I felt that if I could just work things through I would discover that I was ill, perhaps hallucinating due to a fever. But this was nonsense, and I knew it. I had no physical symptoms at all.

I went into a survival mode — British stiff upper lip, and all that. Under all sorts of adverse circumstances, I have carried on working regardless of personal factors. In power blackouts, I’ve worked by candlelight. In the cold, I’ve worked in hat, coat, and gloves. Facing severe deadlines, I’ve worked around the clock. I can be pretty tough when push comes to shove.

But this wasn’t so simple. Suddenly, nothing appeared as I had supposed it to be. Everything and everyone seemed to be removed from my previous sense of ordinary reality. No one had changed, of course. The strangeness I was perceiving was within me. And I wasn’t at all pleased with this turn of events.

I remember the day I returned to the studio at Lexington and 26th Street. It was later that week, and I had led my studio mate, Michael Doret, to believe that a cold had caused my absence. I recall I went so far as to feign sniffles and the last of a cough.


“It shall take a long-term, keenly processed, whole-world paradigm shift in our consciousness to perceive, acknowledge, and accept that all that we see, hear, smell, touch, and taste are but five tiny shells on one small dune on the cosmic beach-head of Everywhere Else.”


The days immediately following my precognitive and Endless Waves experiences of June, 1973, as described in Time Rise Chapter One, are muddied in my memory. I recall staying away from Charlie White’s studio for a few days, but what I did during that time is a blank. Carol visited me at my apartment, but I said nothing to her about my bizarre experiences over the past weekend.