in his possession in unlimited supply.
We'd spent the morning cleaning the fuzz from the centre of the buttons, all in preparation for an afternoon of serious wall-staring.
I was almost completely feral at that stage of my life. Flailing about. Hating everyone. Soul turned to ice. The only cover of normality was sitting in class learning to heal the neurotically chemically imbalanced while deliberately imbalancing my own chemicals. Learning to heal the chronically insane while inducing temporary insanity in myself, by design.
Discovering that those professors I'd admired as exuding genius were just as stupid as me led to an epiphany of sorts.
A 3.87 while terminally stoned is just as good as a straight 4.0.
And more importantly, when leaning forward, with elbows on knees to convey intense interest and compassion, from the client's chair it looks like the counsellor is struggling with chronic constipation. 

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