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[Anyone who tries to make a distinction between education and entertainment doesn't know the first thing about either.]

Didn't get to see her today. It's always on the days when I actually feel like talking with her that she doesn't show up.

What day of the week even is it?

I spent my second bus ride talking to the angry old bald man who had caused a scene on the bus just days before. The conversation was forced and I spent most of it regurgitating basics on topics which I had already long transcended. I tried to make the most of it and remain social, but damn, what a headache. Friendly conversation is a grueling chore in most cases. ...actually, in this case the guy got my attention by tapping me on the shoulder and kind of forced me into talking with him. I seriously dislike talking to people that I can't learn anything from. Like Marshall Mcluhan said Anyone who tries to make a distinction between education and entertainment doesn't know the first thing about either., so maybe it's my fault for wanting to be educated and entertained when I interact with others. I know I'm expecting too much.

If my daily routine was a literary work it would be filled with boring characters, and I think that's the biggest issue I have with my morning routine, it's the most boring part of my day, the story line, the plot, and the characters are all lacking during those hours, and on a day like today, where I did not get to see the beautiful brunette from 26th street, things are excruciatingly dull.

Some girls are strange, and are obviously trying to get my attention in really forward ways, and its been getting pretty bad recently. I swear, it will seem like months will go by where girls really won't pay attention to me, and then, for reasons I can't understand, a bunch of girls will all start perusing me at the same time.

[Part of it's magic is that we've always avoided defining any part of it, and the effect seems to be that in not defining it, it becomes everything. -Jerry Garcia]

What else can I say?

It's not that I'm lacking inspiration...

No matter how far out into hyperspace I venture, somehow it always settles back down into this.

...the beautiful brunette girl from 26th street is the only person I see during my day that I actually want to talk to and spend time around.

I really try to give others a chance, and I treat everybody with compassion and respect. Still, I never encounter anybody that I actually want to spend time around.

I try to remain as humble as possible, and I would never judge anyone.

...actually, there are a few people here and there that I really want to interact with. I love to listen, and I love to learn new things. Often times people will assume that because I like the grateful dead's music that I would want to interact with other grateful dead fans, when in reality this is not the case at all, I already know about the dead, you know? I want to meet people that can teach me new things, that have interests that are new and interesting.
   Well, first off I should have started by saying that when others put a good deal of effort into sycophantically conforming to this or that "cookie-cutter culture" it automatically causes me to loose interest in interacting with that person. I like to meet individuals who truly are unique, who have novel and strange interests, and who see and do things in their own individual way. I like to meet "the undefined". I think jerry was right on when he commented that by leaving something undefined it in essence becomes everything, and I always enjoy meeting people who consciously or not, have left themselves undefined.

It always drives me crazy when others will attempt to define me, though I can somewhat understand what drives them to do so, I think it brings them comfort in diminishing the unknown in their environment, they will look at a person and say "ah, this person must be a hippie, therefore I know what they think and believe", and in doing this they are comforted, often feeling that can can even predict how this person will behave or react. When these people encounter someone that they can't define it automatically brings them discomfort, it's an unknown for them, and when people feel something is unknown the general reaction is fear in one firm or another.

I've never defined myself, I would see labels and definitions and encumberments or restraints...

Part of it's magic is that we've always avoided defining any part of it, and the effect seems to be that in not defining it, it becomes everything. -Jerry Garcia

I've never understood the urge to "be part of something". It's as if some are searching for something larger than themselves in which they can abandon their individuality and dedicate themselves to, and I've just never been able to fully grasp the motivation behind this.

...I guess it is easier to have all of your views, beliefs, choices in fashion, music, speech, and activities all set in place, where all you would have to do is conform to the established "cookie-cutter culture", but personally, that type of thing would drive me mad.

...again, nothing but garbage writing this morning.

It's not that I am uninspired, just poorly motivated towards generating anything more than mediocre dribble.

·I'm in love with the beautiful brunette girl from 26th street who sits next to me every morning.

·I never meet anybody worth interacting with

I believe those were the two initial points here, and somehow it got dragged into some overly simplistic dissection of cultural conformity and its detrimental effect on free thought and individuality.

It's been cold. The fog this morning was incredible. I'm going to spend the rest of the day snuggled up in bed watching netflix with Melanie. (Maybe one day ill be able to spend cold days cuddled up with the beautiful brunette girl from 26th rather than Melanie, who is just a close friend. Dont get me wrong, it's nice to have a girl to snuggle up with and to hold and to keep each other warm on a cold day, but with Melanie it's entirely platonic, we love each other, but it's not romantic, and I know for a fact that I would be so much happier if I could enjoy awesome movies all day while cuddled up in a nice warm bed with the beautiful brunette girl from 26th street, that would be like a dream come true. The beautiful brunette girl from 26th has a really adorable side to her, and I know she would be perfect to snuggle up with and to hold tight, plus, times likes these are best spent with someone you love romantically. (No offense Melanie! You know I love you, and I love spending cold days in bed with you, but you understand, I wish I could spend days like this with a girl that I love romantically)

[I told Althea I was feeling lostLacking in some directionAlthea told me upon scrutinyThat my back might need protectionI told Althea that treacheryWas tearing me limb from limbAlthea told me, now cool down boySettle back easy, JimYou may be Saturday's child all grownMoving with a pinch of graceYou may be a clown in the burying groundOr just another pretty faceYou may be the fate of OpheliaSleeping and perchance to dreamHonest to the point of recklessness Self-centred to the extremeAin't nobody messin' with you but youYour friends are getting most concernedLoose with the truth, maybe its your fireBaby I hope you don't get burnedWhen the smoke has cleared, she saidThat's what she said to meYou're gonna want a bed to lay your headAnd a little sympathyThere are things you can replaceAnd others you cannotThe time has come to weigh those thingsThis space is gettin' hotYou know this space is gettin' hotI told Althea, I'm a roving signThat I was born to be a bachelorAlthea told me, OK that's fineSo now I'm trying to catch herCan't talk to you without talking to meWe're guilty of the same offenseThinking a lot about less and lessAnd forgetting the love we bring]

ALTHEA

I told Althea I was feeling lost
Lacking in some direction
Althea told me upon scrutiny
That my back might need protection
I told Althea that treachery
Was tearing me limb from limb
Althea told me, now cool down boy
Settle back easy, Jim

You may be Saturday's child all grown
Moving with a pinch of grace
You may be a clown in the burying ground
Or just another pretty face
You may be the fate of Ophelia
Sleeping and perchance to dream
Honest to the point of recklessness
Self-centred to the extreme

Ain't nobody messin' with you but you
Your friends are getting most concerned
Loose with the truth, maybe its your fire
Baby I hope you don't get burned
When the smoke has cleared, she said
That's what she said to me
You're gonna want a bed to lay your head
And a little sympathy
There are things you can replace
And others you cannot
The time has come to weigh those things
This space is gettin' hot
You know this space is gettin' hot

I told Althea, I'm a roving sign
That I was born to be a bachelor
Althea told me, OK that's fine
So now I'm trying to catch her
Can't talk to you without talking to me
We're guilty of the same offense
Thinking a lot about less and less
And forgetting the love we bring
-Hunter/Garcia

Saw the beautiful brunette girl from 26th street again today, she looked as beautiful as ever, she sat next to me as usual and we quietly sat side by side just like every other day.

...at this time of day, while I'm writing this stuff, I feel like I would be more than happy to talk to her and tell her how I feel, however, at like 5am when I see her I am half awake and still really sleepy, so it's always harder to force myself to talk to her.

I don't know what else I can do, Eliza tells me that she reads these posts, and if that's true I've made it pretty clear how I feel and what I want from the situation, so I can't imagine why she wouldn't either post here or tell me in person that either: yes she will give me a chance or: No, and to stop wasting my time and to find another girl to love because she is not interested.

Why would she not just give me a chance or reject me already?


I hope she knows that she could have me and a lifetime of my love and devotion if she wants it, and that all she has to do is say so.

I had just boarded my second bus of the day. This ride is in most cases uneventful, and gives me some time to work in my notebook. The bus driver was a young black girl who was probably around my age, she seemed nice, she was incredibly polite, and I remember that she had a really pretty smile. I boarded the bus as usual, turned up my music through my headphones and began working in my notebook, and everything was peaceful, just a normal day, until the bus reaches a stop in which several lines intersect, at this stop there is generally a 5 minute lay-over before the bus begins moving again, and the drivers often take bathroom and cigarette brakes during this lay over. So, the bus driver leaves the bus to take her brake. A few minutes after she leaves skinny old bald man begins to become restless, and starts pacing the isles of the bus. I had spoken to this man the day prior, he had intruded into a rather civilized conversation regarding the grateful dead that I had entered into with another passenger moments before, and had rather rudely attempted to turn things into a "who is a bigger deadhead competition", I have no tolerance for these type of ego-inflating pissing-contests, so I simply found an out and placed my headphones back on. So, this same old man has begun pacing the isles of the bus, and shortly after begins complaining in a loud voice "where is this lady! She can't do this!", then other passengers began to join in with this old prick, all of them loudly complaining and pacing the isles of the bus. The whole time I was thinking "good God, chill out and give the poor girl brake". The driver then returns and the grumpy old bald man is fuming, he begins screaming at the poor girl "you are four minutes late!...and so on". I was completely disgusted by these people's behaviors, I really couldn't believe it. People are so quick to jump into negativity and hostility over the smallest things. The poor girl driving the bus was just trying to do her job, she absolutely did not deserve to return from her brake and have some bald old lunatic foaming at the mouth and making threats to report her just because she was a few minutes late from her bathroom brake. This bald old prick had to be over 50 years old and he was behaving like child throwing a tantrum.

...it would have ruined my morning had I not had my headphones. Thank god I didn't have to listen to all their negativity.

Ill never understand how people can live their lives constantly angry, feeding off of their negative emotions. This is why I think psychedelic exploration is crucial for a cultures well being, it creates fully developed individuals, rather than neotenized individuals. In tribal cultures there would often be psychedelic shamanic rites of passage that every member of the culture would participate in in order to become a fully developed adult.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=fmRuW7OMbvo

I feel that most will reach physical maturity while psychologically never conning anywhere close to reaching their full potential.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=fmRuW7OMbvo

I've always been incredibly laid back, calm, relaxed, mellow and happy. I like to maintain good vibes and a cool and calm atmosphere. It takes a lot to get a negative reaction from me, and any time it ever happens its generally as a means of self-defense. Honestly, nothing bothers me, I really have transcended that neurosis, I'm never bothered by anything.

There have been times where I was incredibly intoxicated on this or that substance where I had to enter a situation in which it was crucial that I function and maintain as if I was completely sober, and I have always done really well in these situations. I see emotions in a similar manner, an emotion is a chemical change which is occurring within your body/mind which is going to influence your mental state and behavior, now, I am also incredibly good at being able to function under the influence of emotions, I see it as being no different from functioning under the influence of a drug.

Just another one of "the days between"

The beautiful brunette girl from 26th street was present today, and as usual took her seat next to me. The bus driver was jolting the bus around with some poor gas and brake work which nearly caused the beautiful brunette girl from 26th street to come crashing into me, that would have been somewhat awkward, but Could have afforded me an opportunity to interact her, well, it was an opportunity missed regardless.

...she wasn't wearing her black and white leopard-print scarf  today, but she still looked amazing. From her bright gleaming eyes and beautiful brunette hair, she looked as gorgeous as ever, she even makes the color neon orange look pretty. It's so rare that you can encounter a person where you think "this person is absolutely perfect in ever way exactly how they are".

...I really don't want to let her go, but at the same time I'm not sure that she is ever going to initiate interaction with me.

After I exit the bus I always turn back and look in through the window at her as the bus is slowly pulling away, and she always looks so sad. Maybe it's because she is looking down at her phone, but she always seems to look somewhat downtrodden and disappointed, and while she still looks adorable I want her to be happy. I hope I am just misreading her emotions, perhaps she is just tired and on her way into work, I really hope that I'm not disappointing her by not talking to her something.

Well, there is always tomorrow, and hopefully I will see her again.

...in the end I think it's going to have to be me that best things going, and believe me, if it wasn't 5 am and if I wasn't half-asleep, stoned, and still in the process of waking up I would have talked to her a long time ago.

I'm pretty sure I'm going to be shot down, which is why I want her to talk to me...

Who knows, maybe tomorrow I'll talk to her.

I'm giving her rose on valentines day no matter what. I wish I could give her roses every day, but that would be weird, right?

The most incredible, gorgeous, and perfect girl in the entire universe sits next to me every morning...

...so why can't I bring myself to ask her to give me a chance to be with her?

Maybe this week ill get my miracle and she will talk to me.

My beautiful brunette girl from 26th street, my darling sugaree, sweeter than a sugar-cube of LSD, maybe next week ill get my miracle and you'll start talking with me.

I got to see her Monday through Thursday this last week, and she Sat next to me every time. I always feel so excited when I see her walking over to sit next to me. It was somewhat disappointing on Friday when she wasn't there, I always have a much better day when it starts by having such an amazing, gorgeous, and special girl sit down next to me.

[Lift up your head weary oneI see that sorrow in your eyesLife got you down againBut you've got to realizeIt takes time to learn, it takes time to growSo be patient and be kind, AndIf you ask with ease and graceAll that you seek you will findDust to dust and ash to ash This too shall pass in the time, and youGot to trust, yeah you got to trustGood things coming in time, and Life Goes OnLife Goes OnAnd you can count on me to be the oneThat's never gonna leave you lonelyCount on me to be the oneThat is gonna love you always, When you're feeling sad and blueI'll be there to see you through, soDon't cry no moreI said don't cry, my darlingTrue it takes some time for one to refineThe steps upon the path you are leadingThe harder the pursuit, it remains the truthThe harder it will be to achieve itAnd though you feel like giving upWhen the path gets roughYou must be string, life must goDon't cry, my darling, don't cryDust to dust and ash to ash This too shall pass in the time, and youGot to trust, yeah you got to trustGood things coming in time, and Life Goes OnLife Goes On, Life Goes OnAnd you can count on me to be the oneThat's never gonna leave you lonelyCount on me to be the oneThat is gonna love you always When you're feeling sad and blueI'll be there to see you through, soDon't cry no moreI said don't cry, my darling-Iya Terra - Life goes on]

Just as the Sun was sinking behind the rolling purple mountain landscape I turned to her in the radiating pastel glow of the sunset, I could see a soft orange light emanating from her chest.

...my beautiful darling girl, con la corazon de oro, my sweet Melanie, you are like angel with broken wings, and I know I have what it takes to make you fly again.

Any time you are feeling down my darling, read these lyrics and remember all of the Times when I snuggled up next to you with my guitar and would play and sing this song just to cheer you up. Ill always be there for you.

You are fucking awesome never forget!


Lift up your head weary one
I see that sorrow in your eyes
Life got you down again
But you've got to realize
It takes time to learn, it takes time to grow
So be patient and be kind, And
If you ask with ease and grace
All that you seek you will find
Dust to dust and ash to ash
This too shall pass in the time, and you
Got to trust, yeah you got to trust
Good things coming in time, and Life Goes On
Life Goes On

And you can count on me to be the one
That's never gonna leave you lonely
Count on me to be the one
That is gonna love you always,
When you're feeling sad and blue
I'll be there to see you through, so
Don't cry no more
I said don't cry, my darling

True it takes some time for one to refine
The steps upon the path you are leading
The harder the pursuit, it remains the truth
The harder it will be to achieve it
And though you feel like giving up
When the path gets rough
You must be string, life must go
Don't cry, my darling, don't cry
Dust to dust and ash to ash
This too shall pass in the time, and you
Got to trust, yeah you got to trust
Good things coming in time, and Life Goes On
Life Goes On,
Life Goes On
And you can count on me to be the one
That's never gonna leave you lonely
Count on me to be the one
That is gonna love you always
When you're feeling sad and blue
I'll be there to see you through, so
Don't cry no more
I said don't cry, my darling
-Iya Terra - Life goes on


https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=EveNzW_BWzc

i'm reading.
fyi

Wow. I'm still somewhat curious as to why, but I suppose that really doesn't matter.

...while I can't understand what would motivate someone to read this nonsense, simultaneously I find myself somewhat puzzled as to why I write it.

Well, I write about the beautiful brunette girl from 26th street because my friend Eliza told me that she reads all of my posts, and while Eliza may not be telling the truth, I still post in hopes that she actually is reading them. (It's actually been very difficult to to tell if the beautiful brunette girl from 26th is reading these posts or not. If she has been reading my posts she has been subtle enough with her responses in real life as to give me hints without giving herself away)

Most of this stuff was written for the beautiful brunette girl from 26th street, and there's a chance that she never sees any of it.

...the rest of the stuff, I can't say why I post it.

[. During the experiment at La Chorrera, the Logos demonstrated that time is not simply a homogeneous medium where things occur, but a fluctuating density of probability. Though science can sometimes tell us what can happen and what cannot happen, we have no theory that explains why, out of everything that could happen, certain things undergo what Whitehead called "the formality of actually occurring." This was what the Logos sought to explain, why out of all the myriad things that could happen, certain things undergo the formality of occurring. It is because there is a modular hierarchy of waves of temporal conditioning, or temporal density. A certain event, rated highly improbable, is more probable at some moments than at others. -terence McKenna]

Today was a day without seeing the beautiful brunette girl from 26th street. Though I did see her every day this week except for today. Such a strange situation, possibly to remain an eternal stalemate of quietly waiting for the other to act. There's so much potential there, and I can feel the buildup of that potential. It's an incredibly rich tangent of possibility.

...It's like a bifurcation in the time stream, on one tangent myself and the beautiful brunette carry on as we have without anything changing, and on the other things came together and we ended up together. It's like I can feel the energy pouring out of that cotangent alternate existence where we had come together, its as if that possible pathway is brimming with so much energy to the point where all cotangent pathways are slightly distorted as the waves of energy and possibility from that possible tangent go crashing around through hyperspace.

Out of all things that are possible, out of all things that can occur, what is it that determines which things, "undergo the formality of actually occurring" and which things do not?

Below McKenna offers some insight:

. During the experiment at La Chorrera, the Logos demonstrated that time is not simply a homogeneous medium where things occur, but a fluctuating density of probability. Though science can sometimes tell us what can happen and what cannot happen, we have no theory that explains why, out of everything that could happen, certain things undergo what Whitehead called "the formality of actually occurring." This was what the Logos sought to explain, why out of all the myriad things that could happen, certain things undergo the formality of occurring. It is because there is a modular hierarchy of waves of temporal conditioning, or temporal density. A certain event, rated highly improbable, is more probable at some moments than at others. -terence McKenna

...I spent some time looking for Alfred North Whitehead's writing regarding things undergoing "the formality of actually occurring" and came up empty handed.

These posts are always disorganized, and since I'm fairly certain that nobody really reads these things I don't make any effort to correct them, I basically just start typing whatever is on my mind and in the end you get what you get, which seems to be a clusterfuck of mismatched abstract concepts blended with bits and pieces of prose derived from the vicissitudes of my daily life.

I don't think I am going to see my beautiful darling sugaree, the gorgeous brunette from 26th street, until next week.

...maybe then she will get things moving and give me a chance to love her. I don't think it matters what she tells her friends, she really does like me. I don't think she should worry if her friends don't like me, I mean, one of my best friends Eliza wants to keep me as far away as possible from the brunette from 26th, yet I don't let it bother me, I don't care what anybody says if she gave me a chance I would proudly tell the whole world that she was my girl and that I loved her, I wouldn't care if jealous people or negative people tried to tell lies and talk shit.

Maybe next week my baby darling sugaree will come and ask me to give her my love.

...can she really be happier awkwardly sitting side by side with me, each of us pretending like we don't notice one another?

I know that I can be hard to approach, and I know that when I am writing I look very busy, and I know that it's uncomfortable getting the attention of a person listening to loud music through headphones, and I know that because I am so nervous and shy that my body language probably shows it, but I promise that if she could just bite the bullet and reach out to tap me on the shoulder that everything would go smoothly from there. ...well, actually, it's probably going to be somewhat awkward and uncomfortable, but once that first interaction is out of the way there should be no problems.

...if she is not interested I would only hope that she would have the decency and manners to tell me.

[The change which actually took place in that world was in no sense revolutionary. Half an hour after swallowing the drug I became aware of a slow dance of golden lights. A little later there were sumptuous red surfaces swelling and expanding from bright nodes of energy that vibrated with a continuously changing, patterned life. At another time the closing of my eyes revealed a complex of gray structures, within which pale bluish spheres kept emerging into intense solidity and, having emerged, would slide noiselessly upwards, out of sight. But at no time were there faces or forms of men or animals. I saw no landscapes, no enormous spaces, no magical growth and metamorphosis of buildings, nothing remotely like a drama or a parable. The other world to which mescalin admitted me was not the world of visions; it existed out there, in what I could see with my eyes open. The great change was in the realm of objective fact. What had happened to my subjective universe was relatively unimportant. -A. Huxley]

The change which actually took place in that world was in no sense revolutionary. Half an hour after swallowing the drug I became aware of a slow dance of golden lights. A little later there were sumptuous red surfaces swelling and expanding from bright nodes of energy that vibrated with a continuously changing, patterned life. At another time the closing of my eyes revealed a complex of gray structures, within which pale bluish spheres kept emerging into intense solidity and, having emerged, would slide noiselessly upwards, out of sight. But at no time were there faces or forms of men or animals. I saw no landscapes, no enormous spaces, no magical growth and metamorphosis of buildings, nothing remotely like a drama or a parable. The other world to which mescalin admitted me was not the world of visions; it existed out there, in what I could see with my eyes open. The great change was in the realm of objective fact. What had happened to my subjective universe was relatively unimportant. -A. Huxley

What Huxley describes above, unfortunately, seems to be the limit of what most will experience with psychedelic substances.

...which is a shame.

However, I will encounter individuals who will say "I have taken x, y, or z and it did not do anything remotely similar to what you claim it does", then, I will offer these individuals an invitation to consume a psychedelic substance with me, and strangely enough I have never failed to obtain consensus regarding these substances potentials after such an event.

...Not that Huxley didn't derive some truly valuable insights from his ventures with the compound, I think Huxley was able to obtain more than most, which is perhaps why I should have chosen another example regarding individuals expectations regarding these compounds.

There's a McKenna quote that States:
If you charge off with some political agenda that is not informed by clarity, you are going to end up with business as usual. The road to hell is paved with good intentions but it is not paved with clarity.-Terence McKenna

...I have always seen the psychedelic experience as a means of achieving such clarity, and as a result enjoy taking political or philosophical concepts and then giving them the "acid test" (while I use the term acid simply for the phrase, by giving something "the acid test" I simply mean seeing if the concept can hold up through psychedelic examination).

...well, as Huxley said "i have returned to that reassuring but profoundly unsatisfactory state known as "being in one's right mind."

...I might try some writing after I have re-upped on hash.
(I hate the terms "shatter" or "wax", if you want to be technical "hash" refers to an extract of the cannabis plant, and in my mind it doesn't seem to matter if the cannabinoids were extracted by traditional means such as by using cold H2O and bubble bags, or of the cannabinoid compounds were extracted with solvents such as butane or propane, in my mind, it's all hash. Now, of there is a need to be specific I prefer using the proper name of the substance, I.e. "butane extract" or "propane extract" or bho/pho combination extract.

fuck it. I have to go.

...oh, before I head out, I want to mention my beautiful darling brunette girl from 26th street, I still love you sugaree,  you looked amazing today. If you ever want or need anything you always know where you can find me. You know I would do anything you asked me to.

[According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves." -So says Aristophanes in his fantastical account of the origins of love in Plato's Symposium.]

We live together, we act on, and react to, one another; but always and in all circumstances we are by ourselves. The martyrs go hand in hand into the arena; they are crucified alone. Embraced, the lovers desperately try to fuse their insulated ecstasies into a single self-transcendence; in vain. By its very nature every embodied spirit is doomed to suffer and enjoy in solitude. Sensations, feelings, insights, fancies–all these are private and, except through symbols and at second hand, incommunicable. We can pool information about experiences, but never the experiences themselves. From family to nation, every human group is a society of island universes. -A. Huxley

According to Greek mythology, humans were originally created with four arms, four legs and a head with two faces. Fearing their power, Zeus split them into two separate parts, condemning them to spend their lives in search of their other halves." -So says Aristophanes in his fantastical account of the origins of love in Plato's Symposium.

Love is born into every human being; it calls back the halves of our original nature together; it tries to make one out of two and heal the wound of human nature. Each of us, then, is a 'matching half' of a human whole...and each of us is always seeking the half that matches him -Aristophanes; Plato's Symposium.

"[When] a person meets the half that is his very own," he exclaims, "something wonderful happens: the two are struck from their senses by love, by a sense of belonging to one another, and by desire, and they don't want to be separated from one another, not even for a moment. These are people who finish out their lives together and still cannot say what it is they want from one another." --Aristophanes

Is it possible to be able to recognize your severed half by first sight?

Is it possible to know by feeling when your other half is near?

I can't explain what draws me to her, but I can feel an energy, an electricity, and a connection between us.

...For whatever reason I thought of the philosophical concepts elucidated by Aristophanes in the excerpts above.

I don't need to have been friends with her for years or ingrained in her social circle to be able to feel a real and genuine connection with her, and whether she admits it or not I know that the feeling is mutual, and I know that when we come together its going to be lightening and sparks, I know we would have a fire connection. Physically and emotionally we would have a deep an intense connection that isn't something that should be wasted. This type of connection is rare, and if you have ever had one before you know how truly special they are.

I love you my beautiful darling sugaree, my gorgeous brunette sweetheart from 26th street, maybe tomorrow will be the day you finally come and talk to me.

My beautiful sweet brunette girl from 26th street, my darling sugaree, sweeter than a sugar-cube of LSD, sat next to me again today.

I love her. I'm pretty sure she knows it.

So I guess it's just a waiting game at this point.

She knows that if she wants a lifetime of love and devotion from me that all she has to do is say so.

...until then I'm not sure what else I can do.

I truly enjoy writing about how gorgeous she is, or how I love the way she carries herself and how I love her sense of style, I enjoy letting her know that she is amazing, that she is perfect in every way exactly how she is, and that I would be willing to do anything for her...

...but at some point she is going to have to bite the bullet and either give me a chance or flat out tell me that its never going to happen.

She knows I love her, she knows I would do anything for her, and she knows that if she wants me all she has to do is say so. ...again, I'm not sure what else I can do.

...I want to just tell her, but it's in a strange venue, I hate busses when it comes to interaction, it always feels like everybody is paying attention directly to you.

I should just get it over with and tell her.

I want to bring her nice things every morning when I see her, like one morning ill give her flowers, the next morning candies and a card, and so on...

[The story of Eden is the story of history's first drug bust. I mean, it's the story of a whole lot of tension over who's going to take or not take a certain plant which conveys knowledge. And Yahweh wandering in the garden says to himself, "If the man and the woman eat of the fruit, they will become as we are." The issue was co-equality, co-knowledge with the Creator. Well, where do we stand in man's existential march? How does that work? Can we always accept the subservient, infantile position? Is knowledge to be dispensed by gods, and if not gods, then the institutions that appoint themselves as gods over us? Or is it actually that maturity begins with somehow claiming this birthright?]

The story of Eden is the story of history's first drug bust. I mean, it's the story of a whole lot of tension over who's going to take or not take a certain plant which conveys knowledge. And Yahweh wandering in the garden says to himself, "If the man and the woman eat of the fruit, they will become as we are." The issue was co-equality, co-knowledge with the Creator. Well, where do we stand in man's existential march? How does that work? Can we always accept the subservient, infantile position? Is knowledge to be dispensed by gods, and if not gods, then the institutions that appoint themselves as gods over us? Or is it actually that maturity begins with somehow claiming this birthright? -terence McKenna

Somehow I think it was an act of empathy on gods part rather than a desire to limit humanity. God must have known the inevitable suffering that runs cotangent with such a high functioning conscious stream becoming confined to a physical form. Perhaps God knew the consequences of intelligence finding it's way into the physical world. Its as if as demi-gods we viewed the existence of life on earth and wanted to experience it first hand.

Ugghh...

No flow to my writing this morning, my thoughts are streaming at lethargic pace. I haven't smoked my hash yet, hence, crap writing.

Speaking of hashish,"The Hasheesh Eater: being passages from the life of a Pythagorean by Fitz Hugh Ludlow written in 1857 describes an account of cannabis intoxication which reminds me of my earliest days experimenting with the plant.

When I was young and had just started experimenting with cannabis the experiences produced were far different from what I experience today. Today, no matter how much I consume, it's never a real intoxication, it's never anything more than a "++" on the shulgin scale*. Now, when I was younger I could induce vivid "+++" experiences which bordered on the psychedelic, these experiences were very much like what Ludlow had described, and while I doubt I can recreate such intoxications, I wanted to consume cannabis in the medium and dose as Mr. Ludlow, partly as a tribute to fitz and my love of that his book, and partly as an effort to brake the "++" barrier with cannabis, a venture which has not been achieved since my teenage years.

*

PLUS ONE, n. (+) The drug is quite certainly active. The chronology can be determined with some accuracy, but the nature of the drug's effects are not yet apparent.

PLUS TWO, n. (++) Both the chronology and the nature of the action of a drug are unmistakably apparent. But you still have some choice as to whether you will accept the adventure, or rather just continue with your ordinary day's plans (if you are an experienced researcher, that is). The effects can be allowed a predominant role, or they may be repressible and made secondary to other chosen activities.

PLUS THREE, n. (+++) Not only are the chronology and the nature of a drug's action quite clear, but ignoring its action is no longer an option. The subject is totally engaged in the experience, for better or worse.

PLUS FOUR, n. (++++) A rare and precious transcendental state, which has been called a "peak experience," a "religious experience," "divine transformation," a "state of Samadhi" and many other names in other cultures. It is not connected to the +1, +2, and +3 of the measuring of a drug's intensity. It is a state of bliss, a participation mystique, a connectedness with both the interior and exterior universes, which has come about after the ingestion of a psychedelic drug, but which is not necessarily repeatable with a subsequent ingestion of that same drug. If a drug (or technique or process) were ever to be discovered which would consistently produce a plus four experience in all human beings, it is conceivable that it would signal the ultimate evolution, and perhaps the end, of the human experiment.
— Alexander Shulgin, PIHKAL, pages 963–965

So, let's hear from Fitz Hugh Ludlow:

One morning, in the spring of 185-, I dropped in
upon the doctor for my accustomed lounge.

"Have you seen," said he, "my new acquisitions ?"

I looked toward the shelves in the direction of
which he pointed, and saw, added since my last visit,
a row of comely pasteboard cylinders inclosing vials
of the various extracts prepared by Tilden & Co.
Arranged in order according to their size, they con-
fronted me, as pretty a little rank of medicinal sharp-
shooters as could gratify the eye of an amateur. I ap-
proached the shelves, that I might take them in re-
view.

A rapid glance showed most of them to be old ac-
quaintances. " Conium, taraxacum, rhubarb — ha I
what is this ? Cannabis Indica ?" " That," answered
the doctor, looking with a parental fondness upon his
new treasure, "is a preparation of the East Indian
hemp, a powerful agent in cases of lock-jaw." On the
strength of this introduction, I took down the little
archer, and, removing his outer verdant coat, began the further prosecution of his acquaintance. To pull out
a broad and shallow cork was the work of an instant,
and it revealed to me an olive-brown extract, of the
consistency of pitch, and a decided aromatic odor.
Drawing out a small portion upon the point of my pen-
knife, I was just going to put it to my tongue, when
"Hold on!" cried the doctor; "do you want to kill
yourself? That stuff is deadly poison." "Indeed!" I
replied ; " no, I can not say that I have any settled
determination of that kind ;" and with that I replaced
the cork, and restored the extract, with all its appur-
tenances, to the shelf.

The remainder of my morning's visit in the sanctum
was spent in consulting the Dispensatory under the
title " Cannabis Indica." The sum of my discoveries
there may be found, with much additional information,
in that invaluable popular work, Johnston's Chemistry
of Common Life. This being universally accessible,
I will allude no further to the result of that morning's
researches than to mention the three following conclu-
sions to which I came.

First, the doctor was both right and wrong ; right,
inasmuch as a sufficiently large dose of the drug, if it
could be retained in the stomach, would produce death,
like any other narcotic, and the ultimate effect of its
habitual use had always proved highly injurious to
mind and body ; wrong, since moderate doses of it
were never immediately deadly, and many millions of
people daily employed it as an indulgence similarly to
opium. Second, it was the hasheesh referred to by
Eastern travelers, and the subject of a most graphic
chapter from the pen of Bayard Taylor, which months
before had moved me powerfully to curiosity and admiration. Third, I would add it to the list of my former experiments.
In pursuance of this last determination, I waited till
my friend was out of sight, that I might not terrify
him by that which he considered a suicidal venture,
and then quietly uncapping my little archer a second
time, removed from his store of offensive armor a pill
sufficient to balance the ten grain weight of the .sanc-
torial scales. This, upon the authority of Pereira and
the Dispensatory, I swallowed without a tremor as to
the danger of the result.

Making all due allowance for the fact that I had not
taken my hasheesh bolus fasting, I ought to experience
its effects within the next four hours. That time
elapsed without bringing the shadow of a phenome-
non. It was plain that my dose had been insufficient.

For the sake of observing the most conservative
prudence, I suffered several days to go by without a
repetition of the experiment, and then, keeping the
matter equally secret, I administered to myself a pill
of fifteen grains. This second was equally ineffectual
with the first.

Gradually, by five grains at a time, I increased the
dose to thirty grains, which I took one evening half
an hour after tea. I had now almost come to the con-
clusion that I was absolutely unsusceptible of the
hasheesh influence. Without any expectation that
this last experiment would be more successful than
the former ones, and indeed with no realization of the
manner in which the drug affected those who did
make the experiment successfully, I went to pass the
evening at the house of an intimate friend. In music
and conversation the time passed pleasantly. The
clock struck ten, reminding me that three hours had
elapsed since the dose was taken, and as yet not an
unusual symptom had appeared. I was provoked to
think that this trial was as fruitless as its predeces-
sors.

Ha ! what means this sudden thrill ? A shock, as
of some unimagined vital force, shoots without warn-
ing through my entire frame, leaping to my fingers'
ends, piercing my brain, startling me till I almost
spring from my chair.

I could not doubt it. I was in the power of the
hasheesh influence. My first emotion was one of un-
controllable terror — a sense of getting something which
I had not bargained for. That moment I would have
given all I had or hoped to have to be as I was three
hours before.





1st attempt
10 grains = 647.989mgs ( 10 grains = 0.647989 grams )
2nd attempt
15 grains = 971.984mgs (15 grains = 0.971984 grams)
3rd attempt
30 grains = 1943.97 mgs (30 grains = 1.94397 grams)

...however, Fitz says that he "Gradually, by five grains at a time, I increased the dose to thirty grains" so it's very well possible that fitz had made other attempts leading up to the 30 grain dose which induced the experience on which his book was based.

Now, I am uncertain as to how "Tilden and Co." Preared their cannabis indica extract in the mid to late 1800's but it would be helpful to do some research on that part.

I'm thinking that I can take some PHO/BHO extract of cannabis and use it for this experiment, though with butane or propane extracts I would have to decarboxylate the tetrahydrocannabolic acid to tetrahydrocannabinol before it would be active orally.

Honestly, the last thing that I want to do is use butter or another source of natural lipids as a medium for the hash, I want to directly eat the hash.

[from the Doors of Perception by Aldous Huxley]

We live together, we act on, and react to, one another; but always and in all circumstances we are by ourselves. The martyrs go hand in hand into the arena; they are crucified alone. Embraced, the lovers desperately try to fuse their insulated ecstasies into a single self-transcendence; in vain. By its very nature every embodied spirit is doomed to suffer and enjoy in solitude. Sensations, feelings, insights, fancies–all these are private and, except through symbols and at second hand, incommunicable. We can pool information about experiences, but never the experiences themselves. From family to nation, every human group is a society of island universes.

Most island universes are sufficiently like one another to permit of inferential understanding or even of mutual empathy or "feeling into." Thus, remembering our own bereavements and humiliations, we can condole with others in analogous circumstances, can put ourselves (always, of course, in a slightly Pickwickian sense) in their places. But in certain cases communication between universes is incomplete or even nonexistent. The mind is its own place, and the Places inhabited by the insane and the exceptionally gifted are so different from the places where ordinary men and women live, that there is little or no common ground of memory to serve as a basis for understanding or fellow feeling. Words are uttered, but fail to enlighten. The things and events to which the symbols refer belong to mutually exclusive realms of experience.

To see ourselves as others see us is a most salutary gift. Hardly less important is the capacity to see others as they see themselves. But what if these others belong to a different species and inhabit a radically alien universe? For example, how can the sane get to know what it actually feels like to be mad? Or, short of being born again as a visionary, a medium, or a musical genius, how can we ever visit the worlds which, to Blake, to Swedenborg, to Johann Sebastian Bach, were home? And how can a man at the extreme limits of ectomorphy and cerebrotonia ever put himself in the place of one at the limits of endomorphy and viscerotonia, or, except within certain circumscribed areas, share the feelings of one who stands at the limits of mesomorphy and somatotonia? To the unmitigated behaviorist such questions, I suppose, are meaningless. But for those who theoretically believe what in practice they know to be true–namely, that there is an inside to experience as well as an outside–the problems posed are real problems, all the more grave for being, some completely insoluble, some soluble only in exceptional circumstances and by methods not available to everyone. Thus, it seems virtually certain that I shall never know what it feels like to be Sir John Falstaff or Joe Louis. On the other hand, it had always seemed to me possible that, through hypnosis, for example, or autohypnosis, by means of systematic meditation, or else by taking the appropriate drug, I might so change my ordinary mode of consciousness as to be able to know, from the inside, what the visionary, the medium, even the mystic were talking about.
from the Doors of Perception
by Aldous Huxley