somthing i came across not to long ago an essay as a good freind of mine said i think you will all enjoy it one way or another
Lemon. It all starts with lemon, but you end up with so much more. You must first hold the lemon to fully comprehend or appreciate it to any meaningful depth. It becomes a near-deity, a veritable demi-god in your private universe. It creates a beguiling, calming centre, the eye of the storm surging you along in a deluge of information and hallucinogenic frenzy. You get a glimpse at the sensory avalanche, momentarily frozen in its paralyzing descent all around you. I'm afraid to sound incredibly cliched here, but its really one of those things you have to experience to understand beyond the simple black-and-white layer cake of everyday thought.
Like a pair of mallards, I am a paradox. If you don't get that, it's all in your pronunciation of the word paradox. It's one of those crazy little things I enjoy exclusively, or at least I like to think so. What I'm trying to get at here are the feelings, people. It starts off subversively, until you're stuck in a rush, a FLOOD of near-biblical proportions. You don't know up from down for a period. It's like watching the hoover dam slowly cracking, producing more and more leaks. It gives you a tantalizing hint at what's to come. You feel this almost primal dread anticipation, because for better or worse, once that dam breaks, there is no closing the floodgates. Ever. You come out of that trip changed, marked. My thought pattern explodes and begins ricocheting around the room and expanding infinitely at the very same moment. Thoughts collide, fleetingly convluse before disintegrating again. To quote myself, "I'm on the verge of multiple personalities". What I'm getting at here is not that I spend twenty minutes ordering at a restaurant because I can't agree with Tex about whether the eggs are better poached...
somthing i came across not to long ago an essay as a good freind of mine said i think you will all enjoy it one way or another
Lemon. It all starts with lemon, but you end up with so much more. You must first hold the lemon to fully comprehend or appreciate it to any meaningful depth. It becomes a near-deity, a veritable demi-god in your private universe. It creates a beguiling, calming centre, the eye of the storm surging you along in a deluge of information and hallucinogenic frenzy. You get a glimpse at the sensory avalanche, momentarily frozen in its paralyzing descent all around you. I'm afraid to sound incredibly cliched here, but its really one of those things you have to experience to understand beyond the simple black-and-white layer cake of everyday thought.
Like a pair of mallards, I am a paradox. If you don't get that, it's all in your pronunciation of the word paradox. It's one of those crazy little things I enjoy exclusively, or at least I like to think so. What I'm trying to get at here are the feelings, people. It starts off subversively, until you're stuck in a rush, a FLOOD of near-biblical proportions. You don't know up from down for a period. It's like watching the hoover dam slowly cracking, producing more and more leaks. It gives you a tantalizing hint at what's to come. You feel this almost primal dread anticipation, because for better or worse, once that dam breaks, there is no closing the floodgates. Ever. You come out of that trip changed, marked. My thought pattern explodes and begins ricocheting around the room and expanding infinitely at the very same moment. Thoughts collide, fleetingly convluse before disintegrating again. To quote myself, "I'm on the verge of multiple personalities". What I'm getting at here is not that I spend twenty minutes ordering at a restaurant because I can't agree with Tex about whether the eggs are better poached or scrambled, which is giving Les the effeminate space kraken fits, all while seated at a table for one. No. What I mean is that my brain is becoming an entity that exists completely separate from my mouth. They are now mutually exclusive, and yet in cahoots to make me blurt out my thoughts about everything from quantum physics to the taste of mustard when you eat it straight.
I begin to feel as if I'm a giant, in a more mythological proportion than what you're usually used to. I am afraid to move, lest I crush the Lilliputians (see or rather read Gulliver's travels people!) all around me with a single misstep. At the very same moment, I'm an ant. Not in the physical sense; I'm not two inches tall. What I mean is I feel as if I'm just one of a billion or so, give or take a few mill, little insects on one ball of muck scratching out a living like the rest of the chumps (no offence meant to you chumps, keep doing what you do). Stuff like that really puts a damper on the ol' God complex I've become so comfortable with. Next thing I know, I'm typing an "essay" out full of shoddy fractured sentences and horrendous paragraph structure with neither an introduction nor conclusion which would have my grade 12 English teacher spinning in his grave. If he was dead, that is. I'll bet he's spinning pre-humously just for me. God bless him. Break paragraph.
For no other reason than fuck grade 12 English.
You ever get the feeling like you're gonna wake up one morning and dicover that you've become nothing more than a goddamn metaphorical bottle of shampoo in the grocery store of life? Like no matter how much the banks and Mommy told you YOU were special, YOU mattered, YOU weren't a number, that you'd finally notice the bar code on your name tag and you'd been swiped into the great big old databank, used and discarded, a husk of your former self? Yeah, me neither.
So here I sit, with every nerve on subatomic fire, white phosphorus painted over my entire epidermis. Every sensation of touch feeds into an ever-swelling resevoir of energy threatening to tear through my paper-thin being at any moment in a supernova explosion. It can only be described as a complete, irritating yet mesmerizingly overwhelming sense of ecstacy, in a purely non-sexual way, I'm afraid. Kinda makes you wanna spring from your skin tube for a while and fly around. But that would tend to result in death of a more grotesque variety. I think, haven't tried it yet.
Well, aside from clam diggers on Hornby making me believe, however briefly in aliens, I suppose my brain has oozed, secreted and plain-out barfed up all the weird I could dredge from my experience. I now long only for that moment when my brain turns the switch to "off". I sure could go for a lemon.
ahh good time let me know what you think
Lemon. It all starts with lemon, but you end up with so much more. You must first hold the lemon to fully comprehend or appreciate it to any meaningful depth. It becomes a near-deity, a veritable demi-god in your private universe. It creates a beguiling, calming centre, the eye of the storm surging you along in a deluge of information and hallucinogenic frenzy. You get a glimpse at the sensory avalanche, momentarily frozen in its paralyzing descent all around you. I'm afraid to sound incredibly cliched here, but its really one of those things you have to experience to understand beyond the simple black-and-white layer cake of everyday thought.
Like a pair of mallards, I am a paradox. If you don't get that, it's all in your pronunciation of the word paradox. It's one of those crazy little things I enjoy exclusively, or at least I like to think so. What I'm trying to get at here are the feelings, people. It starts off subversively, until you're stuck in a rush, a FLOOD of near-biblical proportions. You don't know up from down for a period. It's like watching the hoover dam slowly cracking, producing more and more leaks. It gives you a tantalizing hint at what's to come. You feel this almost primal dread anticipation, because for better or worse, once that dam breaks, there is no closing the floodgates. Ever. You come out of that trip changed, marked. My thought pattern explodes and begins ricocheting around the room and expanding infinitely at the very same moment. Thoughts collide, fleetingly convluse before disintegrating again. To quote myself, "I'm on the verge of multiple personalities". What I'm getting at here is not that I spend twenty minutes ordering at a restaurant because I can't agree with Tex about whether the eggs are better poached...