And my housemates all went to the Hose for a beer night. For those of me that don't know, a beer night is a night at the bar when an individual pays ten dollars and can drink as many pints of beer as they can in the allotted time frame, usually about two hours. The deal was that if Katie and Derek went to this beer night tonight for Jen Ballentine, then they would all come to the house party.
We had a house party last night. A party in a house is a house party. A party near a pool is a pool party. There was a theme, dress as something that begins with the same first letter as your first name. Since my first name is Brandonbrown, I decided to dress as something that was a pair of words which both began with the letter B. I was a baseball player with added bat wings, a baseball bat. There were other amazing costumes and the ratio of dress up to non was about even, with a little favour to the dresser uppers. A lot of favour. Music was supplied by Phil Mainville and Prusan Das. They'd never played before and have very different styles, one more of a house head and the other dabbling in the softer side most of the time. Prasun produces some of his own tracks. They played a great show and I only hope that continues to happen. There was a dance off. I remember very vividly standing on the edge of a cypher in my own living room. Braden battled Simon, it was fucking epic. I felt like a bit of an OG, as in ole G, I think, giving the youngins advice that applies not only to life but also dance. That sentence was backwards and I was bragging anyway. I'm sure I was saying nice things, that's about all that I can promise.
After the Bboy battle, the chartreus came out, or maybe it was before. I'm not too sure. It was passed around twice. Once with the six thirteen roomies, then the temperence ones. I did two shots each time. Man. My mom came if I didn't mention that already. She dressed as a hippie, was so awesome. But then she drove. Tsk tsk, she got a drunkenly disappointed phone call from her boy at five thirty in the morning.
Today, cleanup was a snap. Everyone helped before doing their respective responsibilities for the day and my typing skill seems to have flown out the window because I'm half asleep and my fingers are having trouble keeping up with my mind, an unusual ocurance due to the tepedly slow nature of my thought. Focused, as it were, like a laser beam of intimately insignificant creationism. It's now 8:43.
Friday, April 16, 2010
Monday, March 08, 2010
Summer
I guess I'm going. I suppose I guess I'm going. Sham then Burning man. And a tour of the westcoast dance scene. Then to the Central and South. Wish me luck faithful readers (if you exist).
Saturday, January 17, 2009
With every death, there comes a rebirth
Last night my friend Justin Beckler, a music composition major and semi-genious, and myself decided that we would go to the no nos, which are an improv comedy group that perform every thursday at the off broadway theatre. After what seemed to be a long search that ended up turning up some weed eventually, we arrived at the theatre to find thirteen thousand old people adorned with furs just leaving what was assuredly an expensive theatre piece. Justin and I walk past those in the entry area down to the bathroom. "They look rich... Rich and wealthy" says justin. "Yeah, I bet they're super stressed about the market" I reply.
We ended up at Winston's and in the process I recalled that I can talk to women still. I'm a bit of an idiot sometimes.
We ended up at Winston's and in the process I recalled that I can talk to women still. I'm a bit of an idiot sometimes.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
UNTITLED newly titled, the GIANT PARAGRAPH
I yawn, it's been a long and somewhat tiring day. I've got my sleep rhythms down to a science and no longer need the use of my alarm clock to ensure that I am awake in time to gather my thoughts and begin my so called day. I refer to a day as the time between my waking and my sleeping in preparation for the next day.
I woke up this morning, round 830, maybe 930, matters not. I stretched whilst watching the daily show and then ate a breakfast which consisted of...
Fuck.
Yesterday I did two things that scared me. Well, one thing that scared me and one that was extremely difficult. I've been climbing walls that simulate that feeling that I assume one would get when they're climbing real life rocks outside in places that have rocks of the right size and shape that one could climb. On the purple route of rope six at the university of saskatchewan (douche), there is a ledge that is exceedingly difficult to climb past as a result of a lack of holds (rocks) and the distance between them. I made a deal with myself. I climb this one obstacle and finally, when accomplished, go talk to this cute blonde girl that I see nearly everyday, regardless of what it is that i'm doing. There was once a time when talking to girls for the first time was an effortless task that required little or no effort on my part. I do, after all, believe myself to be at least somewhat attractive. BUT, a lack of sexual connection with anyone in the recent past combined with my simply not being social has made me somewhat akward in recent history. Or as I like to call it when it refers to me: Beestory. Bee as in B, as in brandon. Needless to say, I climb the wall and talk to the girl, which goes horribly, but it matters not. That's something that I have to keep in mind again, that not every woman I'm going to talk to matters as much as I think they do. DUG hahah.
Another interesting thing happened today. Alyssa Van Norman made an appearance in my life again. Each time is more interesting to me than the last, for reasons I don't know. I'm still, for many reasons infatuated with this girl. It's a little silly. I realized after I typed that why I am. She's a good friend. BALLS. Good friends make the best partners as you should always be friends first. Alas, perhaps that will have to be put aside simply to enjoy the company that is AVN.
What else? I'm going to try something.
I open the front doors of school, and push past the people that are waiting for the bus.. Each one has something to keep them distracted from the fact that a new person has entered their potential area of consiousness. Headphones adorn the heads of moset, while others are text messaging those that are more important than anyone around them. A blast of hot air hits me from the fans and heaters that are located just inside the front doors. A smell, well a combination of smells really. Hits my nose. Bag lunches perhaps with a hint of chap stick and perfume. I ponder why people wear the stuff, the odour is infinitely worse than even the most stenchy of human gas expulsions. I open the second door and notice the wonderful brick work on the ground of upper place riel, a large room that houses the help slash information desk, a crepe' factory, two excelators and a flight of stairs. THe smell of this area can only be described as that which those whom are contained within it's walls eminate. I head to the stairs whilst skillfully removing my woolen mittens and silly toque. I pack them into my bag as I move towards the top of the stairs. I descend the stairs as fast as I humanly can. Dangerous, it gives me a bit of a rush, also how cool I look flashes through my mind and on at least some level believe that challenging my brain to ensure that my feet always find a stair is good for it somehow. Some sort of hand or foot slash brain co ordination thing. At the bottom of the stairs, my eyes return to eye level from their direct lock on the stairs to see if anyone was watching my daring stair antics. Again, as usual there are none. I've just evtered lower place riel, which is akin to some sort of feeding hold that contains a place called treats which is where I gather my forks for my various packed lunches. Alongside this local university business is the mass of evil that I refer to as A and W. The smell is almost sickening to me as is the line of people that pay hard earned money to put that horrible product into their bodies. Past that is a pizza place with food that I barely register as existing unless I am starving and a staff that are non-receptive to even my most incredible smile. Alas, can't win em all over. I mount the two or three stairs with ease that leads to the semi-seating area that lies at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the horrors of the library. Horrible at this point in the term, but life later. This small, uncomfortable area is the space that those who dine on the delicious products (not food) of Albert and Walters typically come to feast. Eyes down or hands deep inside grease stained paper bags searching for that last, forgotten fry, they too seemingly ignorant of my presense. I pass, often on the left to be different, through a doorway that leads into a wide hallway with windows on one side and standing room computers on the other. Looking left, I not how this has become the main place on campus for those needing a facebook fix to get just that. Drunken photos of weekends past are up on nearly every screen, so predictable are we. Entering the "arts tunnel" I'm immediately pummeled by an invitation to the "mock wedding", which is just that. A mock wedding that is put on by one of the college's on campus. Sounds fun, but do you really wanna go stag to a mock wedding? Realizing that it's not something for me I move past and see a booth for the freudian slip pubcrawl (wear your sexiest, or ugliest slip) which sounds interesting and may be something that I go on. Again, I pass on the invitation to join as a result of funds being a super issue and I have this horrible tendency to make an ass of myself when I'm drunk, something that I don't desire to do at the moment. Past blood banks and gay rights, past college pro painters I approach the latest and often most misinterpreted of the fast food stores that plagues north america. Tim Hortons. Once a trusted name with delicious freshly baked goods and mediocre coffe with somewhat healthy sandwitches, their efforts at streamlining have caused everything to go down in both preparation time and nutritional value. Thanks, I'll pass. The live, as always, is immense. I take the lefthand side of the stairs leading to the first floor of the arts and SCIENCE building and effortlessly fly up them two at a time with a loded back pack, not even losing momentum for the strange half stem halfway up. It's slightly longer and requires some careful navigating. Here is whre the greatest congestion can be found in all the campus. Straight ahead, I have a hallway that leads the length of the arts, the psychology and the commerce buildings, perhaps one of the longest hallways that I've come across. To my left, a nearly equally long hallway that leads to all the first floor arts classrooms, and on my right a ramp that is the most common method of transport to and from the second floor arts building as well as another hallway that leads to the two most commonly used first year lecture halls. There are first years everywhere, and their inability to navigate through a crowd combined with the overuse of cell phones and pods causes me to curse those "damned first years" at least twice each time I pass. Was I ever that ignorant I think? Yes, still am is my only response.I climb the ramp which is a switchback into itself and head to class. God, I love school.
Now THAT was fun.
I woke up this morning, round 830, maybe 930, matters not. I stretched whilst watching the daily show and then ate a breakfast which consisted of...
Fuck.
Yesterday I did two things that scared me. Well, one thing that scared me and one that was extremely difficult. I've been climbing walls that simulate that feeling that I assume one would get when they're climbing real life rocks outside in places that have rocks of the right size and shape that one could climb. On the purple route of rope six at the university of saskatchewan (douche), there is a ledge that is exceedingly difficult to climb past as a result of a lack of holds (rocks) and the distance between them. I made a deal with myself. I climb this one obstacle and finally, when accomplished, go talk to this cute blonde girl that I see nearly everyday, regardless of what it is that i'm doing. There was once a time when talking to girls for the first time was an effortless task that required little or no effort on my part. I do, after all, believe myself to be at least somewhat attractive. BUT, a lack of sexual connection with anyone in the recent past combined with my simply not being social has made me somewhat akward in recent history. Or as I like to call it when it refers to me: Beestory. Bee as in B, as in brandon. Needless to say, I climb the wall and talk to the girl, which goes horribly, but it matters not. That's something that I have to keep in mind again, that not every woman I'm going to talk to matters as much as I think they do. DUG hahah.
Another interesting thing happened today. Alyssa Van Norman made an appearance in my life again. Each time is more interesting to me than the last, for reasons I don't know. I'm still, for many reasons infatuated with this girl. It's a little silly. I realized after I typed that why I am. She's a good friend. BALLS. Good friends make the best partners as you should always be friends first. Alas, perhaps that will have to be put aside simply to enjoy the company that is AVN.
What else? I'm going to try something.
I open the front doors of school, and push past the people that are waiting for the bus.. Each one has something to keep them distracted from the fact that a new person has entered their potential area of consiousness. Headphones adorn the heads of moset, while others are text messaging those that are more important than anyone around them. A blast of hot air hits me from the fans and heaters that are located just inside the front doors. A smell, well a combination of smells really. Hits my nose. Bag lunches perhaps with a hint of chap stick and perfume. I ponder why people wear the stuff, the odour is infinitely worse than even the most stenchy of human gas expulsions. I open the second door and notice the wonderful brick work on the ground of upper place riel, a large room that houses the help slash information desk, a crepe' factory, two excelators and a flight of stairs. THe smell of this area can only be described as that which those whom are contained within it's walls eminate. I head to the stairs whilst skillfully removing my woolen mittens and silly toque. I pack them into my bag as I move towards the top of the stairs. I descend the stairs as fast as I humanly can. Dangerous, it gives me a bit of a rush, also how cool I look flashes through my mind and on at least some level believe that challenging my brain to ensure that my feet always find a stair is good for it somehow. Some sort of hand or foot slash brain co ordination thing. At the bottom of the stairs, my eyes return to eye level from their direct lock on the stairs to see if anyone was watching my daring stair antics. Again, as usual there are none. I've just evtered lower place riel, which is akin to some sort of feeding hold that contains a place called treats which is where I gather my forks for my various packed lunches. Alongside this local university business is the mass of evil that I refer to as A and W. The smell is almost sickening to me as is the line of people that pay hard earned money to put that horrible product into their bodies. Past that is a pizza place with food that I barely register as existing unless I am starving and a staff that are non-receptive to even my most incredible smile. Alas, can't win em all over. I mount the two or three stairs with ease that leads to the semi-seating area that lies at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the horrors of the library. Horrible at this point in the term, but life later. This small, uncomfortable area is the space that those who dine on the delicious products (not food) of Albert and Walters typically come to feast. Eyes down or hands deep inside grease stained paper bags searching for that last, forgotten fry, they too seemingly ignorant of my presense. I pass, often on the left to be different, through a doorway that leads into a wide hallway with windows on one side and standing room computers on the other. Looking left, I not how this has become the main place on campus for those needing a facebook fix to get just that. Drunken photos of weekends past are up on nearly every screen, so predictable are we. Entering the "arts tunnel" I'm immediately pummeled by an invitation to the "mock wedding", which is just that. A mock wedding that is put on by one of the college's on campus. Sounds fun, but do you really wanna go stag to a mock wedding? Realizing that it's not something for me I move past and see a booth for the freudian slip pubcrawl (wear your sexiest, or ugliest slip) which sounds interesting and may be something that I go on. Again, I pass on the invitation to join as a result of funds being a super issue and I have this horrible tendency to make an ass of myself when I'm drunk, something that I don't desire to do at the moment. Past blood banks and gay rights, past college pro painters I approach the latest and often most misinterpreted of the fast food stores that plagues north america. Tim Hortons. Once a trusted name with delicious freshly baked goods and mediocre coffe with somewhat healthy sandwitches, their efforts at streamlining have caused everything to go down in both preparation time and nutritional value. Thanks, I'll pass. The live, as always, is immense. I take the lefthand side of the stairs leading to the first floor of the arts and SCIENCE building and effortlessly fly up them two at a time with a loded back pack, not even losing momentum for the strange half stem halfway up. It's slightly longer and requires some careful navigating. Here is whre the greatest congestion can be found in all the campus. Straight ahead, I have a hallway that leads the length of the arts, the psychology and the commerce buildings, perhaps one of the longest hallways that I've come across. To my left, a nearly equally long hallway that leads to all the first floor arts classrooms, and on my right a ramp that is the most common method of transport to and from the second floor arts building as well as another hallway that leads to the two most commonly used first year lecture halls. There are first years everywhere, and their inability to navigate through a crowd combined with the overuse of cell phones and pods causes me to curse those "damned first years" at least twice each time I pass. Was I ever that ignorant I think? Yes, still am is my only response.I climb the ramp which is a switchback into itself and head to class. God, I love school.
Now THAT was fun.
Friday, January 09, 2009
Back in the Saddle, my sides ache as though I'm nude and it's covered in sand.
That title hopefully will set the tone for this particular post. The word particular was not necessary in that last sentence.
If there's one thing that I've noticed, it's that My (capitalized), cause I rock, first paragraph is the weakest of most of my posts. Weakest that is, unless you consider weakest to really mean first, or unlast.
I keep standing up to flip my saute'ing vegetables that will soon make the base for my soon-to-be wonderful stir fry that will sustain my life for the next twelve hours. I treat my body well these days, something that I haven't been to well known for in the past.
Stream of conciousness. It's a term that I've heard used to describe my particular writing style. My professors are split nearly down the middle on how they feel about it. Basically, if they like me, they like my mind, which means that they like the way that I write. Hopefully, those of you that read this, if there are any, like me at least a little. That had a hint of self conciousness to it, apparantly I'm feeling a little down on myself lately. I mean, how can you not like me? (Short of the fact that I'm completely and hopelessly careless.) Carelessness can also be called another word, a word that is more excellent sounding than careless, but it's escaping me right now. Nietzsche's blonde beast may have been called careless. But, he ruled us all at one point, now didn't he?
Nine fifty five. Has a nice ring to it. My noodles are nearly done.
Alright, to the nitty gritty. Took me a second to sound out nitty. I'm hoping that's right. If anyone cares. Supposing I do.
I'm recently single, and that combined with the fact that I was in BC, in Van, in the house that silly TR lived in, my thoughts have strayed to her stupidly. You know what I realized? Of course you don't. I barely do. She sucks. Clearly. Writing this is intended to exorsize those demons. Now I know I spelled that wrong. Ironic really. Misspelling words uber-sucks. Right, newly single. And, wouldn't you know it. I feel great.
Well, that's all I got for now, dinner's done. Peace out.
If there's one thing that I've noticed, it's that My (capitalized), cause I rock, first paragraph is the weakest of most of my posts. Weakest that is, unless you consider weakest to really mean first, or unlast.
I keep standing up to flip my saute'ing vegetables that will soon make the base for my soon-to-be wonderful stir fry that will sustain my life for the next twelve hours. I treat my body well these days, something that I haven't been to well known for in the past.
Stream of conciousness. It's a term that I've heard used to describe my particular writing style. My professors are split nearly down the middle on how they feel about it. Basically, if they like me, they like my mind, which means that they like the way that I write. Hopefully, those of you that read this, if there are any, like me at least a little. That had a hint of self conciousness to it, apparantly I'm feeling a little down on myself lately. I mean, how can you not like me? (Short of the fact that I'm completely and hopelessly careless.) Carelessness can also be called another word, a word that is more excellent sounding than careless, but it's escaping me right now. Nietzsche's blonde beast may have been called careless. But, he ruled us all at one point, now didn't he?
Nine fifty five. Has a nice ring to it. My noodles are nearly done.
Alright, to the nitty gritty. Took me a second to sound out nitty. I'm hoping that's right. If anyone cares. Supposing I do.
I'm recently single, and that combined with the fact that I was in BC, in Van, in the house that silly TR lived in, my thoughts have strayed to her stupidly. You know what I realized? Of course you don't. I barely do. She sucks. Clearly. Writing this is intended to exorsize those demons. Now I know I spelled that wrong. Ironic really. Misspelling words uber-sucks. Right, newly single. And, wouldn't you know it. I feel great.
Well, that's all I got for now, dinner's done. Peace out.
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Dear Brandon
Dear Brandon,
Hey. How the hell are you buddy? It's great to see you again. I see you're dancing well. From what I hear you're trying to learn to BBoy. I hope that is going well for you. Though it's only been one session, I'm sure you'll pick it up far too quickly for comfort and will struggle with your own self-doubts as you climb the ranks of the dance world.
School sounds like it's going well. You sound pretty confident in how you did in your exams though I know there's still room for improvement. A minor emotional speedbump can't bring you down. It's all bout you these days, remember that.
You're learning to play the bass?!?! You may soon elevate yourself to the status of sexiest man alive if you bring yourself to put on deodourant and cut your fucking hair and shave your scruff. Or at least wash that blasted mop. Meh, whatever makes you happy I guess. Man, I sound like your father sometimes.
Get good at the shit you want to do and stop doing things you don't like to.
Peace,
Brandon
Hey. How the hell are you buddy? It's great to see you again. I see you're dancing well. From what I hear you're trying to learn to BBoy. I hope that is going well for you. Though it's only been one session, I'm sure you'll pick it up far too quickly for comfort and will struggle with your own self-doubts as you climb the ranks of the dance world.
School sounds like it's going well. You sound pretty confident in how you did in your exams though I know there's still room for improvement. A minor emotional speedbump can't bring you down. It's all bout you these days, remember that.
You're learning to play the bass?!?! You may soon elevate yourself to the status of sexiest man alive if you bring yourself to put on deodourant and cut your fucking hair and shave your scruff. Or at least wash that blasted mop. Meh, whatever makes you happy I guess. Man, I sound like your father sometimes.
Get good at the shit you want to do and stop doing things you don't like to.
Peace,
Brandon
Saturday, September 27, 2008
Letter A. This's gonna be hard. And, not hard.
Dear Tess,
Those are words I thought I would never write. The reasons even I don't know. The paper (and the keyboard) pull the truth from me. So much power.
I started writing this while high on A line on my mother and father's porch area. Somewhere I know you've been. I love you, keep this in mind as you read. I truly, fully hate that I love you, somehow. You needed me. Note the underline.
What do I want to say. The love that I have felt for you has stood many tests. The test of time, the test of relationships, the test of distance, relationships, logic, and so on.
Unfortunately, my steam has run out-ish, so I'll try and make this quick.
In the nude, with a candle burning to my left I try to put into words thoughts, thoughts and emotions. Not an easy task.. Our situation was different. It was meant to be all that to people's bond could be, all that one never could be. And, that's exactly what it ended up being. All that never could be. Perhaps that was the attraction for both of us. My eyes are blurred, I'm listening to Neil Young. He's pretty kickass.
I thought for-ever that I couldn't live without you. Lately I've realized that I always have been. Hmph.
There will always be a spot for you in my van. Unfortunately, sleep wins. For me anyway. I truly hope you're okay. If not now, then someday. I wrote out a cd for you. Not cool.
I'm very angry with myself that this didn't go longer than it did, but I've run out of things to say.
My upbringing was a sort of mixed bag from caregivers. Near overcare from my mother and none from my father. You kind of fit that bill. Very there sometimes and impossible to reach others. I don't need that. In fact, it makes me hurt. From my face to my soul (feet, haha?). Wish me luck. Find yourself. Somewhere.
Love,
Brandon
Tuesday, September 23, 2008
Hmph
On my way home this evening, I was trying to figure out how to start another post, wondering why I've been having trouble writing lately. I came to an oversimplified conclusion that revolves around the fact that my once fluid writing was mostly concerned with two things. Drug trips, and adventures. Let's call them drugventures. Theses are much easier to write about than why I'm having trouble succeeding in any aspect of my life. (That was a blatant exaggeration, but the point is the same. I have simply been having trouble beginning new relationships of any kind)
I have come to several conclusions today. The first of which took place today during my personality class, where I learned many things. I learned about certain kinds of attatchments today from a psychologist that worked very closely with Freud. A very wise man that taught me that I'm either an avoidance-attatchment individual who's relationships are filled with extreme highs and lows with a lack of trust.... The other is eluding me at the moment but involves an ease at falling in love with a lack of belief in the commonness of real, true love. Part bull shit, part hard hitting. Mostly, I learned that some of my inability to have a meaningful relationship at this moment in my life stems from an inconsistent caregiver. Or, in my case caregivers. My mistake I guess.
Another massive issue that's been chewing up much of my positive energy is this damned Tess situation. I just don't know what to do with myself. I love her, this much I'm sure of. Part of why stems from my nature as a nurturer (funny words together), she is someone whom I believe needs nurturing. I believe she's someone who'll be there when I need her and let me be when I must, among other things; me. I feel stupid for caring for someone that's so damned far away. I meet women on a daily basis that I'm on some level interested in that are clearly interested in me. However, I shun them aside because of Tess. But, her inconsistency in terms of being there when I need her, seems to be continueing the cycle of caregiver/me interactions. But, that's not necessarily a bad thing, becuase ... yet again, more nurturing. Helping one another. Helping ourselves. I think we'd help one another to grow and change, but as I write that, I feel like I might be investing too much and scaring her just by thinking this.
I am Brandon's inflated sense of paranoia.
I don't think I smiled today. That's a scary thought, but I've learned that it's not about being happy all the time, it's about learning from the sad moments in your life. A circle is perfect, but the earth isn't round. Life is a spiral that's always heading upwards, with each detour from your path pulling itself back in with knowledge and learning. So long as I learn from something, I don't see anything as a bad experience, but I sure as fuck am not enjoying this period in my life. Indecisiveness sucks ass.
We are Brandon's fingers, and we're done for now. Much better.
I have come to several conclusions today. The first of which took place today during my personality class, where I learned many things. I learned about certain kinds of attatchments today from a psychologist that worked very closely with Freud. A very wise man that taught me that I'm either an avoidance-attatchment individual who's relationships are filled with extreme highs and lows with a lack of trust.... The other is eluding me at the moment but involves an ease at falling in love with a lack of belief in the commonness of real, true love. Part bull shit, part hard hitting. Mostly, I learned that some of my inability to have a meaningful relationship at this moment in my life stems from an inconsistent caregiver. Or, in my case caregivers. My mistake I guess.
Another massive issue that's been chewing up much of my positive energy is this damned Tess situation. I just don't know what to do with myself. I love her, this much I'm sure of. Part of why stems from my nature as a nurturer (funny words together), she is someone whom I believe needs nurturing. I believe she's someone who'll be there when I need her and let me be when I must, among other things; me. I feel stupid for caring for someone that's so damned far away. I meet women on a daily basis that I'm on some level interested in that are clearly interested in me. However, I shun them aside because of Tess. But, her inconsistency in terms of being there when I need her, seems to be continueing the cycle of caregiver/me interactions. But, that's not necessarily a bad thing, becuase ... yet again, more nurturing. Helping one another. Helping ourselves. I think we'd help one another to grow and change, but as I write that, I feel like I might be investing too much and scaring her just by thinking this.
I am Brandon's inflated sense of paranoia.
I don't think I smiled today. That's a scary thought, but I've learned that it's not about being happy all the time, it's about learning from the sad moments in your life. A circle is perfect, but the earth isn't round. Life is a spiral that's always heading upwards, with each detour from your path pulling itself back in with knowledge and learning. So long as I learn from something, I don't see anything as a bad experience, but I sure as fuck am not enjoying this period in my life. Indecisiveness sucks ass.
We are Brandon's fingers, and we're done for now. Much better.
Monday, September 22, 2008
Good Morning Dave.
I woke up this morning with an overwhelming sense of sadnaess surrounding me.
Up to this moment in my day I can't still place it. It, I believe, primarily revolves around the fact that I'm incapable of dealing with the women in my life. Dealing was the wrong word. I'm incapable of many things. One of which, in my opinion, is not being able to be friends with a woman anymore. I feel that every move is romantically centerred and read too far into everything. By the same token, I don't want to get into any sort of relationship where there's any sort of certainty for a future becuase of one in Prince George. Whom I can't get ahold of and am supposed to be going to see in a couple months.
Further complicating this process is the fact that I'm nearly twenty-two years old. I'm lonely as fuck and am self destructing via relationship destruction. My friends are drifting away leaving me more and more time to myself, which is never nice. Guess I can just.... Cope.
Up to this moment in my day I can't still place it. It, I believe, primarily revolves around the fact that I'm incapable of dealing with the women in my life. Dealing was the wrong word. I'm incapable of many things. One of which, in my opinion, is not being able to be friends with a woman anymore. I feel that every move is romantically centerred and read too far into everything. By the same token, I don't want to get into any sort of relationship where there's any sort of certainty for a future becuase of one in Prince George. Whom I can't get ahold of and am supposed to be going to see in a couple months.
Further complicating this process is the fact that I'm nearly twenty-two years old. I'm lonely as fuck and am self destructing via relationship destruction. My friends are drifting away leaving me more and more time to myself, which is never nice. Guess I can just.... Cope.
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Wednesday, September 03, 2008
Poems From Shambhala
I'm not as crazy as I appear. I can't believe I wrote that.
While in line, shortly after a ripper of a terrible drug:
shambhala
While in line, shortly after a ripper of a terrible drug:
puking
passing parts of me
through my gaping mouth
i realize the errors of myselves
also truths
free am I
In the tent at the end of the Wednesday? Thursday? I don't know. The first night anyway.
paranoia my old friend
well, welcome
fear is something
everything is nothing
After I'd come down from the unspeakable drug that I wish I never tried, and am glad I did. This is one of my favorites. Hopeful in a way.
dark at camp
a time to reflect
ponder
wonder
hope
reaching forward, looking back
through the glass I see myself
not myself
another me
Back again
hear the cries
I'm just gonna put my favorites down
walking down the darkened path
I had a lot to say
too fuckin tired
hittin the hay
tomorrow's a new day, hooray!
in scribbled handwriting
ketamine rants
world aspin
darkness comes
BORN AGAIN
A man walks by in a green top
among the tents, I'm no one
we are the same
I walk past a man in a tent
To live without food
to dream without sleep
we don't wanna frolic
we just want to enjoy the earth
shambhala
expand your mind
and your legs
greg, in reference to... nevermind
if you dipped your dick in hard glue
stuck glass to it
then fucked your nose with it
that's how snorting a green sweet tart would feel
you'd be fucked up
MORE TO COME
Thursday, June 26, 2008
He sits down once again
If you look in the top bar of my uber-awesome internet explorer version 9.654 build 200532, you'll usually see at least two things. One of which starts off with my face and ends in a book, the other is my hot male. Wow, both of those sounded considerabley better in my head and seemed a little ridiculous when put to "print". Today, I've decided to add another. Blogger, with that kickass "B" that I've always associated with my own names.
I have been lonesome lately. I really only have two people I've let into my world lately and they're both either working, being a bitch, or annoyed with me for constantly calling them a bitch. Go figure.
I wrote my last final of the term today. Psychology. Summer classes blow. You wanna know the one thing that I learned? Of course you do. Don't skip class. There was some shit on that exam that I'd never heard of. Go figure.
What the hell am I going to do with myself now? I've realized that I already had too much time on my hands, and now I have even more. Perhaps hiding from myself won't be as easy this summer as it had been in past ones. Hopefully I get to come face to face with the person that I face in the mirror (or any reflective surface I happen to pass. I'm pretty). A hobby? I hate hobbies. Also, I like the hobbies that I already have and wouldn't want to make them jealous by adding another. Contradictions contradict themselves, and as a result; me. Go figure.
You see, I'm using a literary device called repetition to emphasize a point. I'm doing things that I know are wrong, and am; through this simple medium, bringing them to my attention. Hey, was there a ... shit, what the hell's it called... . subjective conjucture? Fuck it. Moving on. Brandonbrown is on the journey of self discovery. It's called life. It sucks sometimes, especially when you don't like the person that you let the evil bitch from hell turn you into.
I've become more and more aware of how judgemental I've been as of late. I see people, and boom; from inside my head comes some asshole comment. Fortunately I have a filter between my mind and my mouth these days, but hell. Where the hell are these thoughts coming from. Of course I know the answer to this and could explain mostly what part of the brain it's coming from and the probable events that lead up to this change in how I view people, but that question... up there. . . was more of a statement of surprise and not a desire to have it answered.
As a result of this hyper-judgementalness (new words rocksman), I've been self-punishing myself the way lil' dave used to cut me down for being an idiot. Self-punishing was not the right word. What I'm doing is trying to find my insecurities that are, not forcing, but causing me to judge people so and correct them. I hope this leads me to grow as a person. I'm sure it will.
Go figure.
I have been lonesome lately. I really only have two people I've let into my world lately and they're both either working, being a bitch, or annoyed with me for constantly calling them a bitch. Go figure.
I wrote my last final of the term today. Psychology. Summer classes blow. You wanna know the one thing that I learned? Of course you do. Don't skip class. There was some shit on that exam that I'd never heard of. Go figure.
What the hell am I going to do with myself now? I've realized that I already had too much time on my hands, and now I have even more. Perhaps hiding from myself won't be as easy this summer as it had been in past ones. Hopefully I get to come face to face with the person that I face in the mirror (or any reflective surface I happen to pass. I'm pretty). A hobby? I hate hobbies. Also, I like the hobbies that I already have and wouldn't want to make them jealous by adding another. Contradictions contradict themselves, and as a result; me. Go figure.
You see, I'm using a literary device called repetition to emphasize a point. I'm doing things that I know are wrong, and am; through this simple medium, bringing them to my attention. Hey, was there a ... shit, what the hell's it called... . subjective conjucture? Fuck it. Moving on. Brandonbrown is on the journey of self discovery. It's called life. It sucks sometimes, especially when you don't like the person that you let the evil bitch from hell turn you into.
I've become more and more aware of how judgemental I've been as of late. I see people, and boom; from inside my head comes some asshole comment. Fortunately I have a filter between my mind and my mouth these days, but hell. Where the hell are these thoughts coming from. Of course I know the answer to this and could explain mostly what part of the brain it's coming from and the probable events that lead up to this change in how I view people, but that question... up there. . . was more of a statement of surprise and not a desire to have it answered.
As a result of this hyper-judgementalness (new words rocksman), I've been self-punishing myself the way lil' dave used to cut me down for being an idiot. Self-punishing was not the right word. What I'm doing is trying to find my insecurities that are, not forcing, but causing me to judge people so and correct them. I hope this leads me to grow as a person. I'm sure it will.
Go figure.
Monday, March 03, 2008
Discontent
I have alone'd myself once again. I shall see you soon. Regardless of what that means, that's what it means.
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
Back in Black
I hit the sack?
Terrible lyrics. Hitting the sack doesn't sound pleasant. Unless they mean the sack as in the bed.
I'm having some trouble getting into the flow right now, it's been a while since I've written anything. I draw now more than ever, and I'm looking into painting. I dance. I love.
I had to correct that last sentence, something I rarely do. But here goes.
Tool has always held a special place in my mind. Perhaps it's the heart of my mind, perhaps it's the soul. I'll never be sure which or even if either one exists. As I sip my diet coke I try to recollect the exact combinations of thoughts and feelings that I experienced last night. My thoughts are a jumbled mess, and all I can come up with is a feeling that we're all the same. As different as we are, we're all the exact same.
I'll try.
Explain.
The inexplicable.
The night before the concert. The night before the concert... Doesn't matter. Useless backstory for an event that's whole in it's incompleteness. Perfect in it's imperfection. Blah, those are all useless descriptions. More opinions really than anything.
The night started before the night started. We had a goal: make this the best concert experience ever. Our first preparation stop involved LSD. Our second a jacket. We chose to go and purchase three jackets (one each for me, Will, and Matt, or Mike, damn) from value village. Three jackets for under ten dollars that could easily be left behind in the event that they went missing at the show. They are now even more beautiful than ever. Will's, an eighties, neon windbreaker model. Mine, a purple, down-filled guiding jacket. And Mike's, A plain bomber jacket. I believe they illustrated who we are as people. At least myself anyway.
In order to save ourselves the inconvinience of having to cart around the obscene number of shirts that Mike bought for people for Christmas, we decided to run them back to the car for the show. Unfortunately, you can't get in and then leave; a problem that we circumvented with little problems. Blah, all this is unimportant.
By this point, we (including Mike) were relatively interested in even the most visually uninteresting things. We decided to walk around to get a grasp on our surroundings. We were hours early for Tool. We arrived at about 645, when the opening band took the stage at about 8. During our wander, I started to categorize the people at the show.
Before I get into these categorizations (which I know are wrong), I should let you, the reader, know where we were seated. Nowhere. Floor was general admission, and me and Mike are huge. We were no more than ten feet from Tool the entire time. Though, it must be said that I fought tooth and nail for every spot.
Group one. The "Tool Fan". Noticable with several distinctive characteristics: large pupils, large hair, large beards, and large T-shirts from tours previous. They were automatically friends. Few conversations were had with anyone other than this group. They could be found as soldiers, soldiers in the tool army. Beside me. Sweating. Moving. Fighting.
Group two. The "Girlfriends". I felt bad for them. They clearly didn't enjoy the show, nor the "monsters" that their boyfriends had become. Draped in more exposed skin than necessary, they were ignored by all. Tool, at least live, supercedes woman. With few exceptions. It should be noted that not all the "Girlfriends" actually had boyfriends. They could be found trying to flatter their way past me, or hitting me in the back of the head as they "surfed" the crowd, which is an ignorant, and potentially concert ruining practise that should be punishable by death.
Finally, my least favorite. The "Drunken Douche". The party animal. The problem. They give people a bad name. Clearly there to party, and only to party in their way. They were always responsible for the song-calling chants, and any trouble that happened during the show. Easily distinguishable rom the rest of us by their blatant inhebriation, and inability to be nice. They could be found everywhere. Everywhere you didn't want them to be.
My mom was there. About a row behind me at some points. In the mosh. In the thick of it. She made fun of me for being a pussy.
I've now left this for another day, picking up where I left off. This is a study break. Lets hope it goes well.
Now that you're all aware of who was there, I'll try give you a rundown of the music.
The opening band, "Trans Am", were terrible. I felt so horrible for them for having to play in front of a bunch of overly-judgemental Tool fans with uber-high expectations. They sounded like a combination of whoever sung "Mr. Roboto", Daft Punk and a cat in a shower. It was Horrific.
Then, Tool. As they started playing, I leaned over and loudly thanked Mike for getting us there early. I don't know if I've mentioned it yet, but it was general admission on the floor. The mosh soon started. Now, I like to let go and let the crowd move me where it feels it must. This technique is only effective until someone tries to edge you further back. It was a constant struggle. I loved it all. My back did not. Fun. Pain.
I started thinking.
First, about the crowd. Being a good member in a crowd involves two things. Self-preservation (in relation to wanting to stay in your spot) and generosity. You must fight for your position while at the same time not fighting too hard in an effort to not piss off people around you enough that they move you. This also applies to everytime you're dealing with more than one person. A good example was the parking lot escapades afterwards.
Second. Damn, I don't really remember what else I thought about. I mostly just absorbed. Not projected. Absorbed and appreciated. Appreciated and absorbed.
I made eye contact with Danny Carrey during his insane, mind-blowing solo. He doesn't even try. During said solo, the crowd tried to clap his rhythm he was on, and couldn't. Not one of us could understand it. No effort. It was unbelievable.
Maynard played us like puppets. Sending us into a daze, whether we were clapping for him, under his command, or singing for him (the vocals didn't sound right).
All in all, Edmonton show, or Saskatoon?
Musically, Edmonton. Everything just sounded better, and being in a seat; I was actually able to listen to it.
Fun-wise, Saskatoon. I simply enjoyed the show more. I was able to feel how the crowd reacted to it. I felt as though I, along with the rest of us, were a part of the show. Which was nice. Hands down, due to the fun factor, I think that Saskatoon was the better show, at least for me.
Wear the grudge like a crown.
Brandon Brown signing off. You start running, I'll start pulling.
Terrible lyrics. Hitting the sack doesn't sound pleasant. Unless they mean the sack as in the bed.
I'm having some trouble getting into the flow right now, it's been a while since I've written anything. I draw now more than ever, and I'm looking into painting. I dance. I love.
I had to correct that last sentence, something I rarely do. But here goes.
Tool has always held a special place in my mind. Perhaps it's the heart of my mind, perhaps it's the soul. I'll never be sure which or even if either one exists. As I sip my diet coke I try to recollect the exact combinations of thoughts and feelings that I experienced last night. My thoughts are a jumbled mess, and all I can come up with is a feeling that we're all the same. As different as we are, we're all the exact same.
I'll try.
Explain.
The inexplicable.
The night before the concert. The night before the concert... Doesn't matter. Useless backstory for an event that's whole in it's incompleteness. Perfect in it's imperfection. Blah, those are all useless descriptions. More opinions really than anything.
The night started before the night started. We had a goal: make this the best concert experience ever. Our first preparation stop involved LSD. Our second a jacket. We chose to go and purchase three jackets (one each for me, Will, and Matt, or Mike, damn) from value village. Three jackets for under ten dollars that could easily be left behind in the event that they went missing at the show. They are now even more beautiful than ever. Will's, an eighties, neon windbreaker model. Mine, a purple, down-filled guiding jacket. And Mike's, A plain bomber jacket. I believe they illustrated who we are as people. At least myself anyway.
In order to save ourselves the inconvinience of having to cart around the obscene number of shirts that Mike bought for people for Christmas, we decided to run them back to the car for the show. Unfortunately, you can't get in and then leave; a problem that we circumvented with little problems. Blah, all this is unimportant.
By this point, we (including Mike) were relatively interested in even the most visually uninteresting things. We decided to walk around to get a grasp on our surroundings. We were hours early for Tool. We arrived at about 645, when the opening band took the stage at about 8. During our wander, I started to categorize the people at the show.
Before I get into these categorizations (which I know are wrong), I should let you, the reader, know where we were seated. Nowhere. Floor was general admission, and me and Mike are huge. We were no more than ten feet from Tool the entire time. Though, it must be said that I fought tooth and nail for every spot.
Group one. The "Tool Fan". Noticable with several distinctive characteristics: large pupils, large hair, large beards, and large T-shirts from tours previous. They were automatically friends. Few conversations were had with anyone other than this group. They could be found as soldiers, soldiers in the tool army. Beside me. Sweating. Moving. Fighting.
Group two. The "Girlfriends". I felt bad for them. They clearly didn't enjoy the show, nor the "monsters" that their boyfriends had become. Draped in more exposed skin than necessary, they were ignored by all. Tool, at least live, supercedes woman. With few exceptions. It should be noted that not all the "Girlfriends" actually had boyfriends. They could be found trying to flatter their way past me, or hitting me in the back of the head as they "surfed" the crowd, which is an ignorant, and potentially concert ruining practise that should be punishable by death.
Finally, my least favorite. The "Drunken Douche". The party animal. The problem. They give people a bad name. Clearly there to party, and only to party in their way. They were always responsible for the song-calling chants, and any trouble that happened during the show. Easily distinguishable rom the rest of us by their blatant inhebriation, and inability to be nice. They could be found everywhere. Everywhere you didn't want them to be.
My mom was there. About a row behind me at some points. In the mosh. In the thick of it. She made fun of me for being a pussy.
I've now left this for another day, picking up where I left off. This is a study break. Lets hope it goes well.
Now that you're all aware of who was there, I'll try give you a rundown of the music.
The opening band, "Trans Am", were terrible. I felt so horrible for them for having to play in front of a bunch of overly-judgemental Tool fans with uber-high expectations. They sounded like a combination of whoever sung "Mr. Roboto", Daft Punk and a cat in a shower. It was Horrific.
Then, Tool. As they started playing, I leaned over and loudly thanked Mike for getting us there early. I don't know if I've mentioned it yet, but it was general admission on the floor. The mosh soon started. Now, I like to let go and let the crowd move me where it feels it must. This technique is only effective until someone tries to edge you further back. It was a constant struggle. I loved it all. My back did not. Fun. Pain.
I started thinking.
First, about the crowd. Being a good member in a crowd involves two things. Self-preservation (in relation to wanting to stay in your spot) and generosity. You must fight for your position while at the same time not fighting too hard in an effort to not piss off people around you enough that they move you. This also applies to everytime you're dealing with more than one person. A good example was the parking lot escapades afterwards.
Second. Damn, I don't really remember what else I thought about. I mostly just absorbed. Not projected. Absorbed and appreciated. Appreciated and absorbed.
I made eye contact with Danny Carrey during his insane, mind-blowing solo. He doesn't even try. During said solo, the crowd tried to clap his rhythm he was on, and couldn't. Not one of us could understand it. No effort. It was unbelievable.
Maynard played us like puppets. Sending us into a daze, whether we were clapping for him, under his command, or singing for him (the vocals didn't sound right).
All in all, Edmonton show, or Saskatoon?
Musically, Edmonton. Everything just sounded better, and being in a seat; I was actually able to listen to it.
Fun-wise, Saskatoon. I simply enjoyed the show more. I was able to feel how the crowd reacted to it. I felt as though I, along with the rest of us, were a part of the show. Which was nice. Hands down, due to the fun factor, I think that Saskatoon was the better show, at least for me.
Wear the grudge like a crown.
Brandon Brown signing off. You start running, I'll start pulling.
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
Woah.
Had a pretty awesomeful (hard trance) dream last night.
Here I was eh, on this train that was transporting this extremely dangerous and powerful toxic weapon, when...obviously, as one would be, we were ambushed by jewish terrorists. The group that was responsible for the attacks of september 11th and the the battle that the movies 300 and grindhouse were based on.
Our only option was too unleash this terrifying weapon onto these poor, cruel, jewish souls.
Being in charge, the task of issuing this order fell directly on my shoulders.
"Do it." I ordered.
"But sir, do you know what will happen?" Said...some small, soon to die fool.
"Of course I do, I designed this weapon, but once those terrifying effects wear off, they'll be dead, and we'll be safe," I incorrectly stated.
One of the effects of this weapon was that, for a short time, all those infected became insanely strong and almost "zombie-like" before they died. In the lab, when they died, we simply put them into barrels and burried them in the ground.
We set off the attack. Green (obviously) clouds of doom spread around everywhere. Our gas masks saved us....for now.
The enemy twitched and threw themselves around the hillside and off the bridge that we were on. They all fell....We were safe....
Then came the shots....and the screams...
I was right in the middle of a fucking reptile zoo....or, moreover, a zombie movie....and I was untouchable...Jumping from one side of the train to the other, with an AR47 gas powered, semi-automatic weapon pumping round after round into the terrorist zombie scum.
Needless to say, I awoke with an erection.
Here I was eh, on this train that was transporting this extremely dangerous and powerful toxic weapon, when...obviously, as one would be, we were ambushed by jewish terrorists. The group that was responsible for the attacks of september 11th and the the battle that the movies 300 and grindhouse were based on.
Our only option was too unleash this terrifying weapon onto these poor, cruel, jewish souls.
Being in charge, the task of issuing this order fell directly on my shoulders.
"Do it." I ordered.
"But sir, do you know what will happen?" Said...some small, soon to die fool.
"Of course I do, I designed this weapon, but once those terrifying effects wear off, they'll be dead, and we'll be safe," I incorrectly stated.
One of the effects of this weapon was that, for a short time, all those infected became insanely strong and almost "zombie-like" before they died. In the lab, when they died, we simply put them into barrels and burried them in the ground.
We set off the attack. Green (obviously) clouds of doom spread around everywhere. Our gas masks saved us....for now.
The enemy twitched and threw themselves around the hillside and off the bridge that we were on. They all fell....We were safe....
Then came the shots....and the screams...
I was right in the middle of a fucking reptile zoo....or, moreover, a zombie movie....and I was untouchable...Jumping from one side of the train to the other, with an AR47 gas powered, semi-automatic weapon pumping round after round into the terrorist zombie scum.
Needless to say, I awoke with an erection.
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
Must Post Posts...Before it's too Late.
overcome by your moving temple
overcome by this holiest of altars
so pure, so rare
to witness such a lovely goddess
i lost my self control
beyond compelled to throw this dollar down
before your holiest of altars
i'll sell my soul, my self esteem
a dollar at a time for one chance, one kiss
one taste of you my magdalena
i've beared witness to this place, this lair, so long forgotten
so pure, so rare, to witness such a lovely goddess
and i'd sell my soul, my self-esteem
a dollar at a time for one chance, one kiss,
one taste of you my black madonna
i'll sell my soul, my self-esteem
a dollar at a time
for one taste, one tasteone taste of you my magdalena
I thought that it was the most beautiful love song I've ever heard. I still can't get past it. Ow, my eye, I'm not supposed to get pudding in it. Ow, I'm in hell.
Saturday, March 31, 2007
Monday, February 19, 2007
Tuesday, February 13, 2007
Monday, February 05, 2007
But I don't pocess the necessary language to do so.
All right, here's the setup.
About 2 weeks ago I was informed that nutmeg holds hallucinogenic and delirient properties. Intrigued I gathered some fresh nutmeg and went searching for a guinea pig to give some to.
A dishboy at my place of employment fit the bill. He was dim, eager...and, ironically named Brandon. I fail to see the humor and don't wish to. Now, he injested them at work (never recommended) and noted the terrible taste/texture. The next day he called in sick, but the next time I spoke with him, he did his best to share with me his first psychadelic experience. Needless to say, he didn't handle it well (being alone high for over 24 hours) and I don't recomment Nutmeg as a beginner's psychadelic.
So, two weeks go by and I do my research. Reading people's trip stories on places like erowid.org (the greatest source on the internet) as well as others.
I found out that many people do not have good trips off of this. Though, these were almost exclusively kids with little or no drug experience that broke some of the cardinal rules of psychadelics. Several "seasoned" drug-takers' reports of their trips sounded right up my alley.
So, with a day off (yesterday); I decided to eat some of them. I carefully weighed out 19 grams. Appx 3 whole, fresh nutmeg (always weigh nutmeg, it's terribly easy to overdose), and planned my day.
The first 5 hours are all waiting, which I expected. Then about halfway through the 5th hour, blamo. Like I'd smoked a pound and a half of mushroom laced weed man.
Getting into the 6th or 7th hour, I went and saw pan's labrynth, a brilliantly directed spanish adult fantasy film that I highly recommend. Needless to say, I ignored much of the subtitles and instead focused on the stunning visuals and impecable musical score. Then, t'was home to bed.
I've read that many people had trouble getting to sleep on the old megtrain. I must have been the exception to that rule. Smoking about a gram of bubble hash will do that to you I guess. But, sleeping and more importantly dreaming seemed to be the best part of the trip. Extremely vivid, colorful, senseless flights of fancy filled my mind whilst I slept. And I awoke, about a half hour before my alarm was set to go off, more refreshed than I had been in months that early. And, luckily for me, still stoned off my tits. So, naturally I kept the party going and injested another 15-20 grams.
Philosophy class was terrific, though I did laugh inappropriately several times. I was slightly sedated by the Nutmeg, but it wasn't in such a manner that I was incapable or unwilling to move, I was just comfortable while not moving. (which is highly unusual for myself).
All in all I say that was a brilliant time. Not sure I need to do it again, as I'm going on my 48th hour tripping(?), and my stomach's now starting to get a little sore. Though, I'd give it a 7 out of 10. Where, be you a somewhat spiritual person, you should find it at least mildly informative.
About 2 weeks ago I was informed that nutmeg holds hallucinogenic and delirient properties. Intrigued I gathered some fresh nutmeg and went searching for a guinea pig to give some to.
A dishboy at my place of employment fit the bill. He was dim, eager...and, ironically named Brandon. I fail to see the humor and don't wish to. Now, he injested them at work (never recommended) and noted the terrible taste/texture. The next day he called in sick, but the next time I spoke with him, he did his best to share with me his first psychadelic experience. Needless to say, he didn't handle it well (being alone high for over 24 hours) and I don't recomment Nutmeg as a beginner's psychadelic.
So, two weeks go by and I do my research. Reading people's trip stories on places like erowid.org (the greatest source on the internet) as well as others.
I found out that many people do not have good trips off of this. Though, these were almost exclusively kids with little or no drug experience that broke some of the cardinal rules of psychadelics. Several "seasoned" drug-takers' reports of their trips sounded right up my alley.
So, with a day off (yesterday); I decided to eat some of them. I carefully weighed out 19 grams. Appx 3 whole, fresh nutmeg (always weigh nutmeg, it's terribly easy to overdose), and planned my day.
The first 5 hours are all waiting, which I expected. Then about halfway through the 5th hour, blamo. Like I'd smoked a pound and a half of mushroom laced weed man.
Getting into the 6th or 7th hour, I went and saw pan's labrynth, a brilliantly directed spanish adult fantasy film that I highly recommend. Needless to say, I ignored much of the subtitles and instead focused on the stunning visuals and impecable musical score. Then, t'was home to bed.
I've read that many people had trouble getting to sleep on the old megtrain. I must have been the exception to that rule. Smoking about a gram of bubble hash will do that to you I guess. But, sleeping and more importantly dreaming seemed to be the best part of the trip. Extremely vivid, colorful, senseless flights of fancy filled my mind whilst I slept. And I awoke, about a half hour before my alarm was set to go off, more refreshed than I had been in months that early. And, luckily for me, still stoned off my tits. So, naturally I kept the party going and injested another 15-20 grams.
Philosophy class was terrific, though I did laugh inappropriately several times. I was slightly sedated by the Nutmeg, but it wasn't in such a manner that I was incapable or unwilling to move, I was just comfortable while not moving. (which is highly unusual for myself).
All in all I say that was a brilliant time. Not sure I need to do it again, as I'm going on my 48th hour tripping(?), and my stomach's now starting to get a little sore. Though, I'd give it a 7 out of 10. Where, be you a somewhat spiritual person, you should find it at least mildly informative.
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