Greetings Dear Reader
My head is still... oh, how to explain this feeling? kind of spacey after my last little experiment. This means it must have gone well. Only it can make simple things a little tricky, ie: typing.
Why do I do it to myself? I mean really, why? What do I get out of regularly turning my head into a no go zone? It's like a fucking marshmellow right now.
Yesterday, two well intentioned tweep friends implied, (independently of one another) that really, I must be a troubled soul to do this to myself. Well, not really, I don't think. Ok, I'll settle for a little weird that I can't get my jollies by you know, consumerism, McHappyPlastic, fast food, packaged holidays, tv land, skank mags, vacuous plastic boob job pop culture, rationalized, sedated society...
I know, I know, something's desperately wrong with me obviously.
Being pleasantly stoned is a science and an art. My method is minimum input for maximum trashedness. If one plans it properly, the liver need not rot away; by carefully combining moderate amounts of vodka with happy pills, weed (anything you like really), one can achieve the desired chemical reaction... And oh lord. What a high... What an incredible shit fest in the brain, circuits wallow in happiness, synapses fire off mellow bliss. At that moment, I sincerely wish everyone could be as quietly happy, as affable. There's quite a few people I know who could really, really, fucking do with it.
Needless to say, I'm a strong believer in the freedom to self medicate.
But you know, there's always some cretin out to bum your high. Some politician, bureaucrat who was the fat boy at school nobody liked. Some puritan cracker cunt revenging themselves upon a world that they feel has passed them by for being whatever...too ugly, too socially inadequate, altogether too unpleasant to love and so on, ad nauseum.
The downside? There isn't much of one really. As I never use uppers (amphetamines: cocaine, speed etc) of any kind (ugh), I never experience the hell of coming down. At worst, I can only think in binary code ie: thoughts and sentences become very simple logical units. Nothing extends beyond the logistics of 2 + 2 = 4.
That's not so catastrophic is it? Now pardon me dear reader, I need to crawl back into my marshmellow and hide out for a while. I sense the soulless spectre of a homogenized bourgeois world closing in on me...time to fucking run for my life...
