Jerry Cosyn The other day I happened to run into my friend Roland in a bookstore. Roland i

Jerry Cosyn

	  The other day I happened to run into my friend Roland in a
bookstore.  Roland is actually more of an acquaintance than a friend,
though he does have a way of showing up at my parties, even without an
invitation.  This isn't really as bad as it sounds, because Roland is
a catalyst -- whenever he is around, conversations are always
entertaining, though often skewed a bit out of the ordinary plane.  Or
perhaps because they are skewed.  In any case, I spotted Roland
sauntering through the aisles between Mystic & Occult and Self-Help
and I slipped up behind him and said, "Hey buddy, can you spare a
pyramid?"

	  This was not as odd a question as you might think because the
last time I had seen Roland he was in an absolute frenzy over the
pyramid power craze.  Roland is always wrapped up in some craze or
other.  Once it was Kirlian photography, and he insisted for months to
anyone who would listen that he could diagnose ESP disorders you
didn't even know you had, and prescribe remedies, if you would just
let him examine a photograph of your aura.  Another time he was off to
Alaska to prove that he could change the shape of the Aurora Borealis
by flapping a bedsheet at them from the ground.  But his infatuation
with pyramid power had even that beat.

	  Roland would discourse for hours (if no one stopped him) about
the power of the pyramid shape, and how it could enhance mystic powers
of the mind, cure disease, ease stress, improve your sex life, prevent
baldness, stimulate thought, remove plaque, housebreak your cat,
unclog drains, and even relieve the heartbreak of psoriasis.  He slept
under a pyramid, exercised under a pyramid, grew plants under
pyramids, preserved food under a pyramid (until his bout with
botulism), and (he claims) had sex under a pyramid (though his
hypothetical partners were never on hand to support his assertion that
it was a religious experience).

	  "Oh, it's you," said Roland, quite unnecessarily, as I knew it
was me all along.  "I was wrong about the pyramids."

	  "No!" I exclaimed, sympathetically.  "Well, nobody's perfect.  So
you got rid of all the pyramids, eh?"  I was looking forward to
hearing what had replaced them.

	  "Oh, not at all," he said.  "The pyramid is fine, in its way, but
it wasn't the complete answer.  It turns out that different parts of
the body need different shapes to attune them to the harmonious
vibrations of life force with the greatest clarity, so that they can
receive maximum stimulation.  The pyramid happens to be the best shape
for the brain, which makes it extremely important, but other organs
need other shapes.  For example, the heart should have a sphere
suspended over it while you're sleeping and a football while
exercising.  The liver responds best to a horseshoe, but a horseshoe
is all wrong for the pituitary gland, which needs a cube.  The stomach
is best attuned to a cone, and the spleen should have a cylinder,
unless you are having trouble with your gall bladder, in which case a
cylinder only aggravates it, so compromise and use a torus for both.
But never place a torus near your lungs!  They need something with
sharply defined edges, like a cigarette box."  He paused for breath
and I interrupted, managing to keep a straight face while I asked,
"What about the genitals?  What do you hang there?"

	  "Oh, you need a double helix for that," he said quickly.  "It
enhances fertility and virility, because it resembles the shape of the
DNA molecules and resonates with their life force."  I wanted to ask
more questions, since it is customary among those of us who know
Roland to pass on any Rolandisms we can, but I knew that if I didn't
get away soon I would need to find out what shape was best for
repairing viscera that had split while containing hysterical laughter.

	  So I resolved to let it go with just one more question regarding
the effect all these shapes had on his sex life.  But alas, it seems
that, though Roland is in better tune with the cosmos than ever
before, his sex life has not had the opportunity to blossom with its
new power.  Apparently the women Roland knows are quirky about going
to bed with someone festooned and beribboned with more ornaments than
a Christmas tree at Macy's.  Perhaps he should try flapping a bedsheet
at them while reading their aura under a dodecahedron....