Today I say goodbye to a friend and commit some thoughts & memories to paper, attempt to safeguard the lessons and experiences from time and the inevitable forgetting. I feel eternally grateful for being blessed with these forays into the cosmic playground. Last night my friend taught me how to dance, how to completely give oneself into reverie, the transcendent almost possessing in the ecstatic intensity of an infinite, kaleidoscopic, protean novelty. I became a vessel for a fundamental and universal vitality, the eros of the eon.
My first jump into hyperspace yesterday was very brief, disorientatingly intense, like a slingshot or the jolt of a seismometer's needle. Terrible Fabergé eggs, spires ascending upon a black horizon. I fought it, resisted its pull and shot straight upright in my bed, overcome with the impulse of self-preservation. I am sitting in the water closet, the ripples still perceptible in the quivering mosaic, I collect my breath.
I ponder over my rejection with flattened spirits, I feel as if my body has been emptied out of all its emotional contents. Is this shock, or have I been victimised in some sort of spiritual heist? I sit in silence, for music appears to stir absolutely nothing within me. I contemplate a dejected retreat for a long while, but ultimately decide against it and go back in. It's now 2:00 a.m.
Lear, a spacious acoustic cavity, a serpentine force descends upon me titillatingly and draws me towards the alluring hiss of its glottis. I surrender into this sensuous state, but not before deciding to probe the erotic nature of the eon: Balvin, William, a complete transgression of every apparent principle of the beatific and the holy.
Writhing delight, a polychrome myriad frenzy, a woodcut coven splayed upon a bed in a purging, pagan ritual of trance and rapture, complete abandon into atavistic rhythms of hyperbolae, crystallised oral tradition and perpetual flux of sexual energy. Redoses, too many to count, each new song transports me further deeper into hyperspace, transforms me into a different animal, a shapeshifting witch in the throes of a pleasure spell. One final, entirely excessive and gratuitous hit: wave function collapse or some other ludicrous phenomenon to that effect must've taken place, I seem to be pulled away from my body, away from the bed, the room, the place, the time, I dissolve into a floral pattern of endless ornamentation, pink and white flourishes float seamlessly adrift. I must be dying, the strobing vocals are entirely too intense, the heart skips a beat, I manage to regain control of my body, reach out to music mission control, and a vertiginous gasp for air delivers me to Satchidananda. I am reborn into the entrails of an infinite machine, a foyer of supersymmetry and clockwork. The molecule sets me gently before the riverbank of the Magnetic Garden, intermittent chirping, whistling, resonant frequencies flutter about before a background of sibilant bells. Xanthan, guar, the dream emulsifies and promptly rescinds into the umbra of its chemical twilight.
It's been more than two hours, I drift off into the night.
Morning comes veiled in a gentle clarity, I see from my window there's not a single cloud in the sky. After a pleasant lunch in the company of my family away from home I wash everyone's dishes and retreat back to my room. I sit quietly, taking deep, fresh breaths while contemplating a spotless skyline in the middle of what has been a very rainy winter. The cartridge, most of which I went through last night, still has enough oil in it for one, possibly two final trips. The house is now empty, I go back in knowing this will be my last time on the other side for a while.
Briefly, the chrysanthemum opens warmly, gently, it welcomes me benevolently through the fiery parallelogram of a beam of sunlight, I close my eyes and allow myself to come into its caress. I am loved here, I recognise this feeling as the embrace of a family member long lost, now reunited. I find myself taking long, deep breaths, gasping at the immeasurable beauty, a self-transforming complexity. I try to think of words to describe what I'm witnessing, the nasal voice of Terence comes to mind: "It eludes any attempt at description, like water sliding off a duck's back", "To call it a drug, what a joke! It just masquerades as a drug...", perhaps it is the hyperbolic object at the end of time, reaching through to us and pulling us towards it, it is an open secret readily giving its gifts to anyone who comes searching for them. Before the earthy tones of a soft green and a creamy white, a spherical object of incredible mechanical beauty imbues me with love and knowledge, grants me the understanding that we, each and all, are the universe manifest itself, undiluted existence for nothing other than its own sake. Basking in the presence of this object instills me with an infinite gratitude for my family's love, each generation stewarding the miracle of existence for the next. I shed tears of joy, I am giddy with laughter, I feel the sense I'm being told I will be given one last gift before I depart: I laugh, I laugh even more, I laugh heartily and earnestly, I laugh completely uninhibited, I feel the resonance at the base of my stomach, I have been given the gift of joyous laughter, a gift I seem to have lost through the pains of my adolescence. I finish the very last of the oil in the cartridge, I thank the molecule, I feel endowed with a long-yearned-for sense of peace and purpose. I play with my hands, intertwine them, weave them in an affectionate dance of self-love. I say goodbye. I say goodbye.
My first jump into hyperspace yesterday was very brief, disorientatingly intense, like a slingshot or the jolt of a seismometer's needle. Terrible Fabergé eggs, spires ascending upon a black horizon. I fought it, resisted its pull and shot straight upright in my bed, overcome with the impulse of self-preservation. I am sitting in the water closet, the ripples still perceptible in the quivering mosaic, I collect my breath.
I ponder over my rejection with flattened spirits, I feel as if my body has been emptied out of all its emotional contents. Is this shock, or have I been victimised in some sort of spiritual heist? I sit in silence, for music appears to stir absolutely nothing within me. I contemplate a dejected retreat for a long while, but ultimately decide against it and go back in. It's now 2:00 a.m.
Lear, a spacious acoustic cavity, a serpentine force descends upon me titillatingly and draws me towards the alluring hiss of its glottis. I surrender into this sensuous state, but not before deciding to probe the erotic nature of the eon: Balvin, William, a complete transgression of every apparent principle of the beatific and the holy.
Writhing delight, a polychrome myriad frenzy, a woodcut coven splayed upon a bed in a purging, pagan ritual of trance and rapture, complete abandon into atavistic rhythms of hyperbolae, crystallised oral tradition and perpetual flux of sexual energy. Redoses, too many to count, each new song transports me further deeper into hyperspace, transforms me into a different animal, a shapeshifting witch in the throes of a pleasure spell. One final, entirely excessive and gratuitous hit: wave function collapse or some other ludicrous phenomenon to that effect must've taken place, I seem to be pulled away from my body, away from the bed, the room, the place, the time, I dissolve into a floral pattern of endless ornamentation, pink and white flourishes float seamlessly adrift. I must be dying, the strobing vocals are entirely too intense, the heart skips a beat, I manage to regain control of my body, reach out to music mission control, and a vertiginous gasp for air delivers me to Satchidananda. I am reborn into the entrails of an infinite machine, a foyer of supersymmetry and clockwork. The molecule sets me gently before the riverbank of the Magnetic Garden, intermittent chirping, whistling, resonant frequencies flutter about before a background of sibilant bells. Xanthan, guar, the dream emulsifies and promptly rescinds into the umbra of its chemical twilight.
It's been more than two hours, I drift off into the night.
Morning comes veiled in a gentle clarity, I see from my window there's not a single cloud in the sky. After a pleasant lunch in the company of my family away from home I wash everyone's dishes and retreat back to my room. I sit quietly, taking deep, fresh breaths while contemplating a spotless skyline in the middle of what has been a very rainy winter. The cartridge, most of which I went through last night, still has enough oil in it for one, possibly two final trips. The house is now empty, I go back in knowing this will be my last time on the other side for a while.
Briefly, the chrysanthemum opens warmly, gently, it welcomes me benevolently through the fiery parallelogram of a beam of sunlight, I close my eyes and allow myself to come into its caress. I am loved here, I recognise this feeling as the embrace of a family member long lost, now reunited. I find myself taking long, deep breaths, gasping at the immeasurable beauty, a self-transforming complexity. I try to think of words to describe what I'm witnessing, the nasal voice of Terence comes to mind: "It eludes any attempt at description, like water sliding off a duck's back", "To call it a drug, what a joke! It just masquerades as a drug...", perhaps it is the hyperbolic object at the end of time, reaching through to us and pulling us towards it, it is an open secret readily giving its gifts to anyone who comes searching for them. Before the earthy tones of a soft green and a creamy white, a spherical object of incredible mechanical beauty imbues me with love and knowledge, grants me the understanding that we, each and all, are the universe manifest itself, undiluted existence for nothing other than its own sake. Basking in the presence of this object instills me with an infinite gratitude for my family's love, each generation stewarding the miracle of existence for the next. I shed tears of joy, I am giddy with laughter, I feel the sense I'm being told I will be given one last gift before I depart: I laugh, I laugh even more, I laugh heartily and earnestly, I laugh completely uninhibited, I feel the resonance at the base of my stomach, I have been given the gift of joyous laughter, a gift I seem to have lost through the pains of my adolescence. I finish the very last of the oil in the cartridge, I thank the molecule, I feel endowed with a long-yearned-for sense of peace and purpose. I play with my hands, intertwine them, weave them in an affectionate dance of self-love. I say goodbye. I say goodbye.
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G), or ''one hit wonders' for immediate take off (3:1 or 4:1 carts Spice
