The Trickster Diaries/Chapter 139
Jones maybe really was a genius, a man, at least, deep in the process of pursuing and transforming intense anguish and desolation suffered over the suicide of an intimate friend, Sonia, into direct, meaningful, selfless caring.
I’d known her too, a little, not well enough to guess the why of it.
Hanged. No note.
So begins the haunting of the living.
Wednesday, August 2.
“We haunt ourselves, man,” said Jones. “We feed experience—all experience—into these interpretation holes in our heads and from there they run down memory canals where whatever really happened is further distorted. Eventually they end up in caves. Accessible caves. Once you understand it like that…”
Me: Yeah. Absolutely. Fact is I was talking with a friend on Ello recently. Seemed to me she was definitely allowing herself to be haunted. Don’t know how things turned out but I suggested a visualization technique where she locates the source—that cave, as you say—builds a house around it using big blocks of ice, effectively freezing it, sealing it off. Meaning, IT can’t get out and, more importantly…
Jones: Ha. Right. YOU, whoever that observer you is, can’t get in.
Me: I want to experiment, though. I want to take it a step further where, like in a Star Wars movie, you’ve got this ghost contained in a cargo bay. Then you hit a button, eject the motherfucker out into space.
Jones: Yep. Sounds like the next step. Gotta run, amigo. I’m driving, heading into a dead zone, so, till tomorrow. Just us and the cats, right?
Me: Us, the cats, a couple odds and ends. Gotta stop for groceries, smokes, and of COURSE a 12 pack of Kona Longboards.
Jones: OF cour*~^… (Breaks up crackles fizzles fades dies)