Man, this great song is playing in my head, this terrific melody, but it is not a real song, that is; outside of my head.
yes, that’s right. I’ve come to expect that thoughts are real.
Ooh, philosophical. Hey, why is is that when anybody starts spout wisdom, or comes up with a really great idea, or funny program, or good book, stoner assume that the only reason they came up with those ideas is because they did so stoned, as if some ethereal deity bestowed upon these potheads Leonardo’s helicopter, Dante’s Divine Comedies, and the wheel, as a reward for being good little potheads. Why is it that no ideas can originate in the head, that they must come from some outer impetus, such as mind-expanding drugs, or alien signals, or God Himself? Can’t we have one truly independent original thought? Why do stoners insist while experiencing Laser Floyd, or watching Chappelle Show, or Adult Swim, that all those writers and creators were stoners just like him. Is there some need for this humanizing agent, this way to bring us all together in a subversive form of brotherhood.
Doesn’t really matter that I’m stoned as I write this. Just means that those are two mutually exclusive mindsets. Creative… and stoned. Just because they coincide doesn’t mean they necessitate one another.
Don’t do drugs, kids, you don’t need them.
Hey, since we’re testing athletes for speed or steroids, should we test radical thinking poets, professors, philosophers, physicists, journalists and novelists for LSD, marijuana, mushrooms, peyote, or plain old coke? I think it’s only fair to the writers out there who play it safe and don’t get involved in the underground narcotics world, artists like Shel Silverstein! That, and the consequences of a radically social-epic Decalogue are much more important than a slight lead in the Knicks game. Got to keep the loonies on the path. Yes, a path.
I take it back, Shel Silverstein totally had to be some type of pothead.