Bock:
I'm sitting here boozing and you come in and tell me some demented story about your father's religious conversion.
Barbara:
You miss the point, Doctor. Not my father's conversion, mine. You see, I'd been hitting the acid pretty regularly at that time. I'd achieved a few minor sensory deformities, some suicidal despairs, but nothing as *wild* as fluency in an obscure Apache dialect. I mean, like, "Wow, man!" Here was living afflatus right before my eyes!
Riportata da il
05/03/2025 alle ore 08:34