A highly intoxicated scribble about purity. Circa 420 2008
I don't want to BE the meat, I want to EAT the meat. Jesus. That changed everything, everything like the animal in my mouth puked after its last meal. My god. I can drink anything right now: that right there, that empty glass, that filled-up nonsense mind, that tasted like water. The warmth of Mexico.
LAND'HO!
She speaks: I don't mind that he's a homo, all he does is drink and smoke, cos he was underground punk and shit, and he's fun to talk to.
I get back to the conversation in my head. I want to roll a joint.
But first I interrupt from write with a bowl of Egyptian blend. These aphrodisiacs! They, these cunts of a son like I'm the only one: I AM THE ONLY SON. Listen, this is a style. And some Egyptian blend, of course.
We hermits smuggle in heavy conversation under the North Lights Blueberry AAAA. Obviously, we are activating the solar system. Obviously, I am at my death, I cannot remember my life just that my soul has been out of orbit for some time. Time...
The concept induces some recollection of human experience.
First of all,
This is technical: I'll probably sober up,
probably tomorrow morning.
They're saying now that being too interesting (drug dealers)
is a negative: flaw.
I stare at the table, where someone split their tequila.
I get back to the conversation in my head. I want to roll a joint.
But first I interrupt from write with a bowl of Egyptian blend. These aphrodisiacs! They, these cunts of a son like I'm the only one: I AM THE ONLY SON. Listen, this is a style. And some Egyptian blend, of course.
We hermits smuggle in heavy conversation under the North Lights Blueberry AAAA. Obviously, we are activating the solar system. Obviously, I am at my death, I cannot remember my life just that my soul has been out of orbit for some time. Time...
The concept induces some recollection of human experience.
First of all,
This is technical: I'll probably sober up,
probably tomorrow morning.
They're saying now that being too interesting (drug dealers)
is a negative: flaw.
I stare at the table, where someone split their tequila.
(smoke break)
The boy comes in and dumps his stuff all over. He's meeting some hashplant half way. Dr. Gonzo tries to eat the green cookie, but it's a human cookie. The guys grabbed awesome today: each one has over 2 grams condensed.
The Dr. snuggles up to me. I let it.
For a while.
O dear.
She's going to be sick.
Would this now be considered a scandal?
Now, excessive?
SO fascinating this life! I BELIEVE!
And, yes,
we are getting re
tarded
in here.
I swear this is occasion. But that's nothing you need to know.
You don't need to know any of this. So why am I write-speaking of it?
Orange juice.
Taste has it down and doesn't ask questions. The story ends up being hilarious and totally
at One
with our generation.
Kind deeds
reincarnate.
I worry about the girl in the other room.
I go in to see her and also,
play at enormous height
Country Joe & the Fish.
She's perfectly fine, she says: I'm fine
I'm just waiting for the room to stop spinning,
you can play the tunes loud.
Them other people are slouched, holding hands.
I'm ready for a toke.
I aint sick or in love: I'm ready for that toke.
I take it hard and somebody calls me ambitious
but she tokes right after me.
I persist in the festivities as long as my mind can handle it. My alarm is set for 5 am later this morning but I'm too fucked to care. I pick up this book and write on, write on,
I almost melt into my exterior self but decide to wash my face
and go to bed
and make these queers
quit their playful laughter at me--hah,
I smile and write on, hah!
I struggle slightly.
I tell myself the order of which to do things
in order to find myself asleep:
I grab my knees
to give me strength
and, HEAVE:
goodnight-go.
The Dr. snuggles up to me. I let it.
For a while.
O dear.
She's going to be sick.
Would this now be considered a scandal?
Now, excessive?
SO fascinating this life! I BELIEVE!
And, yes,
we are getting re
tarded
in here.
I swear this is occasion. But that's nothing you need to know.
You don't need to know any of this. So why am I write-speaking of it?
Orange juice.
Taste has it down and doesn't ask questions. The story ends up being hilarious and totally
at One
with our generation.
Kind deeds
reincarnate.
I worry about the girl in the other room.
I go in to see her and also,
play at enormous height
Country Joe & the Fish.
She's perfectly fine, she says: I'm fine
I'm just waiting for the room to stop spinning,
you can play the tunes loud.
Them other people are slouched, holding hands.
I'm ready for a toke.
I aint sick or in love: I'm ready for that toke.
I take it hard and somebody calls me ambitious
but she tokes right after me.
I persist in the festivities as long as my mind can handle it. My alarm is set for 5 am later this morning but I'm too fucked to care. I pick up this book and write on, write on,
I almost melt into my exterior self but decide to wash my face
and go to bed
and make these queers
quit their playful laughter at me--hah,
I smile and write on, hah!
I struggle slightly.
I tell myself the order of which to do things
in order to find myself asleep:
I grab my knees
to give me strength
and, HEAVE:
goodnight-go.
