Sunday, August 20, 2006

Exploring Faith

Due to my weight and a crazy resistance to drugs, I either have to smoke a lot of it or wait a bit to get a good stone on. The first sign, then, that this was not my usual trip was the fact that it did not come on slow. Fast, hard, hitting me like a fireball. I go through a brief period of paranoia when I get stoned, and that passed far too quickly. And then, past the usual things that constitute a good stone for me, I could lay back and see the half-formed, newborn dreams that scream and screech constantly in the back of every human mind.

I could open my mouth and just speak, speak to the air and the ceiling and the winter and spin tales of incredible complexity and power, emotion, plot, talk and talk until my voice died, as my mind never would. This was the wellspring of imagination, and right then I felt a Muse on my shoulder, felt like I had been taken to a semi-mythological place where I could weave world from slips of imagination.


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