one pill makes you larger

Well, my doctor says I have a sinus infection. That’s two in a month. Shows you what happens when one works much and sleeps little for several months running. The casualties? social life, creativity, immune system. What sucks is that I’ve gone two or three years without one of these things (i used to get […]

Well, my doctor says I have a sinus infection. That’s two in a month. Shows you what happens when one works much and sleeps little for several months running. The casualties? social life, creativity, immune system. What sucks is that I’ve gone two or three years without one of these things (i used to get them all the time).

Fortunately, there are lovely modern antibiotics to treat this, and lovely modern pain meds to take care of what feels like a large nail being driven slowly into my face slightly to port of my nose.

And there was much rejoicing (yay.)

what is it I was saying?

I wrote a great post the other night, filled with insightful linguistic philosophy; all about the difference between symbolic meaning in words themselves, and the cultural meaning, the psychological meaning; the way words carry not just inherent sets of meanings that are closely defined, but also a reciprocal meaning, a meaning the hearer or reader […]

I wrote a great post the other night, filled with insightful linguistic philosophy; all about the difference between symbolic meaning in words themselves, and the cultural meaning, the psychological meaning; the way words carry not just inherent sets of meanings that are closely defined, but also a reciprocal meaning, a meaning the hearer or reader adds in for him or herself, and how this complicates communication.

It was beautiful; it flowed with an effortless elegance from thought to virtual paper, expressing something I’ve been striving to say for a long time.

Only, I was full of darvocet at the time.

Yesterday I tried to edit it and it was unclear which language I’d been typing in; or to be more accurate, the words were generally english but in syntax, I was dealing with a language more akin to orc.

So I’m left wondering, what the hell was I saying? The only thing worse than a fickle muse is one who’s hopped up on goofballs.

large, angry rat

Ever have that feeling, like there’s a large, angry rat inside your skull and it’s trying to tear it’s way out?

You know, like it started below and behind your left ear, and it’s making it’s way toward your left eyeball?

No? Well I can’t recommend it.

I am now in day three of a a migraine that feels pretty much like that. And I’m over the part where having an excuse to take percodan mid-day is a fun novelty. I’ve over the ‘i’ll just go to bed and sleep this off’ feeling. I’m now on the to the fuck you fuck you part where I’m on a hair-trigger and get mad if you even think about looking at me funny, and where I want to take a mallet to my own head to MAKE THE GODDAMNED RAT STOP.

Which is to say I’m not particularly chipper just now.

Someone get me some more ice. And some fresh percodan.

On the other hand, I’m havin’ a great conversation with the cats from Skinny Dog about how they make jewelry with modern CAD/CAM technology. I should have a better post about them up soon.

That’s my kind of military maneuver

God damn this is funny. I can’t find any detail behind this but BoingBoing has a link to video of british troops on LSD. I don’t know when this was or what the intent of the test was, but they looks like they’re having a fantastic time. Click the image to play. I’m still giggling.

God damn this is funny.

I can’t find any detail behind this but BoingBoing has a link to video of british troops on LSD. I don’t know when this was or what the intent of the test was, but they looks like they’re having a fantastic time.

Click the image to play.

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I’m still giggling.

“LSD spoke to me,” Mr. Hofmann said

Brutha Ray told me yesterday that my recent entries seem kind of on edge. And he’s right of course. Ray’s always right, except when he disagrees with me. Then, he’s only right half the time. Yeah, it’s true. I’ve been a little edgy lately. I could give you a catalog of the minor and major […]

Brutha Ray told me yesterday that my recent entries seem kind of on edge.

And he’s right of course. Ray’s always right, except when he disagrees with me. Then, he’s only right half the time.

Yeah, it’s true. I’ve been a little edgy lately. I could give you a catalog of the minor and major stresses in my life, the projects at work that are due to get announced next week at MacWorld, the things at work that provide a daily frustration and leave me thinking about a nice quiet, sane job at the funny farm. I could catalog the minor aches and pains and colds and allergies that come with the holidays. I could talk about wants and dreams and desires versus cold, stony reality.

But fuck all that whinin’. I got no patience with it.

Instead, let’s talk about LSD.

There’s a wonderful interview with Albert Hofmann, the man who invented LSD, in the NY Times.

…It was as he was synthesizing the drug on a Friday afternoon in April 1943 that he first experienced the altered state of consciousness for which it became famous. “Immediately, I recognized it as the same experience I had had as a child,” he said. “I didn’t know what caused it, but I knew that it was important.”

When he returned to his lab the next Monday, he tried to identify the source of his experience, believing first that it had come from the fumes of a chloroform-like solvent he had been using. Inhaling the fumes produced no effect, though, and he realized he must have somehow ingested a trace of LSD. “LSD spoke to me,” Mr. Hofmann said with an amused, animated smile. “He came to me and said, ‘You must find me.’ He told me, ‘Don’t give me to the pharmacologist, he won’t find anything.’ “

It’s a wonderful interview with the sort of person who reminds me of the scientists my father used to talk about. The sort of people who were both scientists and philosophers. Deep thinkers, people who seem to look at the world and just see more than the rest of us do. I pretend to be one of these people, but I’d have to be a scientist to pull it off.

I’m too young to have been in the acid culture of the sixties. I can imagine my father having been there though, if he’d been in the right circles. He never dropped acid, but he was a huge pothead (my first experiences with pot were stealing from his stash and taking it to school). He would have loved the heightened perceptual experience.

Oddly, even though I started smoking pot way too young, I managed to not encounter acid at all as a teenager. I wanted it, would have tried it. When I was fourteen or fifteen, I would have tried anything, any drug I could have laid hand on, any sexual experience with anyone of any age. I was already drinking, though not much (A stolen beer here or there, a sip of a drink). But I was already seeking experience and sensation. I wanted it all, now.

It wasn’t until I was around nineteen that I stumbled, almost literally, onto LSD.

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Frog in my Hair – I’ll have what he’s having

I’ll have some of what Joaquin Phoenix is having, please: …Out of the blue, Phoenix suddenly changed the subject, asking, “Do I have a large frog in my hair?” 
Reporter: No, no. Phoenix: “Something’s crawling out of my scalp.” Reporter: No, you look great. Phoenix: “No, but I feel it. I’m not worried about the […]

I’ll have some of what Joaquin Phoenix is having, please:

…Out of the blue, Phoenix suddenly changed the subject, asking, “Do I have a large frog in my hair?”

Reporter: No, no.

Phoenix: “Something’s crawling out of my scalp.”

Reporter: No, you look great.

Phoenix: “No, but I feel it. I’m not worried about the looks. I’m worried about the sensation of my brain being eaten. … What did you ask me?”

I’ve been walking around since I read this, thinking I’m worried about the sensation of my brain being eaten. I think I wanna party with ‘ol Joaquin.

Weed Sucker

(06-21) 13:15 PDT ATLANTA, (AP) –Marijuana-flavored lollipops with names such as Purple Haze, Acapulco Gold and Rasta are showing up on the shelves of convenience stores around the country, angering anti-drug advocates.”It’s nothing but dope candy, and that’s nothing we need to be training our children to do,” said Georgia state Sen. Vincent Fort, who has persuaded some convenience stores to stop selling the treats.The confections are legal, because they are made with hemp oil, a common ingredient in health food, beauty supplies and other household products.
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(06-21) 13:15 PDT ATLANTA, (AP) —
Marijuana-flavored lollipops with names such as Purple Haze, Acapulco Gold and Rasta are showing up on the shelves of convenience stores around the country, angering anti-drug advocates.

“It’s nothing but dope candy, and that’s nothing we need to be training our children to do,” said Georgia state Sen. Vincent Fort, who has persuaded some convenience stores to stop selling the treats.

The confections are legal, because they are made with hemp oil, a common ingredient in health food, beauty supplies and other household products. The oil imparts a marijuana’s grassy taste but not the high.

(Continue reading this story)

They’re talking about Chronic Candy (I’m sorry, that’s a stupid fucking flash site. You know who uses flash? Fucking morons use flash.)

I gotta say — as an old ex stoner, I think this is pretty entertaining. I mean, take me back to the old days when I smoked that shit by the bagfull. Dude — whoa.

But as a parent? Honestly, I’m more worried about the fact that it’s candy. Candy does more harm than fuckin’ pot does.

Tequila!

I’m in the mood to get fall-down, piss-stinking, bar-fighting, crazy-talking, fuck-anything-that-moves drunk…. I don’t mean a fairies and sunshine, glinda-the-good-witch sort of magic.

I’m in the mood to fucking drink.

I’m in the mood to get fall-down, piss-stinking, bar-fighting, crazy-talking, fuck-anything-that-moves drunk.

This kind of drunk, it has to be, has to be tequila.

There’s a magic about tequila. I don’t mean a fairies and sunshine, glinda-the-good-witch sort of magic. No, this is a bad-juju-bart-no-like magic. This is a dark-fire-in-the-skull magic.

The old joke goes there’s a reason they call it ‘ta kill ya.

Tequila isn’t a beverage. Fuck people who serve it in snifters and pretend it’s cognac. Tequila is a drug. Tequila is meant to be shot, gulped, slammed, pounded. Sucked from a bottle, or if you’re really, really lucky, from a beautiful woman’s mouth. It’s not for fucking sipping. You want to taste it more? Drink more.

I don’t particularly like expensive, super-high-end tequila. Fact is, I’d rather drink a good blanco than a great anejo. The anejo tastes good, sure, but tequila needs to bite. Tequila needs to hurt you when it goes down.

You know what I hate? When people call the lime and salt training wheels. The lime and salt is ritual. It’s part of the process, like rolling a joint or cutting out a line or prepping a shot. And it tastes good, dammit. It’s flavor compliment; it’s not to cover the taste, it’s to enhance it, like seasoning on a steak. I don’t care how good that steak is, without salt and pepper, it’s just flesh. With the seasonings, it’s cuisine.

Give me a shot, make it two, make it three, and quickly, fucking quickly.

Alas.

I’m off to meet a friend for dinner, and you know, I must be a grownup. It’s tuesday, and I have to work tomorrow, and so does he, and I’ll have a twenty-five mile drive home after I drop him at his hotel. So this isn’t the night for fighting and fucking some stranger. We’ll have a few, I’m certain, but…

Sometimes it sucks being a grown-up.

Raincheck on that, ok? I need that tequila drunk. I haven’t been good and pissed since St. Patrick’s day, and that was on on Irish. I’m still needing that tequila drunk, and soon.

Java Junkie

      I love coffee, I love tea,        I love the Java Jive and it loves me        Coffee and tea and the java and me,        A cup, a cup, a cup, a cup, a cup!        — Ben Oakland and Milton Drake, Java Jive Hi I’m Karl Elvis, […]

      I love coffee, I love tea, 
      I love the Java Jive and it loves me 
      Coffee and tea and the java and me, 
      A cup, a cup, a cup, a cup, a cup! 

      — Ben Oakland and Milton Drake, Java Jive

Hi I’m Karl Elvis, and I’m a Java Junkie.

It’s true.

I love coffee. The smell. The taste. That buzz from the first sip of the morning. It’ll never feel that good again the rest of the day.

I wake up craving it. The thought makes me salivate.

I’m talking coffee; black and hot, with sugar and no other flavor. No nuts no vanilla. No milk. No syrups, no cinnamon, no chocolate. Just coffee. Strong and black, black black.

I make espresso. I make french press so heavy it’s hard to lift. My friend Amie Sue describes it as chewy.

I don’t fuck around with coffee. If it’s not strong, if it doesn’t roar coffee at you, I don’t want it.

When I go to a coffee bar, I usually drink espresso if they’re really good at it, or a multi-shot short (or tall at that place but we’ll make that a tirade for later). No lattes, no fuss. Once in a while a macchiato if they do it right, espresso with a little dab of foam.

The modern trend of kiddee-coffee that tastes like soda pop disgusts me.

But I am a junkie.

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Down with Downers

Every once in a while I remember why I like drugs. I've been struggling to get back on California time for a week now since getting back from Fiji. My body wants to still be there. My head sort…

Every once in a while I remember why I like drugs.

I’ve been struggling to get back on California time for a week now since getting back from Fiji. My body wants to still be there.

My head sort of does too.

Actually my head wants to be someplace else tropical. I mean, Fiji was great, and I’ll go back one day; but I get restless with too many days in one place.

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