ChronicTronic

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February 16, 2006

Fisher offers an interesting axiomatic redefinition of a hallucination as an event of intensly active sensory input without the ability to verify with motor input. Pure perception on the opposite end of his spectrum switches the balance as one would expect from any inverse relationship. But I find myself thinking that Fisher is perhaps a bit to hasty to such a linear relationship between motor verification and sensory input - there is much room to wiggle in the system. For example consider the media, and I speak of the mainstream squak box that has replaced the fire as the gathering point in my home. The 24 hr infotainment stream is neither hallucination nor perception. Passive cold medium, it simply fills space in the room. Or the video game, which offer a motor verification, with a rapidly increasing sensory experience. Hallucination, codified symbolic thought compiled into a form of reality. However, I'm not strictly disagreeing with Fisher here. Rather I suggest that we live in a world that oscillates in and out of regions of sensory inputs and motor verification. A wiggly world which is neither properly perceived, nor fabrication, both hallucination and reality.

February 13, 2006

I have neglected this record of my wanderings. Periodic moments of silence seem to be a running program of my ego. They may even be healthy. I had planned earlier today to come at this page with some reflective and optimistic musings on the potential for change in a mind manifesting encounter, and I may still get there. But first, of course, a dynamic world intercedes. I was walking home about fifteen minutes ago - a hard enough task in the weather of the season - and nearing my apartment when I was shocked out of my hooded journey through the cold by a nice hard blow to the jaw. An SUV slides by almost immediately after with some hulking baseball cap wearing larval being leaning out the window to sneer and scream "Fucking Slut!" Near as I can tell, I was the victim of a motiveless driveby iceball. Tears of reflex accompanied the stinging in my jaw and the instantaneous swelling of rage. The fury, like the tears, was an instinctual impulse. But seriously, what could I do? How do you fight a cowardly act of random malice? Should I write a letter to the editor?

"Dear Collegian, we got some assholes in this town..." That would be as ineffectual and as pointless as the SUV-driving dickwads' act of machismo. And at this point, the anger itself is likewise misdirected. So this is me letting it go; this is me defering to a world of uneven justice and random instances of terror. I'm cutting the righteous indignation out of my emotional diet. Shit happened, happens, and will continue to manifest itself long past the time when my wet organs feed some other creatures order making metabolism. This might be a type of psychedelic reaction, this acceptance and dismissal of demonic forces. From my reading, I gather that an encounter with one of these substances is a lesson in the limitations of control. To tune the experience you must modify your relationship to the overwhelming tidal forces of chemisty. The ability to roll with the blows, to redirect forces is a powerful lesson to teach, and one which not just merely psychedelic. I suspect it is also a lesson never completely learned, but more often groped at with the proper reminders. However I don't intend to deliver a sermon in martyrdom, I merely turn my cheek in this encounter because my enemy chooses to attack victims incapable of countering. I merely acknowledge and embrace my state of chaotic, confused

vulnerability, because it is the only position in which I now believe I am most free to respond from. As a burgeoning psychonaut, I open myself to the inputs of a terrifying world so that I can modify my output when possible to affect change. So bring the icebombs and the bullies and the closed-off larval motherfuckers, I will not frustrate myself with useless terror or anger. The suffering of slings and arrows is not a consequence of fortune, outrageous or otherwise. Life is inseperable from the shit it throws at you and suffering exists in the nebuluous space of interactions between that and thou. Realizing that there is room to wiggle in that space is my ecodelic revelation. Let's hope it sticks around.

January 30, 2006

Who Wants to Die? The perfect gift for a potty training toddler? Or a sign of an imminent apocalypse?

Amended:

I revisited Elmo since the brief blurb above. Watched the hilarious video of the news segment highlighting in tones of righteous outrage the whole fiasco. It most definitely could be interpretted as "Who wants to die?" Which I find beautiful. However, the high pitched and highly compressed syllables spewing from a microchipped book could be interpretted as many things. Methinks the effect is more a product of the wigglyness of suggestion and perception than concrete sounds. Set and setting and suddenly a six minute news segment has exposed the power of culture on this hallucination we solidly call our daily living. No wonder mom is really creeped out, and not just because a sesame street book spoke a death threat to child. There are many levels of eerie to that as is, but it is also a very psychedelic thing to think that a good percentage of what we perceive is what we're told we should perceive. Oh Elmo, destroyer of worlds.

January 19, 2006

Currently Music: Fugazi - The Kill

I'm much struck by the cannabis porn, both in academic discussion and in my spare time. It's the Ultimate Indoor science, if you catch what I mean. However, I'm continually struggling with just how wrapped up the entangled bank truly is. So it's obvious that marijuana benefits from the same survival trait as Mendel's pea's and my dog. They're pilot fish who have successfully entered into a mutually benefitial relationship with the concious ape. Friendly parasites, if you will. There are other animal's, like spiders, who despite positive benefits are alomst instinctually reviled by human beings. We rear back and scream "thou certainly ain't that!" Cannabis seems to somehow coexist in both categories. It is the object of intense love and draconic law. While this has benefits - since becoming indoor and underground marijuana potency has exponentially increased - it leaves it's victims.

But, currently, that's part of the entangled bank too, cannabis changes us and we change it.

"They lie about marijuana. They tell you pot-smoking makes you unmotivated. Lie! When you're high, you can do everything you normally do just as well. You just realize that it's not worth the fucking effort. There is a difference." -Bill Hicks

January 18, 2006

Well, it seems as though James Lovelock has given up: "We are in a fool's climate, accidentally kept cool by smoke, and before this century is over billions of us will die and the few breeding pairs of people that survive will be in the Arctic where the climate remains tolerable."

Now, while a brilliant biologist like Lovelock has hit the panic button, I find it hard to join him in his tense camp. Oddly, I might be more in with the seemingly climate apathetic leaders of the Bush administration. We're both rooting for the apocalypse, though not for the same reason. They're all excited by the prospect of Jesus' long promised return. Me, I just want a jacket like MadMax.

January 17, 2006

Currently filing a change of address form for the digitial realms. Simply dropping a flag to claim the space. Be back later with more updates.

Meantime check this out if you so desire: Emotion Fractal Check out the rest of the site if you've got time.