Then I began talking, I never talked so much in all my life. I told Dean that when I was a kid and rode in cars, I used to imagine I held a big scythe in my hand and cut down the trees and posts and even sliced every hill that zoomed past the window.

Yes, yes, yelled Dean.

I used to do it too.

Only different scythe, tell you why.

Driving across the west with the long stretches, my scythe tell you why. Driving across the west with the long stretches, my scythe had to be

immeasurably longer and it had to curve over the distant mountains, slicing their tops and reaching another level to get at further mountains and at the same time clip off every post along the road.

Excerpt from Jack Curax on the road, 1957.

That was the quote that opened, what was once my PhD thesis, The Chaser, images of accompaniment and malleability

in the evidence for collective unconscious in children and young adults via qualitative analysis.

Thrilling stuff I know.

I'm bound by a number of agreements to not give you the location of my former university nor the names of any of my colleagues in the Fantasia Research cluster for collective psycho imagery.

To do so would threaten the little corner of academia I've managed to hide myself away in.

And nowhere further education college in a nowhere place where I grind away an imitation of a living

teaching night classes like psychology for business people to tired-eyed single

mothers and senior citizens. But someone has to know the things we discovered.

Psycho analytics isn't much regarded anymore, despite the prominent place it held in the

foundation of psychology as a field of study.

Ask most people, and you'll hear something about Freud and cigars and oddly close

familiar relationships. Modern schools of psychology don't pay too much mind either.

Overwhelmingly now focused on scientific approaches to talk therapy,

or just getting to the nuts and bolts of the brain with MRI modeling.

The era of rattling off grandiost theories from me are coked up conversations with Australian

...