Skull-Face

"Up from Earth's center through the Seventh GateI rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate."-Omar KhayyamMy dream of the skull-face was borne over that usually uncrossable gap that lies betweenhashish enchantment and humdrum reality. I sat cross-legged on a mat in Yun Shatu'sTemple of Dreams and gathered the fading forces of my decaying brain to the task ofremembering events and faces.This last dream was so entirely different from any I had ever had before, that my waninginterest was roused to the point of inquiring as to its origin. When I first began toexperiment with hashish, I sought to find a physical or psychic basis for the wild flights ofillusion pertaining thereto, but of late I had been content to enjoy without seeking causeand effect.Whence this unaccountable sensation of familiarity in regard to that vision? I took mythrobbing head between my hands and laboriously sought a clue. A living dead man and agirl of rare beauty who had looked over his shoulder. Then I remembered.Back in the fog of days and nights which veils a hashish addict's memory, my money hadgiven out. It seemed years or possibly centuries, but my stagnant reason told me that it hadprobably been only a few days. At any rate, I had presented myself at Yun Shatu's sordiddive as usual and had been thrown out by the great Negro, Hassim, when it was learned Ihad no more money.My universe crashing to pieces about me, and my nerves humming like taut piano wires forthe vital need that was mine, I crouched in the gutter and gibbered bestially, till Hassimswaggered out and stilled my yammerings with a blow that felled me, half-stunned.