Why Conspiracy Theories?
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pattycakes_
Can turn naughty
Alrighty then, third.
Mr. Tea
Let's Talk About Ceps
shiels
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When i've smoked a lot it's given me the most unsettling experiences, more than any other drug. Probably because of the psychedelic or psychotic effects without much sensory delusion, so not as easy to demarcate your realities. So more of a sensory amplification, and a lot of subconsious material can swell up quickly with everyone expecting you to continue the day as normal. The first reeeallly strong time I remember spouting these long strings of surreal poetry at people, nonsense, it was like i'd tapped into some weird lingustic springs inside and it was just erupting, funny but also a bit frightening.
Mr. Tea
Let's Talk About Ceps
I've always got the most out of weed/skunk as an adjunct to an MDMA high. But for smoking by itself (I mean with tobacco but not with other drugs, or maybe just a few drinks) it's got to be nice crumbly blond hash. That tacky black shite can fuck right off though.
shiels
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link me
shiels
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Some of Dick's most powerful passages are those in which there is an ontological interrugnum: a traumatic unworlding is not yet given a narrative motivation; a unresolved space that awaits reincorporation into another Symbolic regime. In Time Out Of Joint, the interregnum takes the form of an extraordinary scene in which the seemingly dull objects of quotidian naturalism - the gas station and the motel - act almost like a negative version of the lamp-post at the edge of the Narnian forest. Unlike Lewis's lamp-post, these objects do not mark the threshold of a new world, a new Symbolic system; they constitute instead staging posts on the way towards the desert of the Real. When the edge of town gas stations come into focus, the background furniture of literary realism suddenly looms into the foreground, and there is a moment of Harmanian object-epipany, in which ready-to-hand, peripheral vision-familiarity transforms into uncanny opacity:
It's a scene in which Edward Hopper seems to devolve into Beckett, as the natural(ist) landscape gives way to an emptied out monotony, a minimal, quasi-abstract space that is depeopled but still industrialized and commercialised. Beyond capitalist realism, the Real desert of Capital. "A last intersection, a minor road serving industries that had been zoned out of the city proper. The railroad tracks...he noticed an infinitely long freight train at rest. The suspended drums of chemicals on towers over factories." "Fields, rolling hills, everything featureless, with advertising signs stuck at intervals."
Here, in this no man's land at the edge of naturalist form, we are close to the process described by Alex: "the betrayal of every prior world, and desertification... but where the desert itself, the absolute plane… is absent, though the process… continues… the desert is a mirage, but the dust… the dust is real." An epigram perfect for Dick's eliminative naturalism, that: "the desert is a mirage, but the dust is real."
- The houses became fewer. The truck passed gas stations, tawdry cafes, ice cream stands and motels. The dreary parade of motels ... as if, Ragle thought, we had already gone a thousand miles and were just now entering a strange town. Nothing is so alien, so bleak and unfriendly, as the strip of gas stations - cut-rate gas stations - and motels at the edge of your own city. You fail to recognise it. And, at the same time, you have to grasp it to your bosom. Not just for one night, but for as long as you intend to live where you live.
But we don't intend to live here any more. We're leaving. For good.
It's a scene in which Edward Hopper seems to devolve into Beckett, as the natural(ist) landscape gives way to an emptied out monotony, a minimal, quasi-abstract space that is depeopled but still industrialized and commercialised. Beyond capitalist realism, the Real desert of Capital. "A last intersection, a minor road serving industries that had been zoned out of the city proper. The railroad tracks...he noticed an infinitely long freight train at rest. The suspended drums of chemicals on towers over factories." "Fields, rolling hills, everything featureless, with advertising signs stuck at intervals."
Here, in this no man's land at the edge of naturalist form, we are close to the process described by Alex: "the betrayal of every prior world, and desertification... but where the desert itself, the absolute plane… is absent, though the process… continues… the desert is a mirage, but the dust… the dust is real." An epigram perfect for Dick's eliminative naturalism, that: "the desert is a mirage, but the dust is real."
- Hollow outward form instead of substance; the sun not actually shining, the day not actually warm at all but cold, grey and quietly raining, raining, the god-awful ash filtering down on everything. No grass except charred stumps, broken off. Pools of contaminated water... The skeleton of life, white brittle scarecrow support in the shape of a cross. Grinning. Space instead of eyes. The whole world ... can be seen through. I am on the inside looking out. Peeking through a crack and seeing - emptiness. Looking into its eyes.