politics
the horse race
the games that may affect me down the line
but it’s hard to tell
hey, this dead is sweet
maybe my mood is improved
life is ridiculous
but the dead is sweet, haha
life is stupid and pointless
but the dead is sweet, yeah
of course, there’s psychosomatic tension
a vague itchiness in the eyes and everywhere, generally
psychosomatic realities of psycho-active chemicals
but whatever
hmm, a little levity, break from bad thoughts
then they flood in again, enhanced by THC, like a Tidal rush
like i’m a slave to thoughts, feelings, i guess i am
or am i letting myself be a slave?
path of least resistance?
i thought this was supposed to be about hedonism, dammnit?
the extra m is for, uh, i dunno
they want more m-m-monitors, please
wonder what he’s on? the haunted drum set
too weird for words, haha, what’s this guy’s trip?
maybe it’s all of our trips
maybe the dead are grateful, cause we buried their corpses
February 27th, 1970, San Francisco, California
it was inevitable someone would record an album, one day
and call it: californication
inevitabilities, dmt-inspired bandnames
what is this trip i’m on? i dunno
it smells like stilton
it’s a homemade trip
i rolled my own trip
no one can imagine
it’s got those cold steel fences
on the state boundaries
thc equals feelings (thoughts?) of higher dimensions being revealed, and they’re not always nice, like an intellectual layer to my second to second functioning, motivations
absurd details – enhancement of a mundane life, higher dimensional mundanity? hyper mundanity? ebb and flow – different state to be sure – a glimpse of things i might have to grapple with - it’s all so ridiculous – makes me wanna throw my hands up in the air, like i dunno, like i don’t wanna mutherfuckin care, but i do, so often, about so many things, real, and imagined… hey, the dead can really jam, this is cool shit – that bass player is all over the place, it’s awesome – great band – i’m almost nailed to the floor – feelings can be strong, can be bigger than a mundane life’s self pity – although also, subservient to it – i dunno, strange time to be alive and stoned – is this my life or is this a trip? sounds like something that should be in my radio play - wow, this is a weird transitional falling through the hallucinogenic cracks in self – but that is something i would say, for all the refractive marbles – blurred pasts - - been close to burnout so many times – maybe the stronger drugs did that, or had a hand in it – how would i know though? oh – i’m a k head now, that’s my doc, although dxm is still a fave – hmm, getting tense and disturbed talking about this – can’t relax – maybe i’d be this way whatever i was talking about – or doing – was it the talk, or is it just the psychosomatic progression, how i “feel” – feels hard to type, there’s a tension – hard to explain – i never seem to believe it’s real when i read later, in any way that counts, can’t feel, can’t really empathize with the poorly defined feeling, meaning, hallucination – hands intolerably cold – stilton is good – maybe i don’t want to think in context – thinking about how cold it is outside – how comfortable i am compared to what could be – dancin’ in the street, okay there’s something different to think about – this bootleg is very nice quality – 1970 huh? nice – wow, yeah, that made me shaky, that stuff, i guess it did stop the boredom, but what has it replaced that with? something freaky, uncomfortable, forcing me to think about all these huge things, and grating intricasies, in what is real, is that what i mean? what can be real in certain states - - sewer magic – chud grunts – jesus christ, what is this shit? what is this life? i think i ought to “deal” with it somehow, but i may be a creature with certain design paramaters, certain specs, certain flaws - - chronically messed up, maladaptive – adaptive enough to get to certain areas that then drive me into maddening frustrating pits of no exit desire feedback loops that i'm not at liberty to discuss in detail, even here, or there, wherever, might we just tack it to a merry go round?
it fucking sucks when i can’t control my own hallucinations – that’s what i like about k, even though i’m swept along, pulled by some alien gravity that is much vaster than me and necessarily beyond my petty understanding, there is a sense that there’s a place for me there, it pays homage to my attempts at understanding, it is my trip, feels comfortable – but thc, and tryptamines grate on it – it’s like i’m chafing against some hostile universe, that is not mine, that does not have a place for me. Life is like that too, regular sober life – so tryptamines enhance that feeling. K takes it away – that’s my kind of drug
yeah, well, candy is known to be a well-liked substance too
no special feat saying i prefer dissociatives, they’re easy
i like the path of least resistance, to a point i guess
but fuck yeah, i’m lazy, lazy bastard with a work ethic
it’s not a strong ethic, lately i’ll work for the man
but not for my art, or music - i guess a little for ravenhead
because that’s another one of those ridiculous obligation loops
i’ve gotten myself into, but – yeah, well i guess that’s why death
is always on my mind, that seems easy sometimes too, an easy way out
or into, or i dunno, but i do have suspicions, that i usually don’t like to examine
in much detail – hey, maybe that’s why i quit tryptamines too
well it is better than being bored in my mundane life anyway
there is beauty, amid the ugliness – something i can appreciate
even as i feel sick beyond words, dead, useless, a spirit chained to an ungrateful corpse
but the dead sound sweet, i can appreciate that
even if what i do and have done and will do is pathetic bullshit
and it’s all state-bounded crap
haven’t got to a sophisticated level of hedonism yet
to be able to enjoy transience, or i dunno what it is
these hifalutin, hallucinatin lines seem false a second after i type them
like meaning cannot hold for more than ten seconds, it’s changing
not focused, morphing, can never pin down the truth
or whatever, slurred, and there’s beauty in that, but not very much
cause it’s blurred and slurred with real-seeming hallucinations, the grudge match that demands of me
sucrets, to switch the flick
seems worth a headache
in retrospeckked…
yeah, the ufo trip, it is kinda like that, could never enjoy being abducted by aliens
and anal probed, yeah, that seemed masochistic to me, but that’s just how i’m wired
i’m glad i don’t have too many obligations right now
i could shrug anything and everything off, i WOULD shrug anything and anyone off
i would, cause i have no obligations
cause nobody gives a fuck about me, so i don’t have to give a fuck about anyone else either
it’s all a shallow pool of self-reflection, so like, what the fuck do i care?
so maybe I WILL shrug everything and everyone off
and if you want something from me, you can go fuck yourselves, your good selves, manipually manipulate yourselves, or secure sequestered cock mechanisms, go through the motions, use your endorphins, you’re your own parasites, yeah
i will write stupid songs and take smart drugs, haha – well, there are some substances popularly known as “smart drugs”, but that set of substances is subject to interpretation, the eye of the beholder – i won’t worry about talking about whatever i want to talk about – all we need is music, sweet music, say the grateful dead – yeah, they are sweet – candyband, man, and the nomeansno riffed on this song, the good ol nomeansno, those boys – yeah, there’s beauty in the stone, and in my head, but there’s so much shit in between – what a lovely metaphor that was, ah, yes, let the sarcasm ring, pure as the driven slush – well, it’s gross getting inside my head and digging around, but it did stave off the boredom a bit – that will catch up to me in hour 3 probably – but it’s good to dull the senses – i declare that a moral imperative
it’s all bullshit, but this entry is a slightly more hallucinogenic bullshit than the last one – something purposeful, in a state bounded way
I brought us some yummy stuff… that thick dark nelson-brewed yummy stuff, that’s not as dark as guiness, but is as dark as my soul, which is as dark as inner-city-pressure, when the concrete world is starting to get ya, no one understands or sympathizes, you just stay home and play synthesizers… you just stand there… you just stand there
slilton is a good smelltrack – oh yeah – one notch above the socksniffing untermensch
oh, there’s a grotesque hallucination for you – i can see it too – he’s got a hat, the mutation flag, the freaksignia
damn, i wish i had more k – that’s all i want, not these fucking crazy research chemicals… or maybe i do want them – i mean, they're not this tense quasi hallucinogenic bullshit like thc, they're a little more refined, brighter, probably extremely paranoid and tense and soul shattering, but at least really hallucinogenic… it’s just, they’re so strong, they break down my defenses so quickly, stress at the weakpoints and i buckle, beg for mercy
now i’m second guessing everything, the flow, the river, the thing to latch onto isn’t as strong anymore – unstead of a current, it’s congealing in confusing foam, pools of colliding currents, i don’t know where to go, what to hang on to – i guess that was okay, order in the chaos – tired words though, i continue to second guess – what more is there to say? lots probably, i’ll find little bubbles, bounce off them, between drownings and doubt and dimness, bubble drubbings
i need conscious restriction surgery – i’ll put myself in the company of such luminaries as gleeright megatrone…
It might not be such a bad idea to have a shield and a softening up. Funny how much energy I would expend, looking for, or making chemical keys. Nowadays they just come to me. Although I said I would never drink out of bottle of robitussin again. Good to have connections. I puked because I danced. But I did it again. It was good, it was like the sixth day of creation. A journey to rival the frothing pale handrails of soap-choked hope. I have to reference that every few weeks or so. This stuff will probably kill you. Let’s do another line. Cause it’ll probably kill you, not me. It’ll embalm me. Take me by the hand, to the canadian land of the dead. When things meant things. When papagenu was my father. When we waited for miracles. When we were in the sterile waiting room, where everybody had steel eyes, stainless steel. They collected iris paintings.
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