Strong Medicine.

How are things otherwise? What’s there to see if the bright spotlight of observation is turned completely around, what’s there to see if it shines on me? Where do things sit psychedelics wise, how are things going between B and me? Strangely enough the last time I tried to achieve anything going under the influence was at the Garden of Eden. Yes. That place again. The last time we went there was when they had that event when the musicians did their thing at around midday instead of early evening. At that point I was wondering if the ‘shrooms were doing anything for me because sticking to a frequent microdose regime it’s hard to tell if they had any magic left in them, hard to tell if they were doing anything.

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Icky. So Icky.

The next words explain that idea a little bit. And it’s 2 days later already. My grip on the thread seems tenuous. It falters, waivers, hovers somewhere close to the brink, the flame of a lit candle about to get extinguished by a sudden gust of wind. As before I’m not sure of how much of the history I’ve covered about this. I know there’s some, and I know there’s stuff I wanted to say, I’m not sure I ever said it. I guess the angle as it stands involves T! and R! and the place they bought (The Garden of Eden). A lot of what this next bit involves is whether they were thinking straight when they got the place. And once they got the place whether what they did with it made much sense.

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Literally Constipated.

There was so much ground to cover. And I didn’t cover it. So it’s all sort of lost now. Lost in the void of the last 6 months. Why? Is there a reason? It sort of got busy, at work. This and that. I’m not sure I have much juice anymore, no juice for writing. Coffee seemed to help with that. There might have been a time alcohol seemed to help with it too. Now coffee and alcohol are things of the past. I’m unable to rely on them anymore. I haven’t found anything to fill in for them so. Nothing in me pushing the words out. Literally Constipated. It’s a pity really. The story did continue to unfold, despite there not being anyone around to keep track of that. Well. I mean the story outside of us has continued to unfold.

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Full Circle.

There is another part to this. A couple actually. Hasn’t there already been a thing about involving a middleman when it comes to finding what we are seeking? Haven’t we already done that a couple of times as a species? Hasn’t that turned out a little sour, something that doesn’t really work all that well? And isn’t there the whole dis-empowerment thing? I mean; isn’t there a point at which we should be accepting responsibility? When it comes to this kind of stuff shouldn’t we? Shouldn’t this path be a road, isn’t something like this a lifelong commitment; a lifestyle?

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Last Supper.

So what was this one about? I think it started with me feeling bad about something. Maybe the D@ thing (see “21 Jump Street“). We’ve invited him and T@ to supper before he leaves, sort of a farewell thing. From our side an attempt at just trying to show a little grace in this whole thing. I guess it doesn’t really have to do with him, who he is, how people feel. But mom doesn’t think it’s a good idea; there’s resistance coming from her about the idea. It’s been a while since someones said what I am or am not allowed to do. I’d have thought if it happened it would be about a couple of other things, but this? I said I’d leave it up to T@ to decide.

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The Dead of Winter.

So is this what my family have all moved down here for? To watch me plummet into the depths of despair. To watch as my marriage is gasping for air. I’m pretty sure they came to escape their own little private versions of Hell, whatever they were. Somehow I managed to sell them all the prettier picture that is my wonderful life. Convinced them all that of course it is so much better than all that out here. That it could be even better if only we were all together. Family first and all that. Hah! It’s like watching ‘Survivor’. Inevitably we all turn against each other. Eat each other. Speaking of eat, where is my mentor in all this, my ‘Muse‘? Where is the mushroom?

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Coffee.

Seems I’ve hit an all time low. Is it a this time of year thing? I really hope so. I think it’s cyclical. I think there’s a pattern. When my happiness levels bottom out it usually coincides with the peak of winter. The weather is so perfectly antisocial right now. It’s not even playing by the rules which is making it even more so. Going all bi-polar. Petulant spoiled brat. Easy now; projecting? This is the part that I spend tearing it all apart. Giving up. Everything is just so meh. Is there any hope. Can there ever be. Is there really any point to keep trying. Etc.

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21 Jump Street.

A month to go and then it’s almost spring. Again. In the meantime winter is running it’s course. Killing Everything. Making it all feel dead. An end to the chapter; D@ has been given the boot. It’s not happening to me but it feels gut-wrenching. He’s decided to go back to Ermelo and live with his half-sister. To try to make it work up there or something. The decision makes absolutely no sense to me. This whole thing just feels nauseating. I’m not sure how much it comes across, how much this subject dominates conversation. The subject of him. All the bad decisions. This one just another bad decision in a long series of previous bad decisions.

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Anansi.

When I started this entry I had a lot more to say. I felt a lot more passionate about exploring the idea of feeling sentimental, and watching that feeling get pissed on by T1 (see ‘So Pretty. So Ugly.‘). I guess in the end it’s not something I am really feeling put out by ~ Life Goes OM. Another idea I wanted to explore involved the fact that B and I had taken a mushroom each before we left to go to the function mentioned there. I guess it’s possible that suddenly things might make a little more sense. Now. Looking back. In light of that. Perhaps. It seemed like such a good idea on paper. Or what was it again? Some kind of situation. Not sure. It might need a bit of explaining.

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So Pretty. So Ugly.

Okay well, so I got a little off track. There was this splash of luminous red on a brick floor somewhere outside in the dark, many worlds swirling around on the inside of it. Many Words. Mesmerizing. I fled to the toilet a short walk away on a gravel path, the crunch of the stones beneath the tread of my boots somehow reassuring, deeply satisfying. The toilet is in a dimly lit outhouse, not very sophisticated but a sanctuary of sorts no less, a place to go for a welcome break, to get away from all the activity. Away from all the talk. Away from the to and fro of words flying through the air like so many armed missiles.

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