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The LSD Diaries
Part 5
Start:
More amphetamines. Adderall. The “get rich quick scheme” of our generation. I like them up the nose. I’ve always rather enjoyed the rush you get from a chemical immediately entering your bloodstream through the thin layers of skin in your sinus cavity. Adderall does give me that, but nothing else. Where there are shortcuts, there are missed steps as well. This may work when traveling through space but it does not work when trying to expand consciousness. You may yell, “what about acid!!” as I have inconveniently titled my work with this drug know for cause transcendent experiences in many people. What I would say to that is that it is more a misconception of what acid does. I can try to break that down later if I have time but its fairly trivial and I was talking about Adderall and more importantly our medicine-needing culture as a whole. As a drug, recreationally it makes some since, but as a medicine used to help kids get better grades in school, another watered down bull shit institution, it cant be that hard to see through the façade.
Like there is a military complex in this country/world, there is also a self-enhancing medical complex. It’s a large business. I don’t like hospitals. I know they are necessary in a post modern evolved like society but I really don’t like the idea of dying in one. Maybe getting a bone put in place or something of that nature, but going their simply to die just seems so morbid. I want to die, physically not spiritually, in my favorite place, alone. That’s not as depressing as it sounds. I just want to be able to give my good byes while I’m still the vibrant image of life I am now and hopefully will be for the next maybe 20 years. Hospitals take a lot of grace out the act of dying, I think, with the exception of plagues. You take the process that’s already so visually challenging and then slow it down and paint the walls a greyish creamy color so as to dampen the greatness of the act even more.
Who decided that death had to be so bad anyways? Are not the greatest of all of our heroes, ones that “died” for what they believed in? These Martyrs carry out their life’s works to completion with their deaths, just as Ray Allen would hit a clutch game winning three at the buzzer. It feels right. It feels complete, nothing left astray. Makes a man want to die in the right kind of way. Standing up. Outside. Not in a hospital bed being fed morphine through a tube in our arm that is so expensive the “wealth” we spent so much of our time chasing will be used up and fed back to the machine that birthed you in the first place.
It makes good commonsense for the masses to be told dying is bad. That pain is merely bad and not maybe more complex than that. That maybe dying at 16 could attain the same legacy rating as a 100 year old depending on the way these lives were lived. But you are told constantly to stay put. Stay safe. When you walk outside it takes mere moments to find signs placed in the earth stating the fucking rules to keep you put. They say Stop. Yield. Do Not Pass. There are lions and tigers and bears in these woods. And Oz really is just some lucky clown pulling strings behind these shades. Because if you didn’t think that narrative. If you weren’t afraid of other people but in fact embraced the idea of death as a reminder to move faster to make sure you finish in time, you just might change something. These aren’t new ideas and I’m no creative mind for thinking them. “They are truths, and you already knew them. That’s why they sound so familiar.” Russell Brand said that in an interview I watched of him recently and it spoke to me as it probably does to you as well, because well it’s true. I’m still going to my marine science class tomorrow so maybe I’m a hypocrite. Shit I’m usually on more drugs than anyone within 100 yards of me, and I live in tight quarters. I am clearly a product of the same culture I don’t agree with. I wouldn’t exist in pre-modern times. There surely weren’t enough stimulants in the stone-age to make someone like me. So maybe I don’t have a right to complain. But regardless of these natural insecurities, these ideas make me truly believe that even I can find inner peace in this world. So I might as well try.
Stop:
More amphetamines. Adderall. The “get rich quick scheme” of our generation. I like them up the nose. I’ve always rather enjoyed the rush you get from a chemical immediately entering your bloodstream through the thin layers of skin in your sinus cavity. Adderall does give me that, but nothing else. Where there are shortcuts, there are missed steps as well. This may work when traveling through space but it does not work when trying to expand consciousness. You may yell, “what about acid!!” as I have inconveniently titled my work with this drug know for cause transcendent experiences in many people. What I would say to that is that it is more a misconception of what acid does. I can try to break that down later if I have time but its fairly trivial and I was talking about Adderall and more importantly our medicine-needing culture as a whole. As a drug, recreationally it makes some since, but as a medicine used to help kids get better grades in school, another watered down bull shit institution, it cant be that hard to see through the façade.
Like there is a military complex in this country/world, there is also a self-enhancing medical complex. It’s a large business. I don’t like hospitals. I know they are necessary in a post modern evolved like society but I really don’t like the idea of dying in one. Maybe getting a bone put in place or something of that nature, but going their simply to die just seems so morbid. I want to die, physically not spiritually, in my favorite place, alone. That’s not as depressing as it sounds. I just want to be able to give my good byes while I’m still the vibrant image of life I am now and hopefully will be for the next maybe 20 years. Hospitals take a lot of grace out the act of dying, I think, with the exception of plagues. You take the process that’s already so visually challenging and then slow it down and paint the walls a greyish creamy color so as to dampen the greatness of the act even more.
Who decided that death had to be so bad anyways? Are not the greatest of all of our heroes, ones that “died” for what they believed in? These Martyrs carry out their life’s works to completion with their deaths, just as Ray Allen would hit a clutch game winning three at the buzzer. It feels right. It feels complete, nothing left astray. Makes a man want to die in the right kind of way. Standing up. Outside. Not in a hospital bed being fed morphine through a tube in our arm that is so expensive the “wealth” we spent so much of our time chasing will be used up and fed back to the machine that birthed you in the first place.
It makes good commonsense for the masses to be told dying is bad. That pain is merely bad and not maybe more complex than that. That maybe dying at 16 could attain the same legacy rating as a 100 year old depending on the way these lives were lived. But you are told constantly to stay put. Stay safe. When you walk outside it takes mere moments to find signs placed in the earth stating the fucking rules to keep you put. They say Stop. Yield. Do Not Pass. There are lions and tigers and bears in these woods. And Oz really is just some lucky clown pulling strings behind these shades. Because if you didn’t think that narrative. If you weren’t afraid of other people but in fact embraced the idea of death as a reminder to move faster to make sure you finish in time, you just might change something. These aren’t new ideas and I’m no creative mind for thinking them. “They are truths, and you already knew them. That’s why they sound so familiar.” Russell Brand said that in an interview I watched of him recently and it spoke to me as it probably does to you as well, because well it’s true. I’m still going to my marine science class tomorrow so maybe I’m a hypocrite. Shit I’m usually on more drugs than anyone within 100 yards of me, and I live in tight quarters. I am clearly a product of the same culture I don’t agree with. I wouldn’t exist in pre-modern times. There surely weren’t enough stimulants in the stone-age to make someone like me. So maybe I don’t have a right to complain. But regardless of these natural insecurities, these ideas make me truly believe that even I can find inner peace in this world. So I might as well try.
Stop: