Michael Rose

“Friday and then proceeded to completely lose his shit over the next five hours. Two realities were created that night. There was what Wilson experienced under the influence of the psychedelic that was used in witches' spells and rituals hundreds of years ago and there was the reality that exists when you don’t do belladonna. What Wilson experienced was going outside after swallowing the drug, seeing a monster in the distance, then going back into his house to see Arlen in the kitchen, who’d become a ghoulish satanic vampire lady, scaring the bejesus outta him. It dawned on him quite suddenly that this drug was no good and he ran to the sink to retch up as much of it as he could, but it was too late. The belladonna had already blasted him out of his rational mind. He was in her grips and there was no way out. His awareness flashed only a few lucid moments where his only description of such a state was “too weird.” He observed his body doing things that his mind had little control over. He saw himself banging into the wall repeatedly. Then he heard the sink laughing, and then he was even accompanied by a dwarf on a long journey through the woods. Nothing was solid, as the dwarf became a knight in armor who decided their walk through the Yellow Springs woods would be a good place to attack him. Another flash and the knight was suddenly gone. Wilson then saw himself crawling on the ground on all fours across white-hot coals. How long had he been enduring this torture? Years? Eternity? But just beyond the red-hot burning coals, he felt searing into his skin an enticing golden glow beckoned him. Another flash and he was now on a bed in a “supernaturally golden room.” He turned his head and saw Arlen. “Her face was the pretty, intellectual face I love above all others, but her hair was a new shade of red, lustrous and lively beyond the vocabulary of a poet or even an ad man.” He touched her hair and said, “It was worth all the terror to see you so beautiful…” However, the fun was not over. At another point in the night, he was helped to the outhouse by his friend and neighbor, David Hatch. But once outside, Bob saw two Davids. Wilson kept trying to explain to Arlen and Hatch, “We must all drink more milk!” Why must we do that? We must do it, said Wilson, “for the Kennedy Administration in outer space of the Nuremberg pickle that exploded.” He stopped, embarrassed, realizing he’d been making a fool of himself. That wasn’t what he’d meant to say, so he tried again. “Where’s the dwarf?” he shouted.”
― Gabriel Kennedy, Chapel Perilous: The Life & Thought Crimes of Robert Anton Wilson