Palliativity 110: Altered States

altered states

Drugs are only recreational if you aren’t trying to achieve anything. Depending on the individual, almost any activity can be seen as a type A or type B experience. What kind of ride are you in for?

For most users, drugs are meta-tainment; a self-fulfilling hypocrisy— MSG for the soul;
De-mented reality.

For me, its time to get to work…

When I’m flying free on shattered wings the angels cull the sirens down to sleep. Distracted by the dancing charms of sandal-snapping steps, thoughts echo crisply through my fingertips. My soul pings my head— status:
[¤] Away, you may be interrupting.

Layers and filters overflow. Pain is just one of many channels— I am aware of the signals that rebound through my nervous system, but I’m listening to another station dialed up to 11. This dreamcast is governed by the laws of entrippy. All your base are belong to none; a divide by zero clerical terror.

I blast over the landscape and excavate. Knees on frozen dirt, I dig until I find the way back to a time before the fall: Identity lost in the salvage. I find a pair of familiar eyes in the earth and a bright, pale face. I bring up the body and hug its form to me. Its arms stir and return my embrace. Tears, blood and dirt.

Pain in the deep and beauty in my eyes.
Bring us that horizon.

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