8/8 was a lucky day in Olympia.

A little after 7:30pm a seagull shat on my head. I was walking by the old K Records building on Legion, talking on the phone with a potential Radio8Ball collaborator; a talented director from the neighborhood named Zach Weintraub. Here’s a film he made with my protégé, Julia McAlee.

At precisely 8pm Keith Coogan called to wish me a happy Synchroniciday. A week ago we hadn’t spoken in a decade but, thanks to the Twittering of an angel from Wisconsin, we shared an hour of podcast sync last weekend that seems to have set my old friend KC on fire, inspiring him to call me at this auspicious hour; the only sync-surfer (including myself) to consciously honor this year’s moment of 8 in this way.

Earlier that same day my longtime collaborator, Willie Wisely, called to say he was worried about me. This honorable and loving communication came, at first, in the form of a trifling criticism, to which I took offense, leading us to yelling at and hanging up on each other several times before we got to the heart of the matter.

Willie read my last post and it made him feel bad. As he said, “Why does it always need to be a fight?”

I don’t know, Willie. It’s the same question I keep asking that Lenny Bruce handbill on my wall.

I could have imagined none of this a week ago when my friend Rebeca asked me what I was doing to celebrate 8/8.

For the record, I told her I didn’t know what I was doing but I was looking forward to finding out.

Running The Kabbalistic Tree of Olympia on 8/9, just as I entered the park surrounding the Capitol Lake vortex, my mind turned to the concept of “day residue”. That’s the term my father used to describe the daytime activities that are recycled in dreams, as in; For the first time in months I picked up one of my father’s books and that night I dreamed about him. The waking experience is the day residue in the dream.

Somehow this line of thought opened up a channel in me and, all of a sudden, Olympia was dictating a letter. Not to me, but through me, to a new and later version of myself who I suspect is being initiated into existence with the unveiling of Will Morgan’s Psycho Cinematic Analysis and the Perseid meteor showers of this auspicious year.

Dear Andras,

You are new today. Happy 44th.

Things might be a little confusing as you awake so let me fill you in, and if my words are not sufficient, you can always read your own. You wrote a book. You fooled yourself into doing so with the conceit that it was “an infinite suicide note” or a letter to a future lover, or a gift to my children, but it was all for you.

The book’s OK but you are a much finer creation of the process that generated it than the book itself. Together, you and the book form the foundation of what is to become of me. Who am I? I’m your inner cunt. You write about me in the book. You call me Olympia, which is cute.

So this is where you are…

You have cultivated a variety of practices and habits. These have served you well and ill. It’s up to you which of these you choose to continue. Treat the residual urges as impulses from phantom limbs; no longer yours, but still you own them.

Whereas, previously you were concerned with what you had accomplished, you presently concern yourself with what you are doing.

Where previously you bemoaned the many who betrayed and abandoned you, you presently marvel at how many are still standing by you.

And although previously you felt your loneliness as a punishment, presently you cherish every free moment of solitude as much as your moments of impassioned activity in humanity’s throng.

Sometimes you will feel pain. This is because you’ve lost people and things you don’t even remember, as well as many you haven’t yet met. Luckily your body knows how to cry and sweat and shake and laugh and yawn. Take advantage of these abilities.

You will soon find that you have infinite patience for most things but no time for toxic nonsense. What is “toxic nonsense”? You will know it when you feel it, and when you do you will know how to respond. Plus, I’ll be there to help.

Here’s what happened…

You got stuck in a loop. It had to do with your ancestors and a film you did called “The Attic Expeditions” and the shifting of the age around the millennium turn. Your imprisonment was perfect and necessary. You chose to spend it in Olympia, a city that views any overt act of male sexuality as akin to rape, and on some level so do you. In the face of this, your former self sublimated your sexuality into battles for justice, particularly in regard to dismantling sexism. Like I said, you got stuck in a loop. Luckily, you won’t remember the worst of it. Unluckily, many others will.  Like the phantom grief and desire, you will experience unreasonable fears and projections for years. These will stem from the ways you’ve been generously tortured toward the small enlightenment of this day, as well as the gentle tortures you’ve inflicted on others in the process. Whatever you remember; be grateful for your previous sufferings and enjoy your present liberation.

Your liberty comes at the hand of a Robin Hood resonating knight/nerd from Colorado named William Morgan. He unlocked this trap of your own accidental devising with a synchro-celluloid trick called “Psycho Cinematic Analysis”. This act of cyber shamanism should have returned to you whatever powers you misplaced in your imprisonment, with interest.

Now, when I say “powers” don’t get too excited. You can’t fly or weave webs or breathe underwater. You aren’t made of steel or titanium or toxic sludge. What you are is good with words and music and synchronicity, with a love for the spotlight and a nose for the sacred moment. In other words, you are an actor. Your former self earned a seat at many a table with these talents but never could quite convince himself to sit down and dig in. Now it’s your turn. My advice is to enjoy all that your former self eschewed for, what turned out to be, trifling vanities stemming from his own imperfect programming.

However you choose to proceed, I will be at your side, urging you on. Raging and loving with you. Now go see what kind of world you’ve inherited from yourself. Like you, it’s doomed and new. Love it up.

Presently Yours,

Olympia