I helped a guy, I can have a huff, I'm worthy of this modest proposal: a hit of nicotine laced propylene glycol and vegetable glycerin, on a wattage setting that knocks my breath away for half a minute. On a limited diet of drugs, except for the mood ones that come from the pharmacy. But the loopholes I allow for, allow for a variety of religious experiences. Okay, religious is a stretch. Just wanted to reference William James. And I'm probably not meant for religious experiences, or I squandered that possibility by following my guide all the way up the Himalayan mountains, finding the head of the Kwik-E-Mart, and asking him my three allotted questions: Are you the head of the Kwik-E-Mart? Really? You?
And I feel the effects of the mood drug regime in odd ways, when I helped that guy, and the physical effort of trying to dig a car out of the cliff of ice it had crunched into was past the threshold of where it sends these zaps to my head in flashes that can trigger phobia some times, but right now it's fine - not one of the desired effects or side-effects. But THC really boosts an orgasm, whether in indica form or sativa, still can't really tell the difference because the difference is subtle, the mental effects far outweigh any other qualities, and thus feast on all the oxygen of any potential qualitative difference, even though John Lilly doesn't like the term "qualitative".
I'm digging this thirty-seven-year old stranger out of the snow, using a shovel when I need an ice-pick, a performance really. Then I call the tow truck which luckily is able to pull that little 86 mobile up enough from the weird and deep angle it's etched into, a little bumper crumbling here, crumpling there. Not a job for me, but there's some solidarity in his bug eyes, near-panic, really fucking with his buzz - he doesn't want to be caught high with his clean license. The two cop car compliment is staying seemingly forever while we go about this kabuki of trying to dig his car out of the ice, though it's never gonna happen, that cop says, physics, so we say to each other we're not physicists. Those eyes, so bug! I feel like this is an unacceptable fucking up of the buzz. Maybe it doesn't have to ruin a whole week in addition to a night.
BCAA coverage did the job. I was a passenger, let's say, make up some story about hitching. Then it turns out I knew the guy in grade school, he recognized me after hearing my name, like people tend to, to my continued dismay, as if I want to go back down that memory lane. But the present is thirty-seven, maybe finally I can be okay with where things have evolved. Cause Thirty-Seven-Year Olds are resonating with me, some mind linkage happening. Class of, whatever, I don't care what year. Guaranteed to get a choice Simpsons reference, from the good years of seasons two thru six.