|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?|
I guess we had a fall out too. I got bored of him, I got bored of her, I got bored of it. In an attempt to fill the void I pick up a book, I listen to a podcast, surf the internet in search of a psychedelic solution. You know what these guys are starting to sound like. They use big words and spin extraordinary tales, an image comes to mind from way back when and those people that sold snake oil or whatever magically imbued elixir. Magic Potion. Magic Mushroom. I’m starting to lose faith. Them tales are starting to sound a little too tall.
A little too insincere.
All that big picture stuff, all that oh so important stuff. All that oh so interesting sounding stuff. All just stuff. Stuff and more stuff. Just too much damn stuff. Here in my plastic garden chair, watching as the weeds take over, watching as the dirty dishes pile up, watching as my life slowly falls apart they provide very little by way of comfort. No comfort at all. Where are you now? What words words and more words can make this all better? I just can’t seem to put my finger on it. I just can’t seem to find it. Those words, that story that could make this all better, that could make this all bearable.
None of what they say seems to appear inside this picture, and I wonder why that is? Why none of what appears inside this picture appears in theirs. Doesn’t any of what happens in day to day life exist in their lives, is all this sh!t we have to deal with exclusive to me and mine? Is it all just stuff that happens in my own head? Is that possible? These guys don’t have to get up in the morning and have to deal with dog breath. Not have to fight off the urge for this or that bad habit; drinking a cup of coffee, lighting up a cigarette.
Well. I can’t relate.
Well done to them. Well done for escaping it. I can’t imagine what an exquisitely beautiful world they must live in. The fields of perfectly green grass they run through, playing with butterflies. Where the sun makes you warm and there’s no threat of getting sunburn, or getting skin cancer. Well done. In your world there’s nothing to ever worry about except running out of words. Words that describe how perfect everything is, how perfect everything can be. And words that decry the great injustice that is the repression of the psychedelic experience. Well I’ve been there. I’ve done that.
So. What am I missing?
It’s amazing to think there was ever a point, it being possible to have pointed a finger at other people and to go no; not good enough. To go I could do better than that. To think there was ever a time I was that comfortable. To think there was something wrong with someone that just doesn’t give a fnck. Who doesn’t care that they watch too much television, drinks too much beer, eats too much fried food, junk food, sweet food. Who spends too much time playing video games and on their cell phone. Can I really blame them? Can I really accuse them of doing anything wrong?
If this experience can be so painful and what they are doing is just an attempt at feeling better about it then who am I to judge? Who am I to interfere? Who am I except someone who pretends there’s no pain, nothing to try to feel better about. I can’t pretend anymore. There’s plenty of pain and you can do whatever you want to try to get through it. From here on out you have my blessing, if that counts for anything. And in the absence of anything sacred like what those guys are trying to sell you, and in the absence of God Himself, in the absence of anything special that helps you make sense of all this craziness what can I offer you?
I’ve looked everywhere for it but it cannot be found, will not be found. For all intents and purposes it does not exist. There is nothing left. Welcome to the Dead of Winter. In this place we are all the same. In this place there is no right and just a whole bunch of wrong. In this place if you take a sh!t that’s about as close as you will get to having a religious experience. In this place an angel is more likely to appear to you in the guise of a character of a television show or a movie than in real life etc. What happens in a mirror is where the real magic is. Burning food a magical act; one step in a series of steps that makes up a ritual.
If you can cut your nails well that is something. Music can make you dance and sing. With a bit of luck you might even notice a dream, or even realize that you are breathing. Pay no mind to those guys that make all this banal stuff sound like nothing, sound so disappointing. Contrary to popular belief the sacred is in the mundane, not always in that *insert big words* unachievable thing. Fight and be Happy. Let unhappiness be your source of Ecstasy. Gorge yourself on misery because oh what the hell; there’s plenty of it. Find beauty in everything they tell you is ugly. There’s a reason why you don’t have any other choice really.
Is it anyone’s fault that you didn’t get the hint?