Drug Induced Rant

High

This is a pre-ramble. I thought it 

would be good to write a bit before

ingesting, to perhaps provide 

contrast to what is to follow. Why 

would a mature, responsible adult

wish to take "medicine", drugs, mind

altering substances anyway? I am

a grown man, but I haven't forgotten

my roots; my upbringing, the indelible

Sixties experience, the last gasp of

true humanity, as is posited in the movie;

My Dinner With Andre.

The substance I will consume, MDMA,

is perfect for a nostalgia vacation from

my ordinary mind. Waiting For The Man,

(i.e. me) is the music now. Cute. Unlike

heroin addiction, the occasional 

indulgence of my favorite psychotropic

is a cause for joyful anticipation. It used

to be that way, a lifetime ago, when I

and my friends were waiting for the acid

to come on. The stiffs in their ruts, then 

and now...what did they ever look 

forward to?  Money? A private island?

I have all I need without the ulcers, 

thank you.

It's important to get things out of the way,

chores and such, and be in a good 

environment when you're toying with your 

mind; a dangerous thing to play with. 

This is a very sociable substance...I do 

have a friend waiting to talk to me, so,

bottoms up! Enough foreplay. It will be

a while 'til the engine starts. This the

end of the control.

..............................................................

OK...can we talk?  Now that I've reached

this plateau, or whatever layer of the

gateau, having spoken with my friend,

alone with the computer, what is there

to say? Or, is there anything I wouldn't

have said anyway? Do I even want to 

write right now?  Oops...just did.

Listening to old Rolling Stones...music of

my pubescence. Strikes a familiar chord...

testosterone in the right place at the right

time. Maybe not...maybe there is nothing

to say.

The only advice people heed, usually, is

a plane crash they walk away from....take

that literally and figuratively. Silly robots,

Kicks are for humans. Buddha was right

about families: the first step towards

freedom is leaving them. Here's the

scheduled ramble...will it be worth even

reading and what do I care? The truth

has been out there for so many thousands

of years, yet, harder and harder to hear

as civilization advances towards it's 

inevitable, pathetic conclusion. Where

is the alien DNA when we need it?

Burroughs likened words to a virus, an

apt comparison. We see that more and

more...underlined by the Orwellian world 

society that is eroding human goodness.

That's why I wrote the second part of my

senior college thesis...because the first 

part I wrote on mescaline...I knew they 

wouldn't dig it...I wrote the second half

they way I knew they would accept....

silly robots. A De Quincy I am not...

not a journalist of my experience..

although, there is a place for that. The

place for that is for the tourists of life,

the ones satisfied with a camera full of

pictures so they can remember what

they thought happened. Not me, thanks...

I'd rather read Burrough's tortured 

hallucinations, Ginsberg's excited 

personal observations, Kerouac's 

drunken revelations, Corso's romantic

ravings, Rimbaud's apocalyptic sensations,

anybody with some real meat on them.

Even the Buddhist poets didn't put up with,

what shall we call it? Caca? That would 

be the nice way. I'll concede to that for now.

The few remaining humans have a 

tremendous burden...staying that way.

When you reach my age, if you haven't

already sold out, might as well sit back

and enjoy the horrible truth. Even the 

prophet, Bob Dylan couldn't resist, in the

end, the siren call of the golden calf. He

would be remembered more as a hero if

he'd died on that motorcycle. No one

ever said the end would ever be pretty

anyway. Might as well shouldn't be. Life

is suffering, even for David Rockefeller.

Can't be certain I'll hold my mud when

the time comes...I'll be fine after that,

given what I know. I'm certain of that.

I wouldn't mind selling out at this point.

I wouldn't even mind being famous. What

could they possibly do to me? I'm sure I'd

just laugh in their faces. "So, how does it

feel, now that you're a well known 

acknowledged writer?" 

"About the same, except for you fucks

bothering me. It's not me, assholes, it's

the words I wrote! Can't you tell the

difference? Go suck on someone else's

lollipop!"  That would be sweet, I must say.

My teacher said to save my writing. I did,

of course, because he told me to. I can't 

tell if there was a reason, or, if he was just

being nice to me....no, he wasn't that nice.

I kept writing because the acting thing was 

not readily available, not a career I wanted 

to pursue, although I might have been a 

success. So, the creativity, such as it was,

came out in writing. It had to come out

somehow, that's for sure. Am I doing it,

have I been doing it just for me? Kinda

looks that way a lot of the time...but, you

never know who's going to need something

with which to wipe their ass. 

OK, so, I am writing now...I didn't know if

the state of mind was suitable. It doesn't

really matter...I wrote when I was a drunk 

and now when I'm not drinking. I think,

right now, it was more interesting stuff 

that came out when I was drunk. But

comparisons are odious and who's

counting out the days of my life? Will

my family help me when I need help?

No, because I didn't live up to their 

expectations. But I have something

they need and may never know it. It's

ok...next lifetime.

Boy, this a long string of taffy...not even 

ready to cut it off. Some would say this

is all talking to myself. I call it rehearsing.

Just be careful if you want me to tell you

the truth. It's not that I'm an expert as to

what that is, but, like Tump, I'll say what

I damn well think. They can't stand him, for

example, are scared of him because he's

acting human! And a lot of people love 

him for it! That's the spirit, buddy Trump!

And that's what all the great writers did...

if they didn't speak the truth they were mere

pundits, heretics towards humanity...making

a living like false prophets, charlatans,

phonies. I don't hate the poor bastards, but,

like Bukowski, I feel better when they're not

around.

Wow, I'm having a bit of fun..it was nip and

tuck there for a while...no reference to

plastic surgery....surgery on plastic people.

You think somebody would get the message 

when a woman gets cut up just so she can 

look like a Barbie doll. Nope. And Bruce/

Caitlyn? There's another clue something's 

wrong with this picture. He/she was too 

unfamous for too long is my best guess.

And isn't it interesting that many of the male

winners of the best actor Oscar award played

extrem roles? Cage as a drunk....Sean Penn

as a gay politician? DeCaprio as a bear 

shredded survivor? Makes me wonder, I don't

know about you. I say give the Oscar to 

someone who actually kills themselves or

gets killed...like the real gladiators..what's

the difference? We're more civilized? I

think not...I really think not. We're just

more sugar coated. I mean that literally and

figuratively.  

Well, good place to stop? I think not....maybe 

pause before I start again. Stop me before I

start again!!

Not quick enough....

I got some cigs and told my Mexican 

grocer buddy I was high on drugs. I 

wanted to be sure he understood. He

either did, or thought I was an alien. I

confirmed out friendship and went home.

America should let Mexicans come in,

work and go home. That's all many of

them want, except those trying to 

reclaim the lost part of their nation.

I've lived in Mexico for ten plus years

and haven't had much problem. I don't,

(and didn't) get drunk and go out at night,

which is where all the trouble is. My 

Mexican friend, a woman, opened a 

bar/cafe a number of years ago in town. Some

"heavies", of the local protectors came into

her bar a few nights in a row and hung out.

They obviously upset the atmosphere, not

that they did anything overt, and they did 

pay their tabs. My gringo friend, one night,

thought we should do something about 

them. I said "Don't get heavy with the 

heavies." which advice he heeded. After

a few nights, they never came back. I 

guess she passed the test.

Mexico is still about the family. The Hopi

said, that because the Americans were

such bastards to them, that they would 

never be able to settle in their lives as

Americans. We know now this is true. 

And the American family is widely an

Albee nightmare. He had to write about

something close to him he could see.

I live in a similar situation as Rick's bar

in Casablanca...an oasis from the slam

drunk turmoil of the world. These places 

are losing territory...like sea life, like the

biosphere. I feel incredibly lucky to be 

here, though I don't see any ultimate 

refuge or hope for positive change in 

time. No wonder college students want

a "safe place". 

Now Cruz has dropped out and the 

Donald is the presumptive Republican 

candidate. Now it's Big Ego vs. Queen

Psychopath. Hillary is going to be as 

busy trying to keep her ass out of jail 

as she is running against Trump. I

expect she'll have a meltdown 

eventually She may be a politician

and a good liar, but she's not a sales

woman, not an attractive personality,

and is only two dimensional. No

chance. Has anyone who is not

a politician ever run for president,

I mean besides a few war heroes?

Hang on to your undergarments.

Sayonara from the rant zone...
Y'all be good. Fireworks tonight,
by coincidence.

Push to legalize Psychedelics:

http://theantimedia.org/push-to-decriminalize-psychedelics/