Tuesday, May 3, 2016

Drug Induced Rant


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

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

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:



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