nccotus

mine took 40 years even. It is coming to a close. It got off to a rough start that I was stuck on all my life. Like the grain of sand that causes the oyster to form a pearl. This was a huge one.

I was a tiny little person in my mind. Drowning in a black substance. I guess it would have to be shit and the poisonous residue of alcohol, dieting , saccharine, sex, coffee and cigarettes that held me through Kent School and Harvard a runaway from sheer neglect at home. And, there’s, an incredibly sick case of childhood and adolescent reading that passed as a college pursuit of a degree in English and a goal to become a writer.

This turned into the “as-if personality” here near and in the City of Reading when the clamped catheter in the ICU ripped me out of my head and into my aching body and put me at the state hospital 3 times over the period of 2 years.

After I got out I pursued a course of driving the country roads in my small used car smoking cigarettes, listening to the radio, and sopping for coffee and all day breakfast all over the area pretending that I was at the Cafe Piroshka in Harvard Square.

somehow, I rebanded my psychoanalysis remotely. I always kept the thread with Dr. Penn in Cambridge, the best psychoanalyst who ever lived. I called him up from time to time in my travels. I called it my “self-psychoanalysis.” Sometimes I had a way-cool surrogate such as in Florida, several times over, but Dr. Penn was always at the helm in this sea of troubles that my life has been.

I was always a very weird person.

I finally came to grips with this through my psychoanalysis, but it took meeting with ALIENS to fully understand and accept it.