The Berkeley mob once called Leary and me "the counter-culture of the counter-culture." I'm some kind of antibody in the New Age movement. My function is to raise the possibility, "Hey, you know, some of this stuff might be bullshit."
I almost wish that was my favorite quote. It comes in at a close second to the first, "... OR was the final secret simply and bluntly that there really is an interstellar ESP channel to which you can tune in by metaprogramming your nervous system?" ~ Robert Anton Wilson
Phone numbers.
Addresses.
Private info about anyone, at any time. It was a "one-off" ace up my sleeve for the perfect moment. I knew that I'd call in the favor when I needed it.
That moment arrived when I read a snippet on the early forums of the interwebs that Robert Anton Wilson had died. His book, The Cosmic Trigger, had been and still is, in some ways, my bible and he was the missing piece in my world that cinched my psychic drawstrings into a comfy bundle around my metaphysical waist. Hell no, he wasn't dead. And I knew it. I knew it so hard that I'd resurrect him if he was.
It was impossible for my hero to be dead. I hadn't met him yet, dammit. So I called my friend who called the other friend and within a very short span of about ten minutes (an eternity) I had RAW's digits.
Yes.
Yes I did call him. I listened to his answering machine message and after the tone I began talking. I don't recall what I said, but he picked up, laughing. And we spoke. For quite some time.
Rumors of his death were news to him. And how ironic, eh? I got to tell RAW that he wasn't dead. I never did get to meet him in the flesh. He does come by from time to time now that he is though, and we chat. I have a different line to him these days.
Thanks to that whole metaprogramming gig which, by the way, isn't bullshit.
