buh deet deet deet... *teletype noises*
The further I get away from this weekend, the more of a blur it seems.
I dropped acid for the first time. Aside from a decent dose of mushrooms on South Beach four years ago, this was my only other experience with hallucinogens.
I had a great goddamn time.
I can only attribute the sensation to a release of inhibitions and an acceleration of my already harried thought processes. I was thinking fast and laughing a lot, and my fascination with humanity's status (though vehemently denied by our "civilization") as the top of the monkey family tree ruled much of the day's thoughtspace.
I kept thinking (during an hour-long shower) about how I feel like an enlightened monkey, not a smart human, a primate who hasn't forgotten how short a time it's been since we were in trees, who knows how slothlike and complacent we are as a species. (And if you don't agree, puh-leaze. What other culture has refined 'labor' to the point that 'workers' sit on their asses behind desks doing primarily nothing worthwhile?
Hunt and gather, anyone?
I keep thinking about working in the countryside in Germany, or serving pints at a pub in an English or Irish village...any kind of work that uses one's hands (and not to tap keys), work that makes your body hurt a bit but your soul sing. I also realize that while my laptop is my best friend in the world (for now), my mirror, my butterfly net for words...that if it went kaput, I know paper and pen would do.
If I saw anything inside myself while tripping this weekend, it's that I don't really need anything or anyone. Part of the way I grew up demanded that I learn to take care of myself, and I've learned to do that admirably.
I know I don't fit into society all that well. I like shocking tourists and poking fun at sneering clubgoers who don't like my clothes. I love good food and new sights and breathing in the air of places that feel like home. I love exploring the world (despite the fact that I haven't been able to do it much), walking different places as much as possible. My writing's proving more and more animalistic, and I don't know how well that'll read. Most people who have spent time with the shimmer stories are a little afraid of the writing (or me); it's harsh like Jack Womack's Random Acts of Senseless Violence or Henry Miller's raging, bloody prose (that I haven't read enough of).
I'm changing. I'm realizing how long I've been doing that, making the shift from the sci-fi-obsessed wanker of my youth (which I still love, and is still a part of me) to the decades of world exploration ahead of me. I want to study shamanism. I want to climb the mountains of Norway and Glasgow, and sing to myself in Tibet. I want to see all of us, see what we've done.
�
So why do I want to write comics?
Two reasons: one, they pay. I'm in a unique position, where I know a lot of people, and I'm writing a lot of stuff that works in the medium. But two, the main reason, is it's the kind of work i can travel with. Dan, but all of his blustering and explosions, is a really great person, and I'd be blessed to have him to travel with, should that be the path we get on.
If it isn't, I know we'll keep intersecting in some other way.
last acid notes:
I was really taken aback at how little "hallucinating" I did. It was far from the explosions of color and light and emotion that mushrooms provided; it was an acceleration of thought and idea and movement (I kept jumping in the air and couldn't stop my feet from jumping). At the same time, there was something wondrous about that state, and it's definitely something I'll do again.
Why was I so afraid?
It doesn't matter.
