Since my initial encounter with the Cat People in the Summer of 1956 my life has taken many strange circuitous paths often leading to moments of unadulterated horror. I cannot count the times I’ve been told, “It’s all in your head”, which, in many ways, makes matters worse because it suggests I’m stark raving mad.

I have been fortunate enough to have therapy sessions with R.D. Laing, Arthur Janov, Stanley Smith Stevens, and an impromptu three hour conversation with Carl Jung at Santarpio’s Pizza before his death a few months later. Nothing seems to work; especially since I have eschewed drugs since the 80s and modern psychology has become so dependent on prescribing medication.

I had the distinct pleasure of meeting Timothy Leary in the Winter of 1960 as he began preparations for his experiments at Concord Prison, where my paternal Grandfather was a senior corrections officer. I discussed with him my experiences with electroshock therapy and the clinical-demonic white lab coat entities that, until that time, were my frequent companions in the quest for health.

The Cat People ruined me. Most people would laugh and talk behind my back. My only friends were two reefer addicted brothers from the neighboring town of Maynard. They were the rhythm section of the surf-rock band, The Cat’s Meow. I contributed organ to the ensemble and we were absolutely despised. Leary listened to my experiences, though. He laughed with me and I remained in contact with him until his arrest in March of 1966.

It was around this time I witnessed what had been my own personal hell externalize and manifest itself in the world. The brothers disappeared – methedrine played a part – and I was left alone as the emerging psychedelic counter-culture appeared. It terrified me. Suddenly young people began approaching me with their visions of Cat People and Demons and Thought Viruses inherited from Burroughs. There was nothing I could do for them except suggest they dedicate themselves to art. Which, looking back, I believe was a mistake.

The past 60 years have been a nightmare. I’m not an optimist. I’ve watched society unravel due to mental illness and, as all of my meaningful conversations have concluded, there is an inherent flaw in our DNA; it would appear our species not only has a death wish, but this death wish is something of cosmic import. As if the force of entropy that acts on nature and the universe likewise influences our consciousness.

I still have faith in Love, though.