INTRODUCTION:
                        WEIRD SCENES INSIDE THE BRAINSTEM

               This novelette has had a long, strange genesis:  I am an 
          insane science fiction author; sometime after I got out of 
          the Bobo Boat I decided to write a loony-bin book.  After 
          all, I NEVER PROMISED YOU A ROSE GARDEN & 1 FLEW OVER THE 
          CUCKOO'S NEST were both bestsellers.  However, both of these 
          tomes belong buried in the grave, as both are flawed by a 
          fatal error:  both are told from a viewpoint outside of the 
          person who's gonzo.  Except for the multitude of multiple 
          personality bestsellers, which the public has some strange, 
          inexplicable fascination for, no one has ever told how it 
          feels to be psychotic from the inside.  Besides, multiple 
          personalities isn't a psychosis, it's a neurosis.  Further-
          more, "multiple personalities" is not to be confused w/ 
          schizophrenia:  psychologists have a technical term for 
          multiple personalities:  they call it "multiple person-
          alities."  If you want to know what schizophrenia is really 
          like, read this & don't think for a moment that I have a 
          "split personality."  I may be a Rootboy covered w/ slime, 
          but my ego is fully integrated.  Furthermore, I have a bigger 
          ego than Harlan Ellison:  I'm the world's greatest living 
          science fiction author & better than the dead 1's.  I'd like 
          to see Harlan outdo me on this w/ any stupid story about his 
          damn mutt croaking.  & good old boys were drinking whisky & 
          rye...the day his doggie died.

               But resurrecting myself (every time I get a blow job, I 
          rise from the dead) from my vituperous outbursts about a Dick 
          who's hardly Philip K Fancy & returning to the genesis of 
          this story, I wrote the 1st chapter while fairly stable, 
          then, when I came to the part where I turned into God, 
          couldn't explain to the reader what it felt like:  so I 
          stepped back thinking of life's inner meaning.

               At that point I became high, but not w/ speed:  I became 
          manic, went into a flurry of activity, & wrote & rewrote over 
          1,000 pp in 2 months.  I took the thing to the University of 
          Montana, which kicked me out for making a suicide threat to a 
          slut who shivered me timbers & blew me woody so she could 
          read the answers to her take home final--she was a good 
          friend of Sister Mary Demon, the Evil Principal.  

               There, I showed it to Lowell Ganz, who had me cut it & 
          "turn the entire thing into a comic book about a swamp 
          monster," though Warner Communications threatened to sue 
          because I am a Slime-thing who drives a batmobile, so I had 
          to change the description of the Slime-thing from a creature 
          of mud & roots to the Lizard King.

               After this Scott Meredith's Agency got a hold of the 
          script, but didn't like it as it wasn't "formula" science 
          fiction & my descriptions of my hallucinations "distanced" 
          him, which is a stupid thing for someone who's never been 
          insane to say, as psychosis is an incredible distance & a 
          hunger.  So I rewrote it 1 more time, adding a few science 
          fiction elements & a "return to reality," even though 
          reality, like Scott Meredith, bites.  But then, Scott 
          Meredith doesn't have a Masters from the University of 
          Chicago, all he has is a rotten record as a hack author & the 
          inventor of the rip-off "reading fees" which is making it 
          difficult for me to find an agent.

               What he needs is to rise from the dead.

               I've risen from the dead & I haven't died; I've been put 
          in restraints; I've been shot up w/ the Orgasm Death; & in 
          all these times & places I've gotten thoroughly descoobied 
          off Mountain Fresh beer; though I'm a submarine Captain, I'm 
          always torpedoed.

               When you're outta pot, you're out alot, as Bozo Rebebo 
          once said to me.

                                        #


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