Aug the Twenty-Seventh
A thought about what King refers to as “the touch” in the Dark Tower books and “the shine” in a few of his other works, notably The Shining (I haven’t even read it and I know that, come on!), which is essentially psychic abilities, and in this case, precognition specifically:
Perhaps it’s real. Perhaps all humans have some sort of latent psychic ability, perhaps they’re so deeply… not ingrained, but like… fuck, what’s the word? So… so… so involved? I guess? Sure – maybe psychic abilities are so involved in our daily mental processes that we don’t even notice they’re there. The other day, I said I’d finish the Dark Tower series over the next three days. As it turned out, I finished Wolves of the Calla in three days. Mayhap I knew that it would take me three days to read Wolves – mayhap I remembered doing it in a past life, oh shit, maybe reincarnation and all that shit plays a role, oh shit! – but I just misremembered it, or maybe the signal came through fuzzy, or maybe after reading the hundredish pages of Wolves I had for the day, instead of going right on to book 6, I rolled a tiny joint and went for a stroll to The Foothill and got to talkin’ with some highdeas.
I know, sloppy work. Very sloppy work. It wasn’t big though, the crutch was like… at least four times longer than the actual weed. A longcrutch joint if ever I have rolled one. I only got a few hits, it’s not a problem. I don’t think–… no, I know it’s not a problem. Just a little reversal in delayed gratification is all. If I smoked a full joint, three joints, you know, enough to get me back on the wagon? That would have been a problem. But I only had a few hits, and I only did it because I’ve regained my ability to sleep without soaking myself like a cold water bottle left out in the sun – just washed my sheets today – and… I don’t know. I’m not leaving my house much these days, I wanted to go for a little hike to get some fresh air. I thought that hike might be made more enjoyable with weed… but now that I’m writing this, I don’t really have anything to compare highking to, as the last time I went hiking without weed was… I can’t even remember. Granted, it might have been last week, but I don’t remember either way. Regardless, of course I decided to breathe in smoke while I was getting fresh air. Got’a have balance, right?
Whatever, doesn’t matter. Not a problem. Didn’t smoke enough to climb back on the wagon, just enough to hear the beating hooves of the horses pulling the wagon.
The robotic horses. And the driver is a Wolf, straight out of the Calla. Yyyyeeeeaaaahhhh. Thank god for Stephen King, ‘man. Thank god for that brilliant human creature.
… … …
Say thankya, Journal. ‘Preciate ya. Good sleeps and good dreams~
Hello Commons, this has been the next journal entry from Untitled Bigfoot Project, a novel about a writer who writes a novel about bigfoot.
Untitled Bigfoot Project is part of the Third Spiral, an anthology of sorts called The Here and Now which is comprised of stories told from the various planes of Existence.
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Be well Commons~