For Lent I gave up fast food, and ejaculating, of course.

I haven’t slept in days, but I meditate. The energy builds and circulates throughout my entire body. I then walk to the park to practice T’ai Chi Ch’uan while the energy spirals up my spine.

I wander to Washington Boulevard and cut through the alley without purpose or destination.  I have no money; my psyche hangs on one theme: women.

Identity dissolves as hidden shadow-self resolves; the nervous system evolves to tune into the frequencies beyond the social games.

Maslow suggested that a self-actualized individual had no concern for the good opinions of others. The real test of this self-actualization would be to spend a long period of time inside a classy establishment without any money.

“I’ll have another water, please.”

The feeling of shame often presses upon the terminally broke (TB), that is, those without deodorant, mouthwash, social skills, and those who have no desire to hold in their gut wrenching farts (GWFs). But we still crave cultural happenings, or at least the well ventilated ones.

I count my quarters, dimes, nickels, and even pennies ($4.34). Money is time. This will buy me one pint at the brewpub. That should last me 45 minutes, depending on how warm I’m willing to tolerate my beer. I could buy a coffee with refills at the coffee shop. That would last until it closes at ten o’clock. I wander to the library. Maybe I can create a community hot spot that’s both cool and free, maybe even this time without police involvement.

Enlightened individuals will never concern themselves with the good opinions of others (god, I hope people like this article). This is a crucial realization and necessary for the dynamic cultural experiences that we wish to stimulate (mmmm, stimulate).  Neither do the degenerates concern themselves with the good opinions of others. After all, social establishments have certain etiquette and rules. What’s the difference between an enlightened individual and a degenerate? The enlightened have transcended social etiquette, while the degenerates have brazenly dismantled it.

At Starbucks, five sophisticated sounding women discuss ‘sexual politics’ and Hillary Clinton. Another group enters, a young red-head accompanied by her elderly parents. I sink into the soft sofa and stare at the young woman’s breasts. I feel her family’s discomfort but my wild hunger consumes concerns of polite restraints.

“You’re so rude,” the women says.

Rude?  Mwaah? I’m a poet of the highest order. I’m a prophet preacher from another planet.  I’m Rick James, bitch!

Too much realization is more than most people can socially endure.

The subconscious psychic masses gang-up against the outsider deemed weird, wrong, or inappropriate. Free-range farting at church (FRFAC) brings with it social shame that the group presses upon us.  In order for the shame to be effective, the individual must accept the social contract. Shame is NOT merely an internally generated phenomenon. Others must convince a person to accept shame. It’s a heavily conditioned socialized agreement. Some people refuse to play this game. These people are called ‘rude.’

Some anti-social activity is so controversial that laws are passed and physical force is used to restrain and punish people who break these laws.   Sex with minors, illegal drug use, and public drunkenness, or the Friday night special, as I call it, are all examples of social behaviors for which an individual will be prosecuted.

Not all outcasts drift beyond the law. During its formation, Christianity cast out Gnostics for their heretical interpretations, those tit staring freaks.  It could be argued that the very roots of Christianity are repressed and trapped inside the prison of literalistic dogma.

There is social tension inflicted upon those who have no reference point of identity in social situations. For example, standing alone in the middle of a crowded restaurant can bring discomfort, believe me. Standing alone naked in the middle of a crowded restaurant can bring even more discomfort, believe me.

That man was staring at my tits, officer!  They never take my side, ever.

I’m destined to unite individual enlightenment with cultural dynamics. In our age of scientism and materialism, we outcastes rebel beyond the mainstream, scientific, fact-finding, fatalistic deconstruction of the cosmos. Shadow assumptions of purposeless poison the veins of genetics, psychiatry, and medicine.

The direct experience of the blinding ‘One Mind’ blows the top off any coffee shop, bar, or strip club.  Me? I like blowing the tops off at strip clubs.  I’m looking for that coffee shop that serves psilocybin smoothies and acid-cool-aid spritzers with an atmosphere like the first scene from Clockwork Orange.

I know that women sometimes feel uncomfortable when I stare, but it sure beats my more violent rendition of “Singing in the Rain”.

Colin Wilson tells us the promise of sex is never fulfilled by the act of sex itself.

Ken Wilber said that, “Nobody can ever get enough of what they really don’t want.”

And Jim Blob said, “I’m celibate by choice.”

Sex is but a tool for charging, expanding, and exploding into higher frequencies of love, joy, and ecstasy.

For six weeks I’ve retained my semen, boiling her basal juices into pure energy blowing my mind and soul into the higher spheres.

I’ve now been psychically barred from every social establishment in town, every establishment, that is, except Dunkin’ Donuts.

I guess it’s that time, time to start eating my last few mushrooms.

“I’ll have two chocolate donuts and a flying unicorn, please.”