WWTMD? DMT

Iff TM=Terence McKenna. Say what you may about stoned apes and 12/21/12, I maintain that that McKenna guy was crazy. Though this is a rather convincing testament to the existence of those machine elves that purportedly occupy our same space in another dimension. So maybe it's not such an irrational fear that I have of something out there ... watching...waiting...vomiting living toys.

So what are you reading? Yes, but I mean other than a goofy, half-baked blog. I'm digging me some The Doors of Perception. (Not really, but I'm fresh out of segues based in reality.) In fact, since expanding my mind with red wine at lunch today, I can now remember what I had for dinner last night. And I've always had trouble with that. And no, it's not just because I had the leftovers for lunch. Though I did.

Plus, on the I-can-feel-everything-that's-happening-in-the-cosmos front, I sense the relentless tug of a super massive black hole on V'ger, but that's really nothing new. I've had that feeling for years. I've always assumed it was because my consciousness was uploaded to V'ger when I first watched that overlong Star Trek: The Motion Picture film. I know now that I never should've agreed to the private screening in Leonard Nimoy's TheatreLab 3000.


I really didn't intend to make you feel left out or anything. The only reason I'm so well versed in this human potential crap is because, being the devil and all, Aldous Huxley had a rather prominent place in the teachings of my instructors at Esalen.

So I haven't experienced any horrific sleep paralysis in quite some time. I simply abhor that feeling, don't you? What? You've never had it? No, not even once? Lucky stiff.

The only way to describe it without the use of puppets is to say it's as though you've been folded at the waist and forced into a lime green hamper, completely unable to move. The absolute worst thing I've ever had to suffer through, High School Musical 3 included.


Given the above picture, I guess I shouldn't have reminded those little demons that follow me around of the sleep paralysis thing. Yeah, I've had them underfoot ever since my last brush with a haunted Ouija board. But those retards probably can't even read - they certainly can't spell - so I'm betting I'm safe from their pusillanimous mosquito bite imprecations.

As long as I don't start singing this entry back to myself to the tune of "The Final Countdown" like I'm wont to do.