Can You Tell I’m Off The Meds? or: Tune Out, Turn Off, Drop In
Something of a paradox, of course, but true nevertheless. It had seemed like ages since I had last experienced any sense of connection with the rest of the universe, or any insight into the nature of Life or Being and so, recently, I decided it was once again time to simply stop using drugs as a crutch and sit back to await what the forces of Intelligent Design had to tell me.
This time, however, I decided to take notes so as not to lose any of these revelations once I had concluded my “trip.” After two and a half weeks, I found I had accumulated the following:
The more one deals with aging and the aged, the more Life seems to narrow itself down into a series of modest kindnesses, concluding with our attempts to help each other into our appointed graves as painlessly as possible, an antlike procession of oldest through youngest being passed gingerly over our heads towards their final home.
I have infinite longing for infinite lives.
I look at most of my fellow humans as if they belong to a different part of the caste system entirely. I do not understand how we are related and, apparently, neither do they.
With each day, I despair more and more at the extent to which humanity makes its decisions and builds its landmarks for reasons that have less and less to do with freedom and everything to do with greed and self-importance.
Why is it that the same names and artwork that were used for herbal cigarettes 30 years ago seem to have been recycled now for those temporary phone cards?
What would have happened in that movie about the crazy old man baby if he’d just stayed a baby while everyone else grew old? Wouldn’t people get tired of changing him?
It does disturb me slightly that there will be so little trace of me left after the fact.
Why is it always the guy who orders the most expensive meal that insists that the check be split evenly?
I cannot blame other people for those moments when I become someone that I do not like, but I can blame them for giving me bad directions.
As you can see, the initial rush of the anti-drug trip lasts about as long as the regular drug trip, and both of them tend to dribble away into profundities that would probably look better on black light posters than in the cold, clear light of day. Still, I find it a great way to “clean out the system” from time to time and I find myself better prepared now as I once again dash to the medicine cabinet to resume my sorry cycle of preventive health measures by going what we call “hot turkey.”
I don’t like to appear normal, but it’s the drugs talking, you understand…not me.