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It was the 1969-1970 school year at Cal Poly, Pomona, when I signed up to study some philosophy under Dick Richards, on the advice of my brother Byron. I was in the middle of a radical renovation of my worldview at the time, having dropped out of college. The rocket science major didn’t work out, once I realized that all the jobs were military, and the math major had suffered from an epiphany while trying to differentiate inverse hyperbolic trig functions on two hits of acid. I needed to switch to some more primitive human endeavors, where it wasn’t so very far to the creative frontier. Both philosophy and psychology fit that bill: those guys didn’t have a clue, except maybe Nietzsche and Maslow. I wouldn’t find out about the Stoics, Epicureans, and Cynics until later. Neuroscience wasn’t really invented yet. [excerpt]

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