Autobillography

One day I was out for a walk, and met a friend who said “Out for your daily constitutional?” I replied, “No, just a little Preamble An odd prospect, don’t you know, to consider writing the biography of someone unknown and highly eccentric, a failure in all his works and most of his relationships, who makes a hash even of his miserable attempts at self-pity, impoverished and in poor health his entire adult life, betimes within spitting distance of raving lunacy and moral turpitude, a seeker of truth enmeshed in illusion, attempting a form where the author must discard any hope of objectivity, with no particular target audience and little prospect of publication in an era of dwindling readership for books. {Does he always talk with his hands? And what’s with Mr. Positive Attitude?—Ed.} No stranger to such situations, I sat myself down at the auspicious time of 11:11 AM on January 1, 2011 to salvage at least some literary object from a peculiar series of experiences not generally combined in one lifetime, including expeditions into lofty psychedelic heavens and gritty physical hells, adventures on the low seas and high deserts, skirting the ramparts of radical cults and training for t