It was a very weird classroom for a very strange man. A warren of corridors under a complex seemingly as much a natural cave as an active center. No possibility of sunlight ever penetrating and no implicit desire to see so. The ‘bird’ colonel teaching the class a cat. A very edgy sort always paranoid that someone might be peeking past the fruit salad on his chest. Adept in the ways of the trap door spider in keeping his unfortunate prey at bay dragged far down into subterranean chambers that only a Plato could conjure. I felt the need to both know the man and slumber through his lectures and he hated me for it. Though an inferred penalty reigned for finding out too much. His malice ever present with a tight-faced hardness always on the edge of a sneer for the conventional world that never quite seemed to congeal. His presentation medium something over-conceived that looked like the lower gallery one would find aft on a fourth rate British man of war. When I complained that the device not only made me drowsy but was hard on the eyes he was infuriated as if this was a sure sign that I had not acted manly enough. That Sado-Masochistic verve that man cut from burlap with the sharp edge of a broken mirror are precluded from ever mentioning but is so goddamn apparent to everyone everywhere. The big secret! The big lie!
So I had to wait on the couch of his office which resembled the worst ideas once rampant in some age old Carnaby Street loft. And endure the softly put advances of toff’s who came to sit beside me, not doubt as his unspecified bidding. One had the slight suspicion that this was a much punishment as an audience? When it became apparent I made my exit unceremoniously avoiding spinning mandala’s of myriads of computer chips that reassembled to hold court in nanoseconds over the lives of bit players. Extinguishing them by the dozens in para-military play. Old Jim Belushi, a fellow classmate, tapping my shoulder with an offer seeming more polite of going to the nearby multiplex which he had the run of to screen his latest film. The second floor of the mall filled with a succession of explicit projection rooms that pointed in every direction within like mental abstracted pillboxes. The operation of each unexpectedly simplified like straddling a motorcycle and giving it gas. The only film shown was in the mind of one’s own particular imagination. That is where the mental fog of the new morning tore the paper off the dispatch. There is nothing more to report.