Three Stigmata meet Fourth Musketeer

The Three Stigmata of Palmer Eldritch by Philip K. Dick

My review

rating: 4 of 5 stars
ha ha ha ha ha, this crap runs deep, but it's fabulous. Perhaps because I read forearmed with the insights found in Carrère's biography of Mr. Dick, perhaps because I taste the undeniable truth in my sharpened steel teeth, regardless of how or why, this book spoke bleeding volumes to me. I know what you're thinking - always comes back to the drugs. At least I'm consistent. You see, there are some that believe that Jesus was part of a sect that grew psychedelic mushrooms in caves near the Dead Sea, and that the whole holy sacrament thing is about chowing down on some serious boomers, opening z-mind, getting in touch with the real deal Holyfield reality the human consciousness typically avoids so as to keep things complicated for fledgling beings, so they don't all flip out and stop going to work. Chew a little Can-D and melt that ego, to love humanity, like everybody coming at once, or dying at once, tempered by agape, not for the weak, but it'll open your luxury robotic video eye-slits right on up, plus it feels terrific.


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