First Visit To The Pig People

L. Van Warren

Since January of last year when I was training some kind of an
allergic thing appeared. Cottenseed oil, cheese, and my own adrenalin make me ill.
It's a real drag. When combined with anxiety my heart has a rhythm all its own.

Looking at a form that I thought was his reflection I is surprised as
suddenly he is pulled towards the mirror and the image is pulled towards I.
What was detailed I is now silhouette him. What were squares on the
wallpaper are now shiny silver bricks in the house of my own inner life, each
with writing, each with experience, each with a lesson, lessons that don't
apply just now.

Again as suddenly I finds myself in a pastoral scene, a scene like the sound
of music, only lower. There are animals like cattle gathered in a pasture,
trouble is they aren't animals at all, they are pig people with smooth skin
and snouts having a meeting. Pig people with no gender - all looking alike -
all the same, but dressed differently. They spend their time pouring a flesh
colored liquid out of vases that hardens in tall smooth columns the diameter
of your big toe. That must be where new monofleshtone pig people come from.
They must spend their time waiting for that junk to dry in trays. This is
not fun.

Am I pig people? Why am I pouring this liquid out of his vase. Why did they
put me here? I want to go home.