I used to love Them. I used to lust for Them and use Them as a measuring stick to define my daring. I used to pray to Its altar so much I needed kneepads.
Now, for so long, I found it impossible to do (hallucinogenic) drugs free of the connotations. Of confines and expectations. Of getting high. But I waited a while between breaking my god habit and trying Them again. I was a gnostic atheist agnostic. I was unsure what existed and ok with that. I thought, here goes, after a while, I was at it again, consuming alice's so classic pill. What is it with this strain of human perception we are all so jealous and lunging at to unlock. It makes more than one man go mad, through tripping or sobriety, but the lust itself will get at you. What makes a man or a woman go insane is one distinct question, what makes a man or a woman desire to flirt with insanity is another distinct proposition. Can it just be deduced to how soulless people try and buy Things, as if their soul was this empty room and if you put enough electronic shit and couches and chairs and bric-a-brac in it, it will now have shit in it and be a place worth sitting... I don't think its so easy as that buy far, the need to purchase a soul through something you consume on the black market. However, I don't think it's as pure as spirituality. Do we have essential desires, do lives and existences contain components?
Now, I less rolick and less contemplate. There is nothing primal about real experience, there is no wild essence to return to. And yet, can we heighten deadened mechanisms. What is the link between drugs and insanity? Was it a trigger for me, a straw that broke the back of my ailing consciousness... or is it like firing two guns in the air, several miles apart... just because the bullets are in the air at similar times hardly means that they will collide...or fall on the same person.
I feel abandonment and attachment, desire and cold. Direct perception and misfires of communication. But I feel more like the confused and shattered earth now then ever. There is no lowdown, no logos, no lowghost, no ghost-modern, no post-post-modern, no primal ooze, there is no epoch, no grand narrative, only tiny resonances catching each other periodically.
Where the shr***S fit into all this is questionable. They are no longer divine unless you force that misnomer on them, a force to be reckoned with for sure, a toxin and a marker of seekers, sometimes maybe I think that's the only point where these two things intersect. A fantastic extending of elements, a thing to use, try not to use up, bargain with Mephistopheles try not to let it suck you dry nor to have you suck it dry.
We try so hard to communicate and are left with rubble in our hands. Empires fall daily. Reality is constantly firebombed and no vegetation grows there again. Toy soldiers slit each others throats. The bridge can hardly hold the weight of humans surging forth.
I am the man or woman I never was, I refuse clarity, embrace the pessimistic, haunt optimism guardedly and wonder what will be next. A person with a lantern in a snowed in city with the power out. So let us go then, and each journey however, see what we find.