Here's a paragraph talking about astral projection and "I was looking at me", in The Long Hard Road Out of Hell
New Orleans was a city populated by two-faced men who were all smiles in your presence but knives and daggers behind you back. Most of the worlds problems could be avoided if people just said what they fucking meant. I climbed into the cracked red leather seat of a metal barber’s chair in the living room that served as a womb, protection from a studio that had become a nemesis and a city that had turned against me. I often imagined that it was a pilot’s chair gutted from a helicopter, like the one my father flew in Vietnam. I closed my eyes and focused on my heart, beating triple time against my chest. I let the pulse the rhythm, the warmth spread through me, then concentrated on lifting that enveloping, warm essence up out of the scarred, abused container of my body, as I had read about in so many books on astral projections. I let myself be carried upwards, higher and higher into the night, until I was immersed in a radiant, consuming white. I felt myself growing, a body wrapping around me now, wings spreading from my back, ribs jutting through my skin like serrated knives, face deforming into the monster I knew I had become. I heard myself laugh an ugly, reboant laugh, my mouth widening in a malevolent sneer large enough to engulf the spinning ball of earth below, a world of petty lives with petty problems and even pettier joys. I could swallow it if I wanted to, dispose of it once and for all. It’s what they had’d been praying for. It’s what i had been sinning for. “Pray mow, motherfuckers,” I heard myself bellow, the sound rattling the firmament. “Pray your life was just a dream.” and the earth answered back with a loud, clattering scream that resounded so loudly in my head that I had to press my palms against my temples to keep my sanity, or insanity. It was the phone ringing.