Joining the war on Christmas on the side of drugs.

This is no small thing. Indeed, I would venture that, more than any other single quality, it is the relentless moment-by-moment forgetting, this draining of the pool of sense impression almost as quickly as it fills, that gives the experience of consciousness under marijuana its peculiar texture. Its helps account for the sharpening of sensory perceptions, for the aura of profundity in which cannabis bathes the most ordinary insights, and, perhaps most important of all, for the sense that time has slowed or even stopped. For it is only by forgetting that we ever really drop the thread of time and approach the experience of living in the present moment, so elusive in ordinary hours. And the wonder of that experience, perhaps more than any other, seems to be at the very heart of the human desire to change consciousness, whether by means of drugs or any other technique.

Banality depends on memory, as do irony and abstraction and boredom, three other defenses the educated mind deploys against experience so that it can get through the day without being continually, exhaustingly astonished.

Getting fucked up skating around the neighborhood at night looking at the pretty christmas lights listening to indie music longing to be loved some day hell yeah

Critical support to drugs

Legit when I'm feeling shitty about my current situation I just think back to the pure hedonism of raving in the forest a few months back on psychedelics and remember experiences like that are real and I can do things like that again in future. Then everything feels ok

I sold my unopened Endless Frank Ocean black friday vinyl in 2019 for a hundred dollars so I could robotrip

This got me thinking about EV Debs quotes. This one hits pretty good.

The greedy, profit-seeking exploiter cannot see beyond the end of his nose. He can see a chance for an “opening”; he is cunning enough to know what graft is and where it is, and how it can be secured, but vision he has none-not the slightest. He knows nothing of the great throbbing world that spreads out in all directions. He has no capacity for literature; no appreciation of art; no soul for beauty. That is the penalty the parasites pay for the violation of the laws of life.

I'd much rather chill with some druggies too.