Elfland’s office, I was back in my hotel room, hoping to follow up on the feelings and fantasies that had overflowed while I lay on the operating table. I drew the curtains closed, took off all my clothes, climbed under the covers, and downed a tablet from my new supply of Vicodin. (Grand experiment: I had never had a psychoactive drug in my life.) There was a six-pack of ginger ale on the nightstand, and my journal was nestled close to me in case I was inspired to write. I closed my eyes and imagined myself lying in the temple of my burnt-out redwood tree back home. Oops. I flashed on my popsicle sticks. Shouldn’t I fetch them? They were stuffed in my leather bag in the closet. I felt too woozy to retrieve them. Instead, I simply envisioned myself rubbing them together. What the hell. There was no way to recreate exactly the conditions I’d always needed in order to slip into the Televisionarium. Might as well experiment to see what worked here in exile. I simulated the feeling of the crunchy leaves against my back and pictured myself looking up at the sky through branches.
What do You think about The Televisionary Oracle (2013)?
