PKD was a very dangerous fellow, in a way bigger money cannot tolerate.
In a similar bit of movie making, more successful in being truer to the artists, I first saw Terry Gilliam's Brazil with a mess of people from an affluent "assisted living" community. One elderly and mildly demented gentleman climbed up onto the stage at the end of the movie and gave it his double "fuck you" rating, two single fingers raised high for the fade-to-white ending. I let him be, trying not to be rolling on the floor laughing. Everyone in the theater that afternoon was weird in some way, including myself. A most awesome Senior Tuesday discount movie ticket.
Those days I was a paging-Doctor-Strong-Man, a day-tripper, someone elderly women could flirt harmlessly with, and someone who could knock an elderly man in full-hard-on-dirty-old-man-dropping-his-pants-mode to the floor without breaking him so badly that his privileged offspring would complain. Flipping off a movie was nothing. It was funny.
My unusually late adolescence and young StrongMan furniture moving, truck loading, young adulthood was rather twisted. I occasionally found myself attracted to some very, very dark women, and from there situations frequently got complicated. I had a girlfriend who thought
Eraserhead would be a good date movie, and her girlfriend and my grandma had taught me to cope, somewhat, with the danger-to-oneself-and-others-crazy, but not without me suffering a big dose of PTSD.
My worst Thanksgiving holiday ever, my grandma got to be too much for me, a Thanksgiving at home with my parents, so I fled, long drive to the apartment I shared with other artistic sorts, all gone home for the holiday. I was visited by the Jehovah's Witnesses, a church my mom had been kicked out of, and a few hours later my girlfriend's girlfriend stumbled to my door covered with her own alcohol-and-drugs vomit, and then she tried to kill herself in my bathtub, at least half her blood running down the drain. As an autistic spectrum sort I have zero "listening skills" in this life, but the "too quiet" always creeps me out.
She was the first door lock I ever broke, and the first naked woman I ever touched as an adult.
A few days later I decided to drive to a happy place of mine, to cheer myself up, or at least meditate a bit, and ended up in nasty car wreck, not entirely my fault. No fault. But I wasn't entirely focused on driving at that moment. Parts of me still hurt. A few days later I got kicked out of university for fighting with a teaching assistant in a discussion session. My words to him were cutting, I have my grandma's and mom's skill for cutting words, but he was the only one throwing things, starting with chalk and escalating to big fat textbooks. When the campus police showed up, everyone else had fled.
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