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I recalled reading in The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test that one prankster often said: "Yeah! Yeah! Right! Right! Right!" "That's it," I decided. "When Rama starts getting out there, I'll say to myself, 'Yeah! Yeah! Right! Right! Right!" At that moment, Rama raised his arms again. "Do you *see* it?" he quavered. "I *see* it, Rama. Golden light is filling the room." Yeah! Right! Right! Right!"
And Tom Wolfe's experimentally:::::punctuated, day-glowingly huemorous, sa-tir-ically lyr-i-cal The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test, which Rama had recently assigned, was making me want to view the world through the sharp, detached eye of the narrator. "Maybe Rama really can't *see* all that well," I suddenly thought. "Maybe he's making it up as he goes along."
Rather than accepting the abuse as I had done in the past, I found myself thinking about The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test. I thought about how main character Ken Kesey convinced himself during a drug experience that he could access god-like powers. Kesey, writes Wolfe, was able to step back and realize that he was only hallucinating.
I had come of age in a destructive cult. The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test was packed away somewhere in the back. I arrived in Massachusetts feeling frightened and confused. I felt drawn to southern New Hampshire where, eight years before, I had worked one summer on a farm. I found Rico, a younger friend from the farm days who was now a senior in high school. I had not seen him in years.
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