As much as I have tried I have never come close. How much do you need to take to make it work?
I’ve been on hundreds of trips man…I hear them say that and I wonder if they reached that level…do they still get constipated? What is it you want to achieve? That everyday you wake up and you don’t need to feel sore or have dry skin? Or feel broke? What if you have money- does that get to where you want? What if I add dmt to it? How hard you want to go? Mainline some K? Does it get you there? What about the Mason family, darkness drugs and bid the day goodbye? Like some speeding arrow, where are they down? Old and feeble, like some grandmother? What about Hitler, I was in the Nazi Youth and look where it got me- riding a motorcycle out in the desert with some fucking patch I show people.
What if I can’t score everyday? I’ll get sick, man. Go to the state, they put you in those liquid handcuffs. Say you got anxiety, they’ll give you some of those k-pins and that shit that slows your heart rate down, that’s what my girl does.
Probably helps mask the scent of unwashed clothes.
Enjoy the party now, what will we eat after? Can there really be any sort of political movement now that there is Netflix? Is that what we want? I don’t know what it is like to be dehydrated, after all I log all filtered water I drink in this app, it even displays the graph for free. How can I participate in some revolution? Have I even held a gun? Do you know what it is like to be in pain? How about that California Apple ideology. Steve Jobs and his great LSD experience and now he is rich and now he can experiment with diet and now he is dead and guess what his wife still takes a shit every morning!
What if it is about that, rolling around in the undergrowth, don’t you feel that urge to lay down, to feel that glow in between the eyes, feel yourself and your bones, and those worms, and all these fluids, what are these things, these little tiny hands all over me holding me up. And then that woman in green she is coming at me fast and in that moment I’m not sure if I am in a pool or in a rubber suit or have urinated or what is sex? Or reproduction and creating a life and we do this stuff and I hurt if I don’t put this in my mouth and drink that and oh god that is a gun in my mouth. This is the police state in it’s full brutality. I can’t escape. I am with these men, these inmates and they are nothing like me, I swear! I didn’t kill anybody! I didn’t steal I swear people would say I am a nice guy! Oh no a guard is coming. I can’t be talking to you right now, it is against the rules and my parole hearing is up soon.
I will be the guy raking the leaves at that garden store you go to in order to get a pumpkin for your porch for the kids that will be coming by for candy. My jeans have this fine particulate matter in them from the fertilizers and I wonder if it will be bad for my health. I know when it gets on my hands it dries them out and lord knows I spend a fortune on hand lotion. I can’t touch corduroy either, am I autistic? Would that explain it? God just give me an answer, or I’ll settle for a sign!
But what about that moment when we didn’t need to worry about the next meal, when we lived on campus with our peers. You think the guy with the cardboard sign and swollen feet out in the wet and the cold thought he would end up like that when he was in your position?! Do you? I am going to go out the old fashioned way- take some tabs, take my clothes off and rub honey all over myself in the woods. They are filled to the brim with bears. They will cut me down, because I can’t. You know how many times I brought that gun along looking to get famous but nothing happened? Do you know how many times this plays out again and again. Doc says it is a deficit in cognitive mapping. Sure, that is the latest phrase in a long line of phrases that are unique to modernity. Ha!
But I thought we would have been so good together. I met you father. We had sex and confessed for being born. I wanted to do it then and there, draw blood, be awash in the stuff. It was us! We were to grow old, in a vacuum of course, no passage of time, just just oh god, don’t stop, I love you, oh god I love you so much. I literally cry whenever I listen to that song and have a beer or two in me. It is joy, something I never told anyone. Just like when you listen to one of those Beethoven symphonies. You are so beautiful, I’m not just saying that, your eyes, your hair, I know you, in a past life or something. Some shit. No no I’m not cheapening the experience.
Let me add some significance to the situation. Let me make you think I am serious. Sure you aren’t perfect, you see that in the cracks. Leaking all over my face; you do don’t you. Truth be told I can’t be around you unless I’m ‘there’ you know. Why do you think I always bring my backpack into the bathroom, even during that Christmas party at your uncle’s house there right on the beach. Oh yeah, yup. I lied, there I said it. Fuck this, you know what at least when I do this I can feel calm. I don’t want to be with you! Go fuck yourself and your fucked up family! Fuck your old boyfriend. God it sounds petty but this is my life!! Fuck! And I have to go to work the next day. I thought in that lovely little moment where we promised to Be Here Now and I gave you my copy of Be Here Now and we drew and listened to jazz and thought this and thought that and read those books, like the young folk who try to be with it do. But there is no with it. The culture is too fast, I can’t hold on.
And now there is anxiety from when someone doesn’t like your picture and your post was never read and you only hope in 1000 years someone says, why yes! We have found it, the real it, the way is the way but you can’t actually say what is the way because then it will no longer be the way and the Tzu people, all three of them will nod and you will hear the sounds of one hand clapping and the tiger and strawberry plant and that guy who promised to teach you meditation but really tried to molest you or at least that is what you tell people because it was you that tried to molest the uninitiated and it was me that broke up with you and I was the one that was looking to hang out with the guy with the beard and I had no interest in those tabs or that music and never had any interest in the bus or the acid tests or highway 1 or that band that had those long jams. I was the one that met Charles Mason, that was me in 1967 as a painter. It was me! Not you! I carried out those wishes, we were in the now. We mirrored each other and played cowboys and Indians by those rocks. There was no Nazi party, it was us all along! I was in the cold in the winter of ’43, the second time, not there for the first.
Shall we go while we can?
You know he had die. He had die.