An Evening with a Hallucinaut

Dale Pendell of the Pharmako- trilogy was in town the other night at the Powell’s on Hawthorne. There was no question of whether or not I was going to go. He is the only person who can get me seriously thinking about delving into the psychedelic arts again; the only man who can write terrible things about the effects of nutmeg ("a high of last resort," to paraphrase) and make me still want to try it. The man has powers, uses words to create urges in this mind of mine that I will never consider unless I’m deep within the hues of his verse.
We showed up and took our seats. It was a peculiar mix of folks: multi-colored attire, sports sandals, and well-into-middle-age ponytails were in the majority in the 25-ish head group. A few bearded folks my age, dressed in less obnoxious attire arrived and I pondered befriending them as I am new in town and without any drug connections. Not that I really want to do drugs all that much. I just get a comfortable feeling in my gut knowing that they are accessible if the muse rises up on a dark and rainy night, gnashing about for attention, an audience of one.
Having never seen a picture of Mr. Pendell, I had no idea what to expect. I wondered if he’d be some slick New Yorker socialite a la Daniel Pinchbeck, or some gnarled, tangent-fueled mountain man like my friend Aaron. He turned out to be a pleasant looking, tall older gentleman, dressed like someone who frequents the farmer’s market, inconspicuous yet tastefully earthy. He sported a single piercing in each ear and had some awesome eyebrows that The Angel theorized would eventually turn into devil horns. We’ll have to wait awhile to see if she is correct.
He greeted us all and went on a well-balanced rant about anarchy. I was nervous at first as I saw that this could easily devolve into some cabalistic, earth goddess, anarchist discussion. My fears were unfounded, thankfully, as he walked the fine line, as he does in his books, between hippy-dippy bullshit that bores me to tears and profound insights into the here and now of mental evolution, social theory, and of course, drugs.
He made a pretty great statement about how whenever we create a new law, it is a sign that we as a people have failed. That instead of celebrating the passing of a new law as we do, the president should light a stick of incense and apologize, in somber tones, and point out that with the passing of this new law, we as a species have failed one another and that great strides should be taken to ensure that we avoid having to pass any more laws. I thought it was a great idea, totally unrealistic, but hopeful and enlightening and just wry enough to keep it from falling into some holistic hugfest.
He read some bits from his newest book, Pharmako Gnosis, littered with a handful of asides, all punctuated with a slight and endearing stutter. His first stutter was a long one, it seemed that he had shut down in mid-sentence for a good 10 seconds. I couldn’t help but wonder, and who could blame me knowing his profession, if he had fallen into some cosmic k-hole. He got going again and I realized it was merely a stutter and not some residual effects of past experiences (or current communications with other time-lines. Who knows how he would prepare for a book reading?)
After his readings he took some questions, gave some answers. He had a knack for being deeply serious, relaying information gleaned from heady texts or chemical expeditions, and then popping the mood with an expertly raised eyebrow. He seemed like a wily guy, a cosmic jokester indeed, a jester for a chemically altered kingdom with impeccable timing which, as we all know, is the most important tool for a good entertainer to have under the belt.
After the words was the book signing and I got in line with my worn copies of the trilogy. There were only about 8 of us in line, and people were taking a few moments to chat or discuss or pose questions. It was fine, the line was short, and really the guy is, for all intents and purposes, a shaman. He’s seen more, lived more within his mind than a large part of the world’s population. You don’t just shove a book in his face and the walk away. This man exudes an invitation for dialogue. Apparently a lady in line behind me didn’t get that and walked up to the folks that were talking with him. She blatantly looked them up and down, looked at Dale, then came back to the line complaining that they were chatting, wondering if he knew that there were other people in line. I was immediately apparent that she was a complete and utter cunt. She got back in line and I saw her lean out, catch Dale’s eye, and roll her hands in a "Let’s keep it moving" gesture. She should have been punched in the neck. The people had only been talking to him for 2 minutes or so– it wasn’t as though they had pulled up lawn chairs and opened a bottle of wine together. She finally came up to them and told them that there were people in line and they were wasting everyone’s time. I was appalled. It was as though she had walked into a confessional during someone else’s time and told them to hurry up.
The couple left and I offered her my place in line as I was next, basically so she could get her fucking book signed and leave. She didn’t take it though, happy to stand in line longer making people rush. (I watched her get her book signed, no chit-chat, and then she rushed out of the store. I wondered if she even knew who Dale Pendell was, or if she was just some...cunt?... who went to every book signing that came along, got a book autographed, then rushed home to sell it on e-bay.)
I passed my books over to be signed and thanked him for a wonderful trilogy, that the wait for the final installment was maddening but well worth it. I mentioned that if I hadn’t run up against The Fear years ago, his books would totally have me plumbing the depths of my chemical structure again. He mentioned that fear can be a great ally as well, that it can hone your senses, and you can use those fine beads of sweat on your head as a gauge of sorts, as sensors, to guide you to where you need to go. I saw what he was saying and agreed, but said that I felt that just having fear as an ally was a tad limiting and that it was going to be a fine day indeed when I was finally allowed to move on to another teacher.
The books were signed and I shook his hand, told him good luck. He thanked me and off I went.
In my copy of Pharmake Dynamis he wrote, "For great fear... and other allies." Indeed.