EJERCICIOS DE TOLERANCIA

Este fin de semana mi nuevo compañero de piso ha estado en "un seminario práctico sobre TECNOLOGIAS ORGONICAS". Me da miedo preguntarle, no vaya a ser que me lo cuente,... De momento del Orgón lo unico que quiero saber es lo que contaba Old Bull en el "On the Road" de Jack Kerouac, ya hace más de 50 años:

An Afternoon with Old Bull

We scoured the yard for things to do. There was a tremendous fence Bull had been working on to separate him from the obnoxious neighbours; it would never be finished, the task was too much. He rocked it back and forth to show how solid it was. Suddenly he grew tired and quiet and went in the house and disappeared in the bathroom for his pre-lunch fix.

He came out glassy-eyed and calm, and sat down under his burning lamp. The sunlight poked feebly behind the drawn shade.

“Say, why don’t you fellows try my orgone accumulator? Put some juice in your bones. I always rush up and take off ninety miles an hour for the nearest whorehouse, hor-hor-hor!”

This was his “laugh” laugh –when he wasn’t really laughing.

The orgone accumulator is an ordinary box big enough for a man to sit inside on a chair: a layer of wood, a layer of metal, and another layer of wood gather in orgones from the atmosphere and hold then captive long enough for the human body to absorb more than a usual share.

According to Reich, orgones are vibratory atmospheric atoms of the life-principle. People get cancer because they run out of orgones. Old Bull thought his orgone accumulator would be improved if the wood used was as organic as possible, so he tied bush bayou leaves and twigs to his mystical outhouse. It stood there in the hot, flat yard, an exfoliate machine clustered and bedecked with maniacal contrivances. Old Bull slipped of his clothes and went in to sit and moon over his navel. “Say, Sal, after lunch let’s you and me go play the horses over the bookie joint in Graetna”. He was magnificient.

He took a nap after lunch in his chair, the air gun on his lap and little Ray curled around his neck, sleeping. It was a pretty sight, father and son, a father who would certainly never bore his son when it came to finding things to do and talk about. He woke up with a start and stared at me. It took him a minute to recognize who I was. “What are you going to the Coast for, Sal?” he asked, and went back to sleep in a moment.