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[13 Jan 2005|05:13pm]
[ mood | reminiscing ]

On a whim I decided to start a new journal as I've had this one for far too long.  It is located at rishi_hermit .  This journal is dead to me.

Peace out folks

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[12 Jan 2005|05:58pm]
I learned that I function better on very little sleep and large amounts of mild stimulents (a.k.a. coffee), either that or this is a manic episode.

I learned that it is actually impossible for me to do any sort of work in this house.

I think the word I was looking for to describe the Cafe Van Gogh was "dingy", and that's why I love it dearly. I think I shall go live there.
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[11 Jan 2005|06:06pm]
[ mood | serene ]

So I got my confidence back. Yay!!!! I think I'll start by doing several things I've been meaning to do, restart Grassroots Poetry Collective, and listen to some Velvet Underground man. Oh, I still need to learn how to play guitar. Am I really that lazy?? Yes, yes I am.

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[09 Jan 2005|11:28pm]
[ mood | apathetic/restless ]

I have been living in a constant state of restlessness because at the moment I can't seem to find any purpose. I'm not in the mood for a cigarette, I'm not in the mood for anything and that's just the problem. Having found no solace in drugs I continue to find no solace in literature or the future, just abstracts and I grasp on to this idea of the divine buddha to no practical use, because I've never seen the divine buddha other than tripping on To magic mushrooms. So is there a divine buddha? Is enlightenment an illusion of the drug culture? Is the only alternative the hive-mind of the american economy (we view as independent competition yet it amounts to the same thing).

Here is my proposed future. I think I should live healthily, conform to my own moral views, garden and eat vegetarian. I think then I would have a chane of being happier, but those goals seem particularly unavailable and perhaps that's why I have chosen them. Or do I think that life would be a solution becasuse I am told that is the life of the cleched being of me?

At what point did I stop making sense. At what point did I start babbling on about religious and elusive mental states created by illegal chemicals located in molds, weeds, and mushrooms. At what point did I start babbling on about losing my soul among my lengthy book collection and finding it through a mixture of DMT and syrian rue. And this house, what ominous pretentious airs this house has. Can't find one sittio in this place, living in discomfort in comfortable living.

And it's always that I'm losing opportunities, learning opportunities but I haven't seen any evidence that I'm really missing anything, so why not turn towards a garden somewhere and idle away time strumming at a guitar (listening to the resonating strings, you can hear the air purify vibrations man). But right now there's nothing to be passionate about, nothing to keep me moving through the sickening sludge of a day at school to return to a sterile/offensive home.

Man, that was my rant for the day. I drank caffeine so I would stay awake to have bizzarre waking dreams where I have delusions that I'm in the mafia.

(Also, I'm think about writing a story taking place in New York about a group of artists and the idea that sometimes are better for being drunks than others. John suddenly decides to pick up from the drunk/poet life style, change his name to Paradise, move to San Francisco and become a folk musician. Then it will slowly degrade into a lynchian nightmare because I have no faith in my ideals.)

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[08 Jan 2005|11:12pm]
What indicates a power of certain ideas. Take for intense the idea of the Buddha, when the visions close to the end are of the Buddha. It's the shape. It's obvious, what else could it be. I think it's in, like, the second or third bardo, I would think. And what if enlightenment is death? And then, what if we reach enlightenment in life? Would there then be any purpose to carrying out social games? And... that's about it. Well, yeah. Far out.
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Another musing on hallucinogens [06 Jan 2005|08:25am]
I was reading parts of PiHKAL which is a biography of Dr. Shulgin and his own synthesis book on a variety of psychoactive chemicals. He takes a very interesting approach to hallcinogens. He believes it is destined in man's evolution to produce a chemical that induces an enlightenmen/spiritual experience similar to the effect that LSD-25 and mescaline produce at higher doses. It's kind of interesting because it's man's initiative to seek enlightenment as oppossed to merely happening upon it, like Leary said. It's science to produce religion, as opposed to science having killed religion.
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Transcendentalist Light [05 Jan 2005|08:40am]
[ mood | tired ]

Our vibrations had turned nasty
And the room had the stench of insomnia: warm milk and weed
Fragrant grass to lure dreams of subtle reality
My books did nothing to ease my worries
If any, talk of the devil terrified me more
And I feared my soul lost forever to the odoriferous fire
I regained consciousness long enough to buckle my knees and succumb to the soft lure of sleep and barbiturates
Because everything was too heavy to float
But when I finally hit the floor I knew closing my eyes knew no bounds
And I sunk until I was no longer dreaming
Into a tunnel of pure color and shattering roars
A hellish beautiful passage
I was going at speeds too powerful to be real
“these couldn’t be drug induced, could I possibly be awake?”

I was sitting in a lotus on my bed, my friend ____ was there
He told me “if you can’t find your soul, visualize the ocean”
I brought the ocean outside my door
And as the moon brought the ocean to the sky
I sifted through thousands of sea creatures
Drowned in cool night air
And burned by the light of the moon

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[04 Jan 2005|10:33pm]
Theory No. 47 on why people take hallucinogenic drugs: because nothing as interesting happens in real life
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here is wierd word arcs, remind me to forsake conventions [04 Jan 2005|09:37pm]
And in the depth of early morning, and late evening, the room breathed a sigh of relief. He had known all his life that his soul was lost or he was continually losing it, to what he couldn’t know, to supernatural darkness perhaps.
-Do you feel it slipping away?
And he’d say no.
-What do you feel then?
-I feel empty, like it’s an emptiness I’ve always known. And this room now, the sullenly blue ashen room, is a fragment of myself, and myself is a fragment of my soul.
-I don’t understand what you are saying.
-That’s because you haven’t lost your soul like I have, but I know where to find it.
-Where to find it?
-Amongst the knots in the walls and the seems in the carpet, to see internal/external unity. It was like something Huxley had said.
-Huxley had said.
-About the adrenaline oxidizing into adrenochrome. Yes…
When the walls breathed again. It used to be almost entirely in the present. The past and future were abstracts, but we only deal in abstracts now.
-That’s because the abstracts, hold no excuse for awareness. Awareness. Let us take a moment to ponder imagery.
-We are sitting in a room, but the ocean is outside the door.
-The ocean is hundreds of miles away.
-No it is outside the door.
The ocean dreamt for a moment of what this would be like.
-The ocean lies outside the door, and the richness of its depths performs miracles on your soul because you are the one that has one, and it’s pure beauty reminds you that there is such thing as beautiful. And think for yourself a moment, as the moon attracts the water, and there is exposed a strange world of sea creatures.
When the wall breathed a third time, awareness collapsed on itself in deep slumber, somnambulism, we regret to say that the ocean was not outside the door, and the awarenesses and chakras was but a passing phase. Perhaps we should withdraw, for we're not wanted here, and we seek to drink water, and sleep in peaceful tranquility.
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[04 Jan 2005|07:17pm]
[ mood | rawr ]

at this moment i feel immensely unsatisfied with life all i want is a little peace and tranquility i have decided to do away with capital letters and punctuation because they are superfluous and i dislike them now i could write poetry but im in no state of mind to and i think the best solution at the moment would be to watch tv and hope that something funny and uplifting is on i hate the government

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[03 Jan 2005|09:04pm]
I found a very peculiar book which is comprised of a series of letters between Allen Ginsberg and William Burroughs. It's about yage which apparently is another term ayahuasca which is a traditional south-american preparation containing DMT which was used to find lost souls. Man, I love wierd books.
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[03 Jan 2005|08:39pm]
alright man, my room's a mess, I have school tomorrow, and I accomplished little to no work over the break. So now.... ummm. I guess I'll clean my room.
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[02 Jan 2005|09:56pm]
Hunter S. Thompson acquired a great deal of power and thus had the ability to spend it however he chose. I wish I could acquire that amount of power, that social capital, but I have no motivation nor ability to accomplish what he did.

The most interesting moment of taking a drug, is before it takes affect. Because what you have done, cannot be changed and your only escape is to wait for the end. That is why you should always turn off your mind, relax, and float downstream.

I have been trying to write for so long. Oh man, what do I need to write a novel?

someone has imed me.
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[02 Jan 2005|04:36pm]
So i'm finally home now, and bored as hell. Someone call me on my cellphone, and let's get drunk or see a movie.
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[01 Jan 2005|01:59am]
"we didn't call him sick boy because he was always sick from heroin, he was just one sick cunt."
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[01 Jan 2005|01:47am]
[ mood | sleepy and in love with no one ]

can't sleep can't sleep can't sleep
whenever i'm drunk I can't sleep either. Well, maybe I'll black out but I always wake up in a couple of hours. I actually get really satisfying sleep when I'm drunk come to think of it and I never get very bad hangovers. Well except that one time I had like major paranoid delusions and a psychological breakdown but, eh.
Oh man, this was such a wasted break. I didn't get any writing done, because I suck. I'm such a bad writer. I wanna blow my fuckin computer out.
So I'm reading beat poetry because I can't sleep, I'm rediscovering Peter Orlovsky. If you scream Ginsberg aloud at night I think you can summon his bearded spirit.
So I think when I get back, I think I'll take some inisiative (wow no idea how to spell that word) for once and do something!!! I'm so passive it's just ridiculous. If I want my life to be interesting I have to blow people's fuckin minds out. And make friends. And sleep, I wanna sleep, because I'm gonna be woken up tomorrow by like nine, because there are my nieces who want to play chess and go sledding.
can't sleep can't sleep can't sleep
"One room is all I'll ever own in eternity."

Happy saturday
whole sick crew/cellar septet/grassroots poetry collective

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[28 Dec 2004|11:32am]
[ mood | dreamy ]

I had the longest and most elaborate dream I've ever had last night.

I was my usual self except my name was Jan Joplin (must of had Janice Joplin on my mind). I was walking on this college campus with a couple bags when I ran into this girl. She didn't resemble anyone I've ever seen before. So she got very angry that I ran into her and told me to fuck off.

So I was going to this co-op that I was moving into, and it was set up like an apartment building. The road was cobblestone and lined with similar buildings. I moved into the basment where there were two beds. There was also a secret passage behind two bookshelves where there was nothing but a bench. Then the same girl who ran into me earlier came in with two bags. She sees me a says something like "Oh my fuckin god, it's you. I can't believe my roommate is a dirty hippie." And she sets her bag down on the other bed and starts unpacking while she continues to insult me saying things like "I can smell the patchouli from here." After a while I jokingly say "soo you wanna make out?" She stops everything she's doing walks over to me and says, "Tht might be fun." And then we start to make out in what feels like a forced way. That seems to be the entire basis of our relationship. She was very violent to me and I was sweet to her, but at the same time it was a very close and intense relationship. I think her name was Mary.

I had three classes, two of them were with Mary. The first one was a basic history class in description. But the class was held in the van of the teacher on the street in the back of the co-op. The street looked suspiciously like the street I live on in real life. Mary and I were the only ones in the class and we didn't learn any history. Two odd things about him is that he was extremely paranoid and in-the-closet gay which we helped him work through and accept his sexuality.

My second class was also with Mary though there were some twenty other people in the class. It was a combined pottery/short story writing class. One of the last things I remember in my dream was I had to write a 14 page story due tomorrow, and I still thought that when I woke up.

I can't remember what my third class was but Mary was not in it. When I got out of class one time I saw Mary sitting with Greer and I sat down next to Mary and kissed her. Then Greer said, "wow, that's a change, before lunch you guys hated each other."

There were also a couple of conversations about French Existentialism which I can't remember. Eventually I got obsessed with the idea of parallel universes and that the road in back (the one that looked like the road I live on) was a link between two parallel universes. So eventually I came up with a device that looks like two buttons connected by a bit of circuitry and metal. So before I go I'm with Mary along time in the secret passage and then I press one of the buttons.

I have a false awakening and I dreaming I'm in my bed at home. Then Cat comes over and we're sitting in my room and I start to tell her about my dream but then she says, "Yeah, you already told me you're going out with Mary." And she says this with a great deal of skepticism due to my recent habit of getting into intense relationships quickly that don't last very long. This confuses me as I thought it had been a dream. I search through my desk and find the device that I built. But when I press the button nothing happens. And suddenly I'm very sad because I had fallen in love with Mary but I couldn't remember her name, so that made me even more sad. And about then I woke up for good.

These false awakenings make me wonder if the real world is a series of false awakening.

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[21 Dec 2004|03:24pm]
[ mood | purple haze ]

Sooo.... I'm in the mountains and gonna be here probably most of vacation and I'm really really bored and there's no snow!!!! Oh man. Well it gives me time to catch up on my meditation and reading. Lankavatara sutra=fucking brilliant. In addition I have my guitar though i'm no closer to being a folk musician, my computer in which I'm writing a novel that i detest and I think I desperately need a plot. Fortunately I have a variety of drugs with me to keep my mind limber.

Have I ever told y'all my love for patchouli oil?
Peace out folks

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Two Quotes involving antiquated [19 Dec 2004|11:24am]
"Work is an antiquated notion dear to an older generation."

"Sure, racially speaking, New York is less homogenous than say, Fishgut, Idaho. But defining diversity on racial terms alone seems a bit antiquated these days. "
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Gee, You're so Beautiful That It's Starting to Rain by Richard Brautigan [16 Dec 2004|05:28pm]
[ mood | mellow ]

"Oh, Marcia
I want your long blonde beauty
to be taught in high school,
so kids will learn that God
lives like music in the skin
and sounds like a sunshine harpsicord.
I want high school report cards
to look like this:

Playing with Gentle Glass Things

Computer Magic

Writing Letters to Those You Love

Finding out about Fish

Marcia's Long Blond Beauty

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