«Does it feel like you are thinking faster?»
I’ve prepared the ritual space, I guess you could say. If you’re inclined to think that way. Nothing out of the ordinary. Cleaned the living-room table of some dirty dishes and shit. Wiped up some coffee stains.
The door to this apartment is now locked.
The door to this apartment is now locked.
Do you get the significance of that?
Probably not.
There’s some music in the background. Spotify. The playlist I made for the space fantasy campaign. This is what I’m hearing right now: https://open.spotify.com/track/0IoAritQOHK6TeQRVUyxpq
Texts obviously written by someone tripping have held a certain fascination for years. Whether it be anger-trip, alcohol-trip, trip-trip…
Sometimes I just have to excuse myself. Can’t get into it. Too oblique, too personal.
But sometimes, it’s like they manage to … let me in to that headscape.
This isn’t even my language.
Good thing about a text is you can
stop reading
The door is always open.
You see the significance of that.
Oh, right, sorry. Didn’t give you the context. I won’t give you all of the context, because it’s boring, private and not original in any sense.
Monday, I had something like a panic attack. A real soft, lightweight version. Nothing to write home about, really.
So now, Wednesday, I’m on sick leave with hypomania.
Blogs are great for this kind of text. Personal bullshit, rants. Fanzines too, when they were around. I hardly ever read all of it. But I’m sort of glad they exist. That connection? That sense of…
Over a decade ago, I did one of those 24 hour comic things. Where you sit for 24 hours straight to write and draw. And I did it. I completed it. It wasn’t a great comic, but it felt good. Like a small accomplishment.
And I obviously enjoy those states. Some impro exercises. Flow, channelization, the Zen. I’m always going on about this. For years, now.
Went to an impro class yesterday evening. Real cool initiative among some local larpers. Low … up-and-coming-drama student factor. Laidback, friendly atmosphere.
And that stuff, man.
It’s like…
I can tell you as many times you want, I can write as much as I want about it. But if a given reader never tried it for herself, she’d… probably have a harder time understanding my jam (here’s the “stating the obvious” you predicted, M).
That’s not unique. My friend who’s a cop can walk down the same streets as me, but see different things. Someone was raped over there. There was a suicide in the apartment behind those windows. Drunken streetfight happened in this very spot, a couple of years ago.
Obvious, right?
Psychogeography. Nothing mystical about it. All very common-sense, street smart stuff.
But if you ever have a chance, if you’re ever centered enough…
Try entering a social situation or just navigate the street during rush hour in this condition, or a similar state.
Use the tools.
See people
Play the game
Know it’s a game
Know it’s not a game
Remind yourself you’re not Shunryū Suzuki
you’re just you
dealing
Think I’ll end this ritual. (Got what I came for)
—
Do another
Play another game
Be another man
Forever and ever and ever until I croak.
Thanks for taking the time
It’s raining outside. Like hard, spring rain. I’m very blessed to have a veranda I can stand on. Smoking.
And now; here comes the Sun
