hunter had it backwards

I think you CAN turn your back on a drug. I do it all the time. But people? I wouldn't.

They betray, but k is here to stay. So begins the vitamin verse. You'll be hearing a lot of it. I prefer it to people these days. Except people who are on K. Actually no, I'm not going into Lilly-land. Just exploring consciousness, in the most literal way you can. Leap-frogging thoughts, hobnobbing with dreams and realities. It really is like that, in the k hole. I was spinning around the k hole tonight, at high orbit, like I was a marble at the top of a funnel, one of those gravity wells. Which is funny, because K cancels gravity. Which is a strange kind of cushy. Time gets screwy, flangy, taffy, stretches and snaps, then plain breaks, and an hour long trip becomes a vast soup of fluctuating multidimensional causality, or something. Oh and did I mention the hallucinations? It's not bright and flashy like tryptamines, but when I let myself sink into the visuals, they're fucking AMAZING, more vivid and diverse than anything else, like the high-definition capacity of tryptamines combined with the poly-symbolic surrealist well of the unconscious that dreams access. It turns the brain translucent. It's like a VR headset plugged into the great galactic information stream.

I should rename this blog back to uncouth, because lately people have been just shocked - shocked - at the stuff I'm saying publicly. Aghast. Like I'm on the NY Times Editorial board or some shit. Like I've got a "circulation". As opposed to an occasional ramble on backwater ezboard poetry circle-jerks.

So here's another shocker: I'm doing DRUGS! Gasp. I knew I'd find my way to k eventually. Just had to check it out. I'm really fucking with life now, getting in deep, seeing what it's all about. I'm not actually sure it's "about" anything, it's just some fucking bizarre game we're playing, because that's what monkeys do. I saw myself as just another player - and content with that, in an impersonal way, just appreciating the nuance of absurdity, of finding some pathetic niche, living in this crazy house with crazy people, and exploring consciousness. It seems to fit well enough with my "professional" niche of washing dishes tuesday to friday. It pays the rent and the ketamine bills. On weekends I anesthetize myself. Well next week will be very different, and the week after that, even more so. Things have been bleaker than ever, and I'm finding novelty in that, new chasms, depths, re-contextualization.

I was thinking, laying on my makeshift bed, that coming back to the "real world" is a real thing. It makes sense. The obligation to deal with real things, and parrot the fake things I deem it necessary to parrot. But the dynamic between reality and imagination is laid so bare and beautiful, expressed in the dance of mind and body that is ketamine's anesthetic chemical interface. Much more to explore here. As with every other chemical I've ever done, addiction is not an issue, nothing works well enough for me to delude myself into accepting it as a way of life.