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alternative weblog |
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entry 42 - 25th December 01
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mystery
drug
Today I'm going to eat a small quantity of the drug Tim-Tom
gave me. I'm going to attempt to keep a log of what happens, like a crap
version of Aldous Huxley or Carlos Castaneda or someone. I'll try and write an entry once every ten minutes, but I've got a cassette recorder as back-up. Oh, and as an escape route - should things get scary - I have, by my side, a bottle of cider and a small plastic cannister of Mogadons (which I got off Brendan).
Here we go. 5.20 pm. I'm ingesting a small quantity of the drug, sipping tepid water to help it down. 5.30 pm. Nothing's happening. I'm recalling Tim-tom's original words: 'Think of me when you take it.' And yes, I am thinking of him - even though I'm trying not to. Maybe I shouldn't try not to. I'm thinking about Angela's eyes, though. And my ears. 5.40 pm. It's getting hard to write. I'm thinking quicker than I can type and losing track, or maybe I'm typing quicker than I'm thinking and losing track that way. Does that make sense? It's more like tangents though. I'm thinking at different speeds and at different depths. It's a root network, or maybe a branch network. 5.50 pm. It's a root network, but forwards,
not down. It's like the opposite of the inside of my eye. No, cancel 6.00 pm. Grunt. 6.05 pm. This has fucking been, this has fucking been. 6.10 pm. The colours are... they're kind of spreading out into a square spiral, off into the horizon, to all sides. I can spin my head right round. One dimension! Each arm of is a different colour. Take two out from the wrong places and you change the colours of the ones inbetween. 6.11 pm. Dry vomity noise. 6.14 pm. They're splitting into two now. I have to guess the right one and follow only that. Then that splits into two and I have to guess again. Which way? That's what it's saying. Follow this. Follow this. Follow this. I can slow it down, but I can't stop it. 7.30 pm. I've just turned myself inside out. There were some stones in me. I got them out. 9.00 pm. Tim-tom's like a postman. He posts things. 9.55 pm. A coiled watershoot! 10.15 pm. There's a picture on my wall that Tim-tom's just painted. I watched him doing it. It's a silhouette of him from the side, with his head thrown back and his cock going into the electric socket. I'm going to try to take a photograph of it. 11.20 pm. If I look at anything for too long it catches fire. Got to blink. Got to blink. 11.22 pm. I've taken three Mogadons. I crunched them up to make them come on faster. This will be the last entry. 11.25 pm. Loud crashing noises with wretching
and groaning sounds.
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