|
last chance texaco |
| 2003-03-27 : 9:49 p.m. pleased to meet me |
|
But I was saying something about the anti-drug ethos. I just don’t understand it. I personally think that most of the sentiment comes from people who have never even done drugs, and are just spouting fascist about it because they were lame and didn’t get to hang out with the “in” crowd in high school, the crowd that burned down a doobie in the parking lot before class and went out to parties on the weekends. Intolerance, I find, is mostly the stillbirth of inexperience. Honestly. Now, I understand and even respect it when somebody like Jerry Stahl or Hunter S. Thompson get off talking about the perils of excess. They’ve been there, they know what it’s like. They had their fun, and then they grew up. It’s the difference between thought and action. Sure, they’re against drug use, and they’ll warn you in memoirs about how horribly drugs fuck up your life, but they’re the last people in the world who are going to judge you for it. Who are they to talk, after all? Straight-edge, too, that boggles my mind. All of these hard-core punks that hate everything fun, from getting high to eating meat. And they’re nasty about it, too, some of them. Like I have this friend who actually got beat up by a boatload of guys with X’s tattooed on their hands because he was wearing a leather coat. A leather coat, for fuck’s sake! And these guys are no nicer to people they find getting high. Talking about how drugs are poison, and drug-use is just slow, deliberate suicide. Please. If that were really what they believed in, then why beat someone up for getting fucked up? Obviously, that guy’s got enough problems to begin with. Why perpetuate the cycle that has become his wasted life? Of course, this is all said under the admittedly grand assumption that everybody in the world who does drugs, any drugs, knows exactly why they do them. I don’t know. Brandon, the guy that I generally buy my shit from? He’s all into this Timothy Leary/Terence McKenna trip about drugs as mind expansion, that tabbing two-and-a-half hits of blotter frees your mind to travel up to higher plateaus of thought and insight and all that bullshit, and he’ll tell me this with a straight face, how he does drugs to free his soul and spirit, and I’m like, “No you don’t, Brandon, you do drugs to get fucked up.” Too often people confuse the term “mind-expanding” with “mind-altering.” A book is mind-expanding, a conversation with Martin Luther King is mind-expanding, but drugs? It’s not a higher state, it’s an altered state. Nobody in the world can satisfactorily explain why I do what I do except me, and I’m on the record here when I say that I dip into the drug scene now and again because, for whatever reasons, I find that sometimes my present reality is unsatisfying. That simple. So I need to twist that reality, I need to bend it back over itself in order to be comfortable, in order to, and I know how fucked up this sounds, but in order to feel like myself. Now, what the fuck does that mean? Why, for the entirety of my life did I feel like myself, and then somewhere along the line simply stopped feeling that way and discovered that substances, of all things, could bring me back to that, I don’t know, that more euphoric sense of clarity? I’m starting to realize that there are no satisfactory words to explain myself, but I’m trying. The thing is this: if you’re bored then you’re boring. Okay, fine, I admit it. I’m boring. Pass the fucking bong.
|