The Exegesis of Philip K. Dick by Philip K. Dick
My rating: 5 of 5 stars
This wasn’t an easy book to read. Lacking in structure, consistency, or even payoff, one has to wonder what could be the point in reading it. And yet, I’ve read it twice and now I’ve changed my rating to 5 stars. What gives?
“So,” I asked myself, “How did you like the book?”
I needed to look at myself for several minutes to let the meaning of my statement sink in. A pink beam of light streamed into my skull and gave me visions of post-modern paintings at the rate of three-million per second, only stop in mid-blurp to tell me that the pink light is actually the Godhead, that the Empire Never Ended, that I’m still cribbing Valis, and you haven’t fucking seen anything, yet, motherfucker.
The pink beam then just chuckled to herself for eight years and forced me to write about her the meaning of her to the tune of over one million words.
I said to myself, “Thank God you’ve got a sense of humor, or this would have been completely unbearable.”
I continued back at myself, “Thank God that we’ve got a team of dedicated editors and/or hidden gnostic survivors from the fall of Jerusalem in 70 AD who are able and willing to sort THAT mess out. I don’t care that Farris F. Freemont (666) got ousted from office in 1974. The fact that I’m here is proof that the Demiurge is still under the waters, dead but dreaming, and all of my admittedly mad ramblings are a call to arms for all true believers and we need to rise up and perform Anamnesis on ourselves. I mean, now. You know, 70 AD.”
I said, “We’re under the gun, here.”
I asked, “You mean sword? Hmmm.”
So I asked myself one last time, “Am I bat-shit crazy?”
I answered myself, “Hell no. I’m saner than I’ve ever been. Besides, after seeing an infinity of punch cards put before me by God is an example that no amount of words can express the Infinity That I Am (Binary); that I no longer think that I work for God, I’m just a dupe of Satan/Demiurge/Dross Matter of the Universe; and I’ve just woken up for the four-hundredth time to the immense realization that reality is nothing that we see, that Ubik is Jesus, and pot really opens up my mind.”
I said, “But you really love that David Bowie movie, (The Man Who Fell To Earth) enough to see the opening up of all possible realities and that Spinoza is actually right, after all.”
I really had to reply to this jab: “At least I’m enlightened. P.S. don’t tell anyone, and make sure you burn this Exegesis, ok?”
(And now, for the The Really Strange Part: I honestly don’t think PKD is crazy. His working notes are information-rich and dense, philosophically diverse and deep. Like anyone, his views change over time, but he is almost excessively intense about his inner life. He just sounds like a sci-fi author who thinks deeply about all of the things he wants to understand. The only difference is the sheer volume of words he’s devoted to it; and after all, phylogeny recapitulates Philagony. Viva la PKD.)
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