Old School
On New Year's Eve our new/old car broke down as I was driving to Nathan's. The next morning, as Nathan was about to drive us home, his car wouldn't start. There has to be a curse. What I'm really fucking pissed about is that I loved that ugly white thing. It was totally in tune with my mind, and even though I had to sit on a pillow, it accomidated my body so perfectly. In other words, I really hope the mechanic can fix it. Maybe it's better that I drive less, though, because I'm becoming an increasingly terrible, mindless driver. Sometimes I zone out to the point where my body knows how to do the work itself (seperation!); sometimes I become captivated by my cigarette or what might be lurking the woods.
Revisiting the Doors of Perception. Huxley can say this better than anyone so I won't even try.
"The untalented visionary may perceive an inner reality no less tremendous, beautiful and significant than the world beheld by Blake; but he lacks altogether the abilty to express, in literary or plastic symbols, what he has seen."