I wake up to sun in my eyes, crack my neck and ankles before getting out of bed. Rub my eyes after standing at the window in my underwear and singlet watching squirrels outside in the neighbours yard.
I blink exaggeratedly and place my glasses on the tip of my nose as I sniff. I like to watch him sleep. His lips slightly apart, his head on my pillow, his in the corner by the wall. He doesn't know I write about him on myspace, he doesn't know I have a myspace.
But that's not my only secret.
We are all wired into a survival trip now. No more of the speed that fueled that 60's. That was the fatal flaw in Tim Leary's trip. He crashed around America selling "consciousness expansion" without ever giving a thought to the grim meat-hook realities that were lying in wait for all the people who took him seriously... All those pathetically eager acid freaks who thought they could buy Peace and Understanding for three bucks a hit. But their loss and failure is ours too. What Leary took down with him was the central illusion of a whole life-style that he helped create... a generation of permanent cripples, failed seekers, who never understood the essential old-mystic fallacy of the Acid Culture: the desperate assumption that somebody... or at least some force - is tending the light at the end of the tunnel.
