Five Sentence Abstract:
The characters were likable and story was attention grabbing, both much better developed, with plenty of background, than the other PKD books I've read. The presentation of Robert, Fred, vague blur's deterioration, as well as his friends' reactions, is interesting, sometimes bordering on comedic. The story itself has a few twists and turns that make it unpredictable, but the main premise hinges on a thinly veiled, if somewhat apologetic, promotion of drug culture with slight anti-familial and extended adolescence sub-themes. It seems to me that this, like the other PKD books, is a commission from the intelligence community to promote particular lifestyles and habits. In this case we see magic mushrooms, the fictional substance D, as well as honorable mentions of Timothy Leary (also mentioned in several others PKD works) and Pierre Teilhard de Chardin put forth as mortar to cement the previously introduced 1960's ideas into the next decade's foundation.
Thoughts:
I liked the story and characters. My time in the 'drug scene' allowed me to
laugh at some of the accurate ridiculousness of the characters. Spending hours
talking about a carburetor, check. Hours more considering the deepest darkest
corners of a baseless philosophy, double check. Worried that you are going to
run out of drugs, because you only have a week's worth left. Infinite check.
Overall it was much better than the previous Philip K. Dick books I've read
(and didn't like). This was the same characters and basis for Valis, which was
interesting, revealing, but anti-climactic.
I still say PKD was an agent, promoting societal eroding ideas for the
intelligence community. Robert talks about how his life with a wife and a pair
of daughters was boring, how he didn't want to live like that. So he ended up
burning out his brain on drugs. Rings all too familiar of the current state of
affairs.
The mentions of Timothy Leary and Pierre Teilhard de Chardin are icing on the
cake. A known, admitted, agent in the case of Tim. Pierre might be even more
subversive with his Piltdown Man hoax that misled for decades and his inspiring
of the new age movement, not to mention Omega Point leading to Timewave Zero,
2012, and culminating (for now) in Kurzweil's singularity.
"Turn on, tune out, and good-by," Barris said, and hung up.
Barris's sign-off was a direct quote of Tim Leary's original funky ultimatum
An allusion to president picking, intelligence community, covert ops:
And if any other officer monitoring Barris's actions sees what I probably
will see, they'll conclude Arctor is the biggest drug runner in the western
U.S. and recommend a-- Christ!--covert snuff. By our unidentified forces. The
ones in black we borrow from back East that tiptoe a lot and carry the
scope-site Winchester 803's. The new infrared sniperscope sights synched with
the EE-trophic shells. Those guys who don't get paid at all, even from a Dr.
Pepper machine; they just get to draw straws to see which of them gets to be
the next U.S. President. My God, he thought, those fuckers can shoot down a
passing plane. And make it look like one engine inhaled a flock of birds. Those
EE- trophic shells-- why fuck me, man, he thought; they'd leave traces of
feathers in the ruins of the engines; they'd prime them for that.
Notes:
Table of Contents
01
02
03
04
05
06
07
08
09
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
- // Pages numbers from the pdf.
page 52:
-
But then one day, while lifting out an electric corn popper from under the
sink, Arctor had hit his head on the corner of a kitchen cabinet directly above
him. The pain, the cut in his scalp, so unexpected and undeserved, had for some
reason cleared away the cobwebs. It flashed on him instantly that he didn't
hate the kitchen cabinet: he hated his wife, his two
daughters, his whole house, the back yard with its power mower, the
garage, the radiant heating system, the front yard, the fence, the whole
fucking place and everyone in it. He wanted a divorce; he wanted to split. And
so he had, very soon. And entered, by degrees, a new and somber life, lacking
all of that.
-
Probably he should have regretted his decision. He
had not. That life had been one without excitement, with no adventure.
It had been too safe. All the elements that made it up were right there before
his eyes, and nothing new could ever be expected.
page 106:
-
Luckman opened the book he was carrying. He puffed up, then, to much larger
than usual; his great chest swelled, and so did his biceps. "Barris, I'm going
to read to you." He began to read from the book, in a particularly fluent way.
"'He to whom it is given to see Christ more real than any other reality...'"
-
"What?" Barris said.
-
Luckman continued reading. "'. . . than any other reality in the World,
Christ everywhere present and everywhere growing more great, Christ the final
determination and plasmatic Principle of the Universe--'"
-
"What is that?" Arctor said.
-
"Chardin. Teilhard de Chardin."
page 134:
page 138:
-
"Turn on, tune out, and good-by," Barris said, and hung up.
-
Barris's sign-off was a direct quote of Tim Leary's original funky ultimatum
to the establishment and all the straights. And this was Orange County. Full of
Birchers and Minutemen. With guns. Looking for just this kind of uppity sass
from bearded dopers.
page 140:
- And if any other officer monitoring Barris's actions sees what I probably
will see, they'll conclude Arctor is the biggest drug runner in the western
U.S. and recommend a-- Christ!--covert snuff. By our
unidentified forces. The ones in black we borrow from back East that tiptoe a
lot and carry the scope-site Winchester 803's. The new infrared sniperscope
sights synched with the EE-trophic shells. Those guys who don't get paid at
all, even from a Dr. Pepper machine; they just get to draw straws to see which
of them gets to be the next U.S. President. My God, he thought, those
fuckers can shoot down a passing plane. And make it look like one engine
inhaled a flock of birds. Those EE- trophic shells-- why fuck me, man, he
thought; they'd leave traces of feathers in the ruins of the engines; they'd
prime them for that.
- // New-Path has secret intentions.
page 226:
-
To build, he thought, their civilization within the chaos. If "civilization"
it really He did not know. He had not been at New-Path long enough; their
goals, the Executive Director had informed him once, would be revealed to him
only after he had been a staff member another two years.
-
Those goals, the Executive Director had said, had nothing to do with drug
rehabilitation.