That's the one time I've ever tried weed. As a matter of fact, life's plenty more interesting not having the easy way out. Imagine training your brain sober to achieve a blissful life that otherwise you're dishing out money for.
(coughSCIENTOLOGYcough)
Music sounded great on weed because the mild form of acid (THC) made me dashing my eyelashes to the disco-ball trails of light on the ceiling.
Yeah, it was lovely, and I didn't give a crap that everyone wanted Wendy's. You can say my mile-high days are over, simply because I'd be relying on a substance. There's no magic revelation of life through it all.
EXCEPT...people can learn one very important thing in life: chill.
Yes, there are times in life that require so much attention and emotional response that other people hold you to being all true in nature, but most of the time, people phase unimportant things out. This includes people that have no direct communication to them- and as long as you're not breaking a law, you're part of that group.
So train your brain to slow down, but stay sharp beneath it all. Take a chill pill- people aren't looking at you every five seconds. More importantly, ask yourself what's most important at the moment, and if that's YOU, treat yourself the best out of everyone else.
Sunday, July 7, 2013
So here's a thought:
I tried weed.
It's like having a speed lever dialed drastically down in your head. The mind-filter you once had in your head comes back for an encore. You have this time to concentrate on your own selfish existence and nothing else, but you put on a face so people aren't deterred. You're a kid in a nineteen year-old's body.
All throughout this time, I found it easy to like my ideas enough to not toss out every single one. I wrote a sketchbook full of lyrics and melodies with chime-lustuous synths. The sounds I imagined were of hipster-dance music, glistening to an eighties vibe. It didn't matter that it had every sample in EDM- it just mattered that it was original (or sounded somewhat like MGMT).
Then a concept struck me. All it is that we're getting from this high is a dopamine rush. And it seems, high or not, that we get dopamine rushes when we see artistic expressions that display conflict in the mind. This could be as simple as a pattern, to a complex thought that explains nothing, but chases it for a good half hour.
Here's where things get crazy: what if, a long time ago, someone took away our instant-access to this dopamine rush? They found it's easier to oppress a general civilization so they can get away from it all while other people do mundane tasks to keep the world revolving. Worst of all, who's there to tell them they're wrong? Who's there to take away their source of joy? Whoever it is finds it beneficial to keep remnants of this happiness as a motivation tool, and spreads it every now and then so people can pursue this pointless happiness.
Because, seriously now, what is the point of working hard all day? We make money, which is great. We're all fighting for one percent of total monetary value while one percent has the other ninety-nine, and all they do is raise a bunch of hoopla. Seems to me like even education won't get you out of that loophole. There are kids living off their parent's money for the rest of their lives, and as long as they have money in the bank, or a will not to reproduce, they can live their life without a work-filled meaning or characteristic development. But really, who blames them? They're just as happy as we are when we're rewarded with money.
So artists find it easier to have access to unlimited dopamine workspaces (a hit of weed) to better extract an idea and call it their own. It becomes strictly career-driven nature, and only people that have a need to claim another idea their own will fight for it (which is no one, unless whoever's selling their work has a problem with it).
It's like having a speed lever dialed drastically down in your head. The mind-filter you once had in your head comes back for an encore. You have this time to concentrate on your own selfish existence and nothing else, but you put on a face so people aren't deterred. You're a kid in a nineteen year-old's body.
All throughout this time, I found it easy to like my ideas enough to not toss out every single one. I wrote a sketchbook full of lyrics and melodies with chime-lustuous synths. The sounds I imagined were of hipster-dance music, glistening to an eighties vibe. It didn't matter that it had every sample in EDM- it just mattered that it was original (or sounded somewhat like MGMT).
Then a concept struck me. All it is that we're getting from this high is a dopamine rush. And it seems, high or not, that we get dopamine rushes when we see artistic expressions that display conflict in the mind. This could be as simple as a pattern, to a complex thought that explains nothing, but chases it for a good half hour.
Here's where things get crazy: what if, a long time ago, someone took away our instant-access to this dopamine rush? They found it's easier to oppress a general civilization so they can get away from it all while other people do mundane tasks to keep the world revolving. Worst of all, who's there to tell them they're wrong? Who's there to take away their source of joy? Whoever it is finds it beneficial to keep remnants of this happiness as a motivation tool, and spreads it every now and then so people can pursue this pointless happiness.
Because, seriously now, what is the point of working hard all day? We make money, which is great. We're all fighting for one percent of total monetary value while one percent has the other ninety-nine, and all they do is raise a bunch of hoopla. Seems to me like even education won't get you out of that loophole. There are kids living off their parent's money for the rest of their lives, and as long as they have money in the bank, or a will not to reproduce, they can live their life without a work-filled meaning or characteristic development. But really, who blames them? They're just as happy as we are when we're rewarded with money.
So artists find it easier to have access to unlimited dopamine workspaces (a hit of weed) to better extract an idea and call it their own. It becomes strictly career-driven nature, and only people that have a need to claim another idea their own will fight for it (which is no one, unless whoever's selling their work has a problem with it).
Oh what?
After seven long, painful months, Google finally resurrected the blogging format I've come to love.
This means updates and pondering with no aim. Not like anything's different...
This means updates and pondering with no aim. Not like anything's different...
Saturday, January 5, 2013
"My cousin just spent the last hour explaining to me why he didn't believe in evolution.
It's kinda rough out here…day two in the desert- they have a guns god and glory mentality…I'm fearing I may be becoming one of them. I must stay strong.
My worst fears were realized at dinner. I found myself saying "I think everybody should own a gun". I don't know what happened. It just slipped out.
The changes are now apparent and coming much faster. I think I blacked out. The last thing I remember is saying something about going back to where they came from and then the next thing I knew I was wearing full camp and having a real life modern warfare fight with my cousin.
You know, it's really not so bad here. I'm with family, and the closest Walmart is only about a hour drive away, and it's not like we are completely in the middle of nowhere. The state penitentiary is only fifteen minutes down the road.
What kind of name is Jairo anyway? Are you some sort of commie terrorist?"
-Jessica Meier, January 3, 2013
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