worpswede wrote:For the past few years, I've had this curious urge to drop acid again.
It's been years and years for me, and the last time was pretty great (listened to every Funkadelic album in reverse chronological order), but I'd like to do it one more time. My dream/fantasy has always been to sit in a lawnchair in my backyard with headphones on, and have Jolie check in on me once every hour or so and bring me water and orange juice and sunscreen all day. Unfortunately, I do not have a backyard (or even a lawnchair) so this ain't happening anytime soon.
An easier, less time-extensive, exhausting alternative is mushrooms. But I haven't run across any since Jerry died. No joke. I guess I don't run in those circles anymore.
But still. Once you give up on the possibility of mind expansion, I truly believe your mind starts shrinking.
One more thing about that last time I did it: I was graduated from college as an English major, engaged to be married, working at a used car dealership detailing (i.e., washing) cars, living at home, and freaking the fuck out. I visited a friend at the University of Michigan and we spent the whole day on his futon with the speakers on either side, riding down the river of funk. If you're familiar with Funkadelic's ouevre, you know they basically turned into Parliament by the end of their career, but at the beginning they were really down-home funky ass funk. We were riding into the heart of darkness. Into the depths of Africa. And it blew my mind.
To loosen up, we were flipping through stacks of my friend's vinyl. And that's when I realized that Perry Como represents everything I hate about everything. I explained this to my friend, who of course agreed, and he chucked the album across his dorm room where it disintegrated into tiny bits against the wall. That's when we made the rule: no more throwing things faster than the speed of light.
I could go on and on about this experience, but I have a baby who needs to be put to bed...