Reminiscences of an adolescent Zephead

Over the hills and far away, in the longago pubescent dawn, my world was a half-dreamt thing built as much from Tolkien, Lovecraft, and Hunter S. Thompson as from the concrete chunks of reality that the usual suspects doled out daily. At an age when desire and imagination have yet to become estranged from one another, just to see and feel is to breed fetishes. Mine were occult: astral dreams, D&D poesy, illustrations ripped from library books about the supernatural....