Not Stoned

The urge is there, like an itch that won’t go away. Sometimes, I can squeeze my eyes and my head tight enough to block it all out, but then it just feels so good to bleed it out. And that’s what it is really, just bleeding, a letting go of things. It pours out of me, and with each word, I feel better and more free, a ray of light through the room. 

And if this is me, this riddle of hypocrisy and fake cynicism, why should I deny myself? I shouldn’t, and the answer becomes more and more clear with each turn into myself. To deny myself is to deny myself, and to do so for no reason is an exercise in self-hatred and stupidity. And why should I hate myself? I shouldn’t, because I am. 

Just like that, I have said nothing, but the world has turned, and everything has changed. 

A part of me wants to get into it, to dig into what I am feeling and what is going on in my life, but another part tells me that doing so is unnecessary and somewhat harmful. 

In the name of decency and humility, however, I will focus on what is important. What is important? To me, the most important thing on my mind, at this instant, are the changing faces in the flowing river, from the book Siddhartha. Trite, we might say, but what the fuck. In the end, someone has already experienced the same things that we each experience everyday, in a broader archetypical sort of way. The changing faces in the river are merely different manifestations of the human existence, ie, we are all the same. 

I haven’t read it yet, but I just found out about the Dark Tower “series” by Stephen King. Stephen King is loved and reviled, but in the end, his voice is undeniable. In many ways, his ability to create new stories and worlds, seemingly effortlessly, points to the timelessness of the human experience. It’s like he’s an open channel, a vessel by which the human experience can be shared and spread through our world. I’ve read other places, that people who are “on the level” don’t think of it as an effort or as a chore. In fact, the process of their creation becomes very passive, and the other worlds come through on their own, and the human being “doing the work” is nothing but a vehicle to share experiences through. 

Who hasn’t read Slaughterhouse 5? When I first read it, only 2 years ago, my mind was literally blown away. There were moments when I was reading, when everything in the world stopped, and I believed that Kurt Vonnegut was capable of time travel, and that there were different dimensions of the universe, and aliens that looked like plungers took him and a movie star to a different planet to be in the human zoo. I read it twice in a row, back to back, in about 2 days. After I read it, I didn’t think about it anymore, but to this day, I feel something real and tangible in that ridiculous story. 

And that, little kids, is what I’m talking about. Something is real out there, something larger than all of us, not a baby Jesus either. Billions and billions of people have lived and died before us, and we walk around on the dust of their bones, and go to work in buildings that were built by other people, who also had families and moms and dads. 

I take comfort in knowing that other people have felt that same exact way that I do, and many more have felt much more. Going to see a “head doctor” also helps to ground you by giving you stories of other people who have gone through the same thing. I’m not the only one feeling like this, this is not the first time that has happened in the history of the world. “I am not alone,” can be a comforting thought, but that thought doesn’t change what happens next, when the shit hits the fan, or the shoe drops. In the end, each person is totally alone, and each person must face death by himself, the end of the line. Mommy will not be there to hold your hand, and neither will your wife, or your dog. 

At the end of the line, each person dies alone, and joins the growing list of dead motherfuckers. Were you good or bad? Does it matter? I don’t know, but what I do know, is that other people have gone before, and that other people will follow. 

Death escapes no one, just as life does. Just as each person popped out of their mom’s vagina, each person jumps off the deep end when they die. A universe is a universe is a universe.

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2 Responses to “Not Stoned”


  1. 1 dankknuggets November 6, 2007 at 3:06 pm

    homosaywhat?

    descartes meditation

    summary: poop is cool


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