This practice of drinking hallucinogenic urine shows itself to be a vital part of the ritual complex of many warrior tribes around the globe.
Allegory haters beware, you would make a showpiece out of the sword and the rock. Literature that is obscure, that covers its own tracks, and takes confusing turns to turn you off its back, is running away from you for a reason. It has a secret that you have to work for to get. Don't worry, a critical analysis will do. Dont resent it, or be surprised by the results. You are ignoring control there. The secret wont give you miracles or anything, it will allow you to find out that part of you that killed the author.
If you find anything aesthetic, that is truly art for arts sake, then fear it like you would fear your own soul. Because here, the self-liberating circles intersect in ways you cannot imagine. It is possible for logical and practical impossibilities to be explained. It is possible to say "I lie" here. It is possible to write erotic stories between any two charachters in history. It is possible to juggle words to induce a hypnotic trance. It is not art for art's sake. It is art for sake of screwing society.
If you find nothing aesthetic, you are a cynic, and a realist and probably not a John Lennon fan. That just about makes you the anti-Gandhi. In which case, beware of Rose Thorns.
I am not prejudiced against you. Really. In fact, I am offering you a ride home. On my magic carpet. Just don't think its blue. It's the color of the star auras. A purple not yet HEXed or RGBd. It has platinum that shivers with the blood of fate. Please have a seat. It is a sea of corpses decayed for millenia. It is a black, underground sea of corpses of the lizard kings. Eceyone wants the sea. They would pay a high price just to get a small share. It is like the Russians who drink urine that has fungus in it. They like the resulting hallucinations. Everyone wants the sea just like that. And floating in the sea, are things that have aged but cannot rot. They are old, and massive and dead, but not destroyable. Mills, Looms, Locomotors, Boings, Skyscrapers and Laptops all float around in this sea. It is civilisation itself that is submerged in it... its very foundation is the sea of decomposed blood. In your hand, you have a match. Will you strike it?
High towers of flames engulfed the magic carpet. It tried to escape the flames but the carpet was not immune to fire, especially an allegorical one. Fire was energy. Fire was the prediction. When civilisation burns, someone turns on the sprinklers. It is raining, the sea continues to burn, and you get repeatedly struck by lightning.
Let us jump of the carpet now. As equals. Abandon ship. To each his own. Hey hell, I have wings of allegory that your fire cannot touch. I am flying away, and I crow at you.