Tuesday, March 22, 2011

What is a Daedal (deee·dal) Day?

A few years ago, I sat in my room, listening to a record that I rescued from the basement of the house I grew up in. It was Dark Side of the Moon by Pink Floyd. The instrumentals of "Time" began & then the lyrics, which spoke to my soul:

"Ticking away the moments that make up a dull day,
you fritter and waste the hours in an offhand way.
Kicking around on a piece of ground in your home town,
Waiting for someone or something to show you the way.."

In a few lines, they had managed to articulate something that I had always felt. They so eloquently expressed my feelings of motionlessness. Waking up and going to sleep felt like a never ending cycle of monotony. I moved through my days mechanically, wasting Time.

After hearing this song, I decided to not let time rule me, but rule it, I'm still working on this. Years have passed, I am still addicted to procrastinating, still getting stuck in daydreams, but fearful of stagnancy, of waiting for someone who will never come save me.

This Blog is an attempt at motion. Arts, Culture and Political fuck ups that I feel need to be discussed. Somewhat inconsistently, but I try.

For me these are moments that stick, when the monotonous hum of dullness is penetrated, by a skillful scream or when an idea is sparked that needs to be documented or seen..These are what I call Daedal Days or daydreams..

I love love this song, check it if you never have & don't be scared to share your thoughts.

Thursday, March 10, 2011

How Would You Describe the Perfect High?

Is the perfect high free from a come down, eternally suspended in a world where sobriety does not exist? And is it possible to attain this?

The Perfect High

There once was a boy named Gimme-Some-Roy... He was nothin' like me or you,
'cause laying back and getting high was all he cared to do.

As a kid, he sat in the cellar...sniffing airplane glue. And then he smoked banana peels, when that was the thing to do. He tried aspirin in Coca-Cola, he breathed helium on the sly, and his life became an endless search to find the perfect high.

But grass just made him wanna lay back and eat chocolate-chip pizza all night,
and the great things he wrote when he was stoned looked like shit in the morning light.
Speed made him wanna rap all day, reds laid him too far back, Cocaine-Rose was sweet to his nose, but the price nearly broke his back.

He tried PCP, he tried THC, but they never quite did the trick. Poppers nearly blew his heart, mushrooms made him sick. Acid made him see the light, but he couldn't remember it long. Hash was a little too weak, and smack was a lot too strong. Quaaludes made him stumble, booze just made him cry, Then he heard of a cat named Baba Fats who knew of the perfect high.

Now, Baba Fats was a hermit cat...lived high up in Nepal, High on a craggy mountain top, up a sheer and icy wall.
"Well, hell!" says Roy, "I'm a healthy boy, and I'll crawl or climb or fly,
Till I find that guru who'll give me the clue as to what's the perfect high."

So out and off goes Gimme-Some-Roy, to the land that knows no time, Up a trail no man could conquer, to a cliff no man could climb. For fourteen years he climbed that cliff...back down again he'd slide . . .
He'd sit and cry, then climb some more, pursuing the perfect high.

Grinding his teeth, coughing blood, aching and shaking and weak, Starving and sore, bleeding and tore, he reaches the mountain peak. And his eyes blink red like a snow-blind wolf, and he snarls the snarl of a rat,
As there in repose, and wearing no clothes, sits the god-like Baba Fats.

"What's happenin', Fats?" says Roy with joy, "I've come to state my biz . . .
I hear you're hip to the perfect trip... Please tell me what it is. "For you can see," says Roy to he, "I'm about to die,
So for my last ride, tell me, how can I achieve the perfect high?"

"Well, dog my cats!" says Baba Fats. "Another burned out soul, Who's lookin' for an alchemist to turn his trip to gold. It isn't in a dealer's stash, or on a druggist's shelf... Son, if you would find the perfect high, find it in yourself."

"Why, you jive mother-fucker!" says Roy, "I climbed through rain and sleet,
I froze three fingers off my hands, and four toes off my feet! I braved the lair of the polar bear, I've tasted the maggot's kiss. Now, you tell me the high is in myself? What kinda shit is this?

My ears, before they froze off," says Roy, "had heard all kindsa crap; But I didn't climb for fourteen years to hear your sophomore rap. And I didn't climb up here to hear that the high is on the natch, So you tell me where the real stuff is, or I'll kill your guru ass!"

"Okay...okay," says Baba Fats, "You're forcin' it outta me... There is a land beyond the sun that's known as Zabolee. A wretched land of stone and sand, where snakes and buzzards scream, And in this devil's garden blooms the mystic Tzutzu tree.

Now, once every ten years it blooms one flower, as white as the Key West sky,
And he who eats of the Tzutzu flower shall know the perfect high. For the rush comes on like a tidal wave...hits like the blazin' sun. And the high? It lasts forever, and the down don't never come.

But, Zabolee Land is ruled by a giant, who stands twelve cubits high, And with eyes of red in his hundred heads, he awaits the passer-by. And you must slay the red-eyed giant, and swim the river of slime, Where the mucous beasts await to feast on those who journey by. And if you slay the giant and beasts, and swim the slimy sea, There's a blood-drinking witch who sharpens her teeth as she guards the Tzutzu tree."

"Well, to hell with your witches and giants," says Roy, "To hell with the beasts of the sea--
Why, as long as the Tzutzu flower still blooms, hope still blooms for me."
And with tears of joy in his sun-blind eyes, he slips the guru a five, And crawls back down the mountainside, pursuing the perfect high.

"Well, that is that," says Baba Fats, sitting back down on his stone, Facing another thousand years of talking to God, alone. "Yes, Lord, it's always the same...old men or bright-eyed youth... It's always easier to sell 'em some shit than it is to tell them the truth."

Shel Silverstein

Did you like it?
This type of profundity inspires me to get hi so I can write something like this..lol..I love Shel Silverstein, I love this poem, the metaphors, the overall message. This poem didn't make me flush all my pot..but I do believe that absolute acceptance of oneself can lead to a blissful state. I think many people refuse to accept themselves or are afraid to be themselves....
What do you think?
"It's always easier to sell 'em some shit than it is to tell them the truth."

Friday, March 4, 2011

Winning: I think we can agree with Charlie Sheen, it's fun to party

So there's been a lot of discussion about Charlie Sheen in the media lately. Recently he was interviewed by NBC and ABC. I usually don't take interest in the latest celebrity melt downs but I decided to watch a clip from Sheen's ABC interview. I must admit that I was intrigued.

I find his honesty refreshing and admirable.

I guess I was expecting that due to the recent cancellation of his show he would be trying to appease CBS by appearing apologetic and expressing extreme guilt over his statements and his drug use but this was definitely not the case. He does not hang his head in shame, nor is he on the defense. Instead, he speaks candidly and contently about recent events. I find his honesty refreshing and admirable. I am surprised by his bluntness, his non-conventional outlook on life, the passion in which he expresses his opinions. He says he's different, that he has TigerBlood and that he is not Bipolar but "Biwinning."

As I watched the clips of the NBC interview and this clip of the ABC interview and saw him refusing to apologize or express regret over his drug use, partying and proclaiming his run as "epic," I knew his outspokenness and nontraditional views would cause him to be called crazy or worse. Sure enough, a recent clip from CNN , offers the opinion of a doctor who most likely bases his diagnosis on the recent interviews.

Momentarily I'll pretend that I believe psychiatrist diagnosing a patient based off a TV interview could possibly have some validity. He is said to have delusions of grandeur and to be deeply disturbed. I don't know, what do you think?

Now, I am not saying everyone should go out and blow 7 gram rocks or that he does or doesn't have a drug problem, but I think he appeared to be pretty focused and clear. Is he having delusions of grandeur because he refuses to subscribe to normalcy or because he believes himself to be different?

Charlie Sheen does seem a bit fidgety during the interview, but mentally unbalanced, How and Why? Maybe it is because he refuses to conform to the unspoken way that people are supposed to be.

He seems passionate about his convictions and is thinking in a way that breaks the monotony. He pulls away from uniformity and is unapologetic about his lifestyle. I think that because of this he is making some people extremely uncomfortable. It seems we're taught we should express ourselves and be ourselves but difference is intolerable. People like him who refuse to baa like sheep are doomed to be called crazy, which is maybe not so bad.

And I don't know what happened in those situations when he allegedly scuffled with those women, it's all speculation. As is almost everything else being said about him in the media, even Dr. Drew has weighed in with his valuable opinion.

So I may be wrong about you Mr. Sheen, but for now I say you are WINNING!!