a pofoundly pro-drug stance, that our world is so fucked up that one had best take refuge in the "alternate" realities created by drugs. Maybe it'll change things ultimately but who knows? Bleak? No, it just sounds that way. But I say it's true, and it gets me off. So it's not bleak. Have I stopped making sense yet.
NEURON DANCE. Drugs as a neuron dance.
Behaviorism is a powerful tool, and one need not abandon compassion to weild it.
I have serious doubts about the value of ecstacy, but nevertheless I pursue it.
(This is what I've always wanted to do -- take notes on ecstatic experience while it happens.)
There must be degrees of ecstacy. Ultimate ecstacy would leave one a gibbering idiot. Yet ecstacy is sought frantically. Why? What does this mean?
And yes, horror is here too, just around the corner. How is it that I keep myself from turning in that direction? Where is my soul braced? In passion? Love of life?
My thoughts feel as if they're racing, but I have a feeling they're not *actually* racing, but that my exhiliration dilates my sense of time. In fact, I've almost completely lost any head for time.
speaking of time: forward 33 minutes