The Margaret Ann Harrell Interview

illustration: Clayton L. Luce

Meet Margaret Ann Harrell whose resume includes Harrell Communications, Columbia University, and the C.G. Jung Institute in Zurich and the following books: “Keep This Quiet! My Relationships With Hunter S. Thompson, Milton Klonsky, and Jan Mensaert.” “Keep THIS Quiet Too!” “Keep This Quiet! III; Initiations.” And in this series “Keep This Quiet! IV: More Initiations.” Other titles by Margaret include “Toward A Philosophy Of Perception,” and “Marking Time With Faulkner.” Oh, and she was copy editor for Hunter S. Thompson’s “Hell’s Angels: A Strange and Terrible Saga.” That was 50 years ago.


C.A. Seller: Primarily, I wish to focus on your latest work, “Keep This Quiet! IV: More Initiations.” Forgive my lack of vernacular, this is no novel but a historical record of a synchronistic journey. Would that be close or am I off the mark?

Margaret Ann Harrell: Interesting. It was said of the physicist Wolfgang Pauli, oddly enough—that he was a walking synchronicity all his life. And it led him to the Nobel Prize. I like to think of a synchronistic life as one where you go where your energy is. Jung called it “being led by the unconscious” (the personal and collective). For a long time I put all of my intuition into my writing (I thought I was a novelist), and one day I realized that that intuition I was putting into my novel writing, I could as well put into my life. It required believing my intuition knew things my conscious self didn’t—which events proved to me. And as unexpected things happened, the more I was “led by the unconscious,” everything I believed about what was possible in life began to change. So, yes, as I eventually listened to myself, the more I began to find myself in synchronicities. Continue reading

Chapters 8 thru 10

Art by Dan Reece



He made a cup of tea with the three packets of sugar he’d

saved from his breakfast. Filling the hot-pot, he took a good

look at his eyes in the mirror and decided that they were yellower and markedly more bloodshot than

they had been before. Hero’s head swooned and his body no longer seemed

to be caught up in gentle waves – now the invisible force

was a blob of magnetic energy which began around his calves,

where it was heaviest, and gradually diminished as it rose

on a bungee-cord hooked to his tailbone. He filled out a

sick call slip while he drank his tea. Continue reading


Hunter Stockton Thompson (July 18, 1937 – February 20, 2005) was an American journalist and author, and the founder of the gonzo journalism movement.

“No More Games. No More Bombs. No More Walking. No More Fun. No More Swimming. 67. That is 17 years past 50. 17 more than I needed or wanted. Boring. I am always bitchy. No Fun – for anybody. 67. You are getting Greedy. Act your old age. Relax – This won’t hurt.”

Football Season Is Over
-Hunter S. Thompson

“He was in a marriage prison on top of other things. No way out that didn’t involve losing his guns, his drugs or his fun.”

-Clayton Luce

When pressed for more Clayton explained. For the sanity of those left alive, for the honor and fond memory of Hunter, these are things better left written about by others. The poem above was no suicide note as claimed. Hunter was in front of his typewriter and the word “counselor” was typed out on the page before him when he died. This is a sad lesson in the American Dream of just what happens when you abuse drugs and alcohol with firearms around.

Believing Hunter decided to check out reminded me of men in prison doing natural life; they get about 10 years of it behind those walls and then they take a bundle of dope and do the whole thing in the process. I heard it told that when Nixon died he took a little piece of Hunter with him. I believe it. Towards the end Hunter was played out. America sold Hunter out. He’d become a fucking brand.

A cartoon. Continue reading

Hero Apomixis: Chapter Seven


by C.A. Seller
art by Dan Reece

(read from Chapter One)


Hero fell asleep pretty quickly and whatever he dreamt, he didn’t remember any of it, but was sure that he remembered one thing, the words:

“State Food, Baby!!”

written in pencil on a NYSDOCS Directive Revision Notice that had the words:

“Destroy This Notice”

printed at the bottom of it in big bold black letters. Yet, that had been a sleepy thought.

Hero woke up just before the count bell. He rolled over to get warmer, tucking the bedding in underneath him. A package of groggy solutions told him that he was safe and that he had nothing to worry about because Born Again Christians had mass produced a life-size inflatable version of him that children punched in the face from when he was a youngster. Continue reading