I have to fill in some details I neglected. I know that nobody reads this shit, but its more of a reference for me after I’m old and senile but certainly also rich and successful (and even more dashing than I am now, if that’s possible, with attractive grey streaks of hair on each side with still-dark eyebrows and a keen glittering wisdom behind acute and decisive eyes, but I digress). How else will I write my memoirs, o, that fine day?
My parents have recently moved to Sacramende, wherever that is, they are presently doing so, after a much-awaited transfer in my mother’s company. She was very nervous about actually getting the official letter, even though it was in the bag, and I told her that if she waited for six years, six days wasn’t going to be too bad. Still, I’ve always respected her officiousness and preparedness. I keep getting postcards and phone calls (which I’ve stopped answering), from ridiculous sounding places like ‘Carhenge,’ and ‘Albequerque,’ and… ‘Los… Angeles…’? Best of all, they are only four blocks from The Greatest Bookstore. Lucky shits.
Acid was… surreal. That’s redundant I realize but, well, it’s the sort of thing you can’t hope to explain to somebody who hasn’t tried it. I mentally prepared myself for encounters with demons, amorphous monsters and the Grim Reaper, all of which I can say I had, and none of it phased me. I talked to God. I had a good long conversation with him in which he told me what it meant to be God, and more importantly, what it means to be human. I saw the most fantastic things. I saw them in the most fantastic ways. Mushrooms have nothing on this, but comparisons are odious. Nothing frightened me, and I wasn’t ‘freaking out’ like some others, (and in fact took it in such stride that people were actually skeptical that I was under the influence at all), but I was concerned that my thoughts would consume me, and that my pen and notebook was the archetypical Knight’s defence against this. I wrote this:
The Demon of Thought I had Fought
But Not with Shield and Rapier.
But wrought with Pen, Peril-Fraught,
Brought Forth his end on Paper.
As well as a notepad full of paralogistical ramblings that only work out sensibly if you are on acid, or are a six-year-old child, or a woman. Then I realised that all of my discoveries and state of mind were simply the effects of a trickle of blood running out of a burned hole in the back of my brain and running down a bit of my spine. So I felt very upset about all the clever things I’d found out that turned out to be hooey.
Also, I am in chemistry class this semester. It’s very… trying. For example:
http://cwx.prenhall.com/bookbind/pubbooks/mcmurry2/chapter5/deluxe.html, which I assume means that either we’re all going to die, that we’re all dead, that I’m dead, or that I am going to die. I preferred my own chemistry experiment.
I also have to do two rather involved video projects. This is going to suck. Real bad. Like the dirty old man in the Grapes of Wrath. But, it will give me to solid things for my portfolio. One, at the very least. Always look on the bright side of life.
I don’t know what I want to do in 2006, let alone the rest of my life. I know it’s going to be awesome, because I am so awesome in every way, but I don’t know what form it will take. I look back and see that I’ve invented a few new sandwiches, several intriguing sex maneuvres, a litany of scripts and short stories that may or may not ever see the light of day, or even the outside of their Windows subfolder, and I also came to terms with how I feel about my father. This year I think I’ll work on being less of a cockbite to those around me, taking them for granted, and also on that whole, talking-down-to-women thing.