フラクタルニュース

Pee on a tree, I am free..

カテゴリー Essays

記事公開日

19-10-16

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I have just teleported into the 20 year old body of an impoverished traveler in a hut somewhere near Gorgora. The last thing I remember was almost passing out at 33 feet trying to keep up with that clan of bottlenose dolphins. Having never been able to dive this deep it was probably the sudden strain on a 67 year old vintage planetary carcass that did it. Shit! I have now gone haywire into my own eternal timelines and am doomed to relive the fever..I only passed out for a second I swear..but that is easily long enough when you see how time operates beyond our decrepit understanding of reality.

Sickness is a fine way to alter consciousness. Catholic saints used to pray fervently for the worst case diseases imaginable for men or women. God give me a kickass sickness so that I may know you! St. Theresa of Avila who had been a stunning beauty that all the men wanted and all the women hated for her magnetic communication skills spent three years in a sick bed. They did the last rites over her breathless body. They held a mirror up to her mouth. No deal. They dripped wax on her eyelids. Not a flutter. Stone dead. Her father was the only one who refused to believe it..

Dying to the world was the general idea. Being helplessly sick as she was meant that only the Lord would decide. Live. OK. Die. OK. Suffer. OK. Not in your hands any more. No more decisions. Surrender with a big S..

After she literally crawled back to life she became the foundress of countless monastic communities, wrote a book about consciousness called The Interior Castle that makes modern psychology look like ant droppings on the big toe of a mastodon and had the clergy pissing in their pants due to her influence. She may well have killed herself so that she get reborn. What a plan!

It is truly hilarious to see the convulsions that science will go through to prove our consciousness emits out of a wet heap of salt, sugar, water and a few neurons. OK. Billions of the little buggers. Nobody here is saying that blob does not hook up with consciousness in strange and mysterious ways. Jesus you only have to look at what a healthy dose of jungle juice does to a man’s consciousness when brain chemicals get their scrawny hands on it. Or how Alzheimer’s has you greet your son with, @Who the fuck are you?@ BUT the leap from connection to creation is far greater than Rob Roy ever jumped as the English chased him to the river’s edge near my old hometown..

The shivering young lad on the  bug-ridden bed they had left him in had not eaten for days. Ethiopia is no place to get sick since it is still in the fourteenth century to all intents and purposes. The water system is bankrupt so you might as well drink horse piss in any hotel shack and medical services are basically non-existent outside of towns ..where folks still live like they did when the first black Jews trundled through here carrying the ark of the covenant..

So you know..Endemic typhus is uncommon in the United States. It is usually seen in areas where hygiene is poor, and the temperature is cold. Endemic typhus is sometimes called “jail fever.” The bacteria that cause this type of typhus is usually spread from rats to fleas to humans. Fever, can be extremely high, 105°F to 106°F (40.6°C to 41.1°C), that may last up to 2 weeks. Hacking, dry cough. Headache. Joint and muscle pain. Nausea and vomiting.

It was those nefarious bedbugs I am sure. They had kept me up at night so badly that I had lit a candle in the hut back there. The candle was not just to see the little bastards covering the frame and weave of the primitive bed. It was to burn them one by one as I speared them with one of my few prized possessions..a needle. Et voila, typhus..later diagnosed by a Unesco clinic’s mobile bus that just happened to be near where I passed out. Luck of the Irish yeah. And the doctor had given me a few days of drugs, probably to lower the fever that had just catapulted me out of that skinny arse on the bed..

Ah the joy! The pure freedom of roaring about the place with no sky and no things to get in the way. Then I would drop back down from the ceiling into skinny arse once more. That was no fun..he was all hot and bothered and shivering like a leaf in a typhoon. And so the night passed as nights are wont to do..

Stumbling out of the goat hut, where the villagers had deposited him, he stepped into a new world. The sun was shining brightly over a landscape he could never have seen until this moment. He was utterly alone. Nobody even spoke English and a white face was nowhere to be seen. He had no money. He had no plan. He did have a tiny backpack with a large book inside and a few items of clothing. And a passport..that was all he really needed to get this dream done. From Cairo to Capetown! What a dream!

Leaning up against a tree the hot piss hit the morning earth. This was what he had done the whole thing for. To forget himself and then remember himself by surrendering to the journey. To tempt fate to either show up or clean the fuck off. Kill me or let me live the way I want to. Free..

Part one here