paradox personified
march 12th, 2013
"is this the real life, or is this just fantasy. ?" much like my youth, I am finding snippets of meaning through songs. piece by piece, they are slowly building up what I so (viciously?) tore down. tearing down the wall. being exposed for the monster that I am/was/will become. I am here to re record the past, sew all the tatters together, and see if I can make something of this life I have been living. it is difficult to pinpoint the exact time/period where I lost my mind, and I honestly can't remember if I have always been this way, or if it is acquired magic. Cody thinks I woke up the beast through my drug use, stirred and prodded something dormant that may or may not have eventually sprung to life. I don't know if there is any possible way to know at all, and I am trying to be okay with that. but it seems that is an issue of mine. being okay with the unknown. I have this almost instinctive desire to know, understand, comprehend, and analyze everything there is to know. ever. I want spiritual truth. I want enlightenment. I want nirvana. to transcend from this earthly plane. I want to know the secrets of the universe. everything. divine knowledge. give me everything you have, so I can sit down, analyze what it really means, and use/apply it to my life to make it better. but in my past experiences this has not always been the outcome I had been expecting. I opened and expanded my mind via drugs, and found only brief, false enlightenment, followed by what could be described as nihilism. that all the meaning I had been searching for in those truths, had no meaning at all. no answer. in reality, it is something terrible and so incredibly far from what you were looking for. there is no truth, it is only an illusion to mask the horror of the truth. let me use for an example, a quote/idea from the movie "the prestige." when you start with the idea of a magic trick, you are under the expectation that the magician is going to take something ordinary and make it extraordinary. you want to see magic. you want to see an illusion. you want to be fooled. you don't want to know the truth and reality behind the magic of the trick. take a canary in a cage, make him disappear. this is only half though, to complete the trick you must bring it back. so, you do. the audience is amazed, the illusion worked. the audience goes on with their life, while the magician knows the truth, which is that the bird is dead inside the cage, while his brother reappears. the sick, twisted truth behind the magic. the truth lies plainly in your palm, like a piece of rotting fruit. all in all, from my experience, you don't want to know the truth. it will rip your soul apart.
and it is not too far fetched to say that it did rip my soul apart piece by piece. if there was ever an ultimate rock bottom, i visited. rented a motel. went sightseeing. sent some postcards (wish you were here). it was like going abroad to study, i suppose. you’re never sure when you will return, and when you do, you have grown so used to the customs and culture, you have a hard time getting readjusted to the life you left behind. interaction with people is the best, in my opinion. they are trying to figure out what planet you beamed down from, while you are caught between the “real” them, and the one your mind creates and projects above their heads. the man upstairs. it gets difficult to keep what is said straight- your version is them saying the most horrible things: that they know what you did, how they will tell everyone and your secret will be exposed. the real person is usually attempting to offer kind words and reassure you of things, all the while wondering what the fuck is wrong with you. sometime the figures of the person disappear, leaving you to literally read their expression (which is similar to reading their mind) and you are caught with their thoughts (whatever they may be) and what they are physically saying. these things tend to run together and mash up, leaving you unsure of what just happened in the conversation. and the best part? you haven’t even opened your mouth up yet. no contribution has been given on your part, other than a wide eyed stare.
the same phenomenon can occur without anyone around, as well. a personal example would be Cody’s family. i love them, but “they” drew me into a particularly bad stage of psychosis. in the Harmon household, bonding is a strange ritual that i am not used to. there is shouting, extreme intensity, competition, being a complete asshole to one another in the sake of bonding. occasionally there would be verbal fighting, but nobody stays mad long. there is just this energy, this high frequency intensity among the family equivalent to if someone had slipped them some cocaine (cocaine + individual = asshole). everyone’s personality is amplified. i am not used to this level of chaos, so while using my drugs and during periods of distress, i would seek refuge upstairs. this would mean lying in the dark on Cody’s bed, in his room with the door shut. “hiding”, they called it. while i was in my safe haven, i would discover that his family would still be with me, projected above my head. or, just inside my head. saying random things. their thoughts. his brother Colton was the worst. i would be going along with my thinking business, usually high or altered; breaking SOME law. i would find people remarking about what i was thinking. “why the hell are you thinking about ________?” to which i would remark “i’m sorry, now get out of my head” and their reply would ALWAYS be “emily, you’re in our heads. YOU get out.” so i was under the impression that everyone in the house (world?) could hear my thoughts. which wouldn’t have been so bad, but in most circumstances, i would be doing something “wrong” or “illegal”. one instance i was under the influence of a large dose (6-7 hits) of LSD, with cocaine, pharmaceuticals, and marijuana in my possession. that was my secret. that, and the fact that i was absolutely tripping my ass off on LSD. on acid, you go to another world where everything is colorful, funny, insightful, amazing, perfect: ineffable. and you KNOW it is because of the drugs. your mind is practically screaming it from the rooftops. in this universe, i suppose it could be a form of higher consciousness; everyone can hear what everyone else is thinking. EVERYONE. this includes the higher authorities. and you are over here screaming about how fucking great everything is on acid. so i spent my entire trip in dire fear of the authorities coming to take me away and damn me to hell. my boyfriend Cody was sober at the time, and was my trip sitter. now, Cody plays guitar, and he is really good. one of the best, in my opinion. he has the potential to do amazing things. he has mastered many things in terms of guitar, including a special technique that allows you to talk using the instrument. have you ever heard of music being a language? “i heard there was a secret chord that david played and it pleased the lord...” let me tell you- that exists. i am not sure of the dynamics, and have no idea how it works. but he can talk. communicate. words. sentences. i know it has been said that certain songs have feelings to them, but he can play words. and we talked (we, i am assuming, was his higher consciousness) and as we talked the others couldn’t hear us. eventually he brought me down from my trip with milk and klonopin, and i spoke nothing of this for months. each time after that, i could hear him talk when he played. so did other skilled guitarists and musicians. usually negative things about me. (at band practices where i was not wanted) his guitarists would talk shit about me using this technique. in recorded songs i found messages in instrumental parts. i eventually stopped listening to music.
Another thing i encountered through my trips and altered states and psychotic episodes, and occasionally now at random, is the transparent, shiny, diamond like figures and outlines of people. it would be like a window into another universe, only the people would be doing the most mundane things. washing dishes. doing laundry. there were also shadowy versions of figures walking. these people are tiny, while the diamond figures were lifesized. recently in a dream, i was finally told what they are. apparently, they are real people in another universe/world/dimension/plane/reality. but these seem to be the people in my head. a voice in my dream told me that these people are real, and somehow- i think accidentally- i killed one. i don’t know how. i honestly don’t remember. i recall wanting to die myself , and was trying to tell anyone in my head, but they wouldn’t listen. i went through a really dark period in my life, and had this serial killer spree. i don’t know if it was real (i mean, i didn’t kill people in our world); but if it was in theirs, i do not remember. at this point i sound utterly insane. i know. i fucking know. but that was the most HILARIOUS part of all this is that the people/voices in my head say “emily, you’re not crazy- you’re smart/intelligent/a genius. if that isn’t funny, then get the hell out. my hallucinations are telling me that i am not crazy. i don’t know if i fully accept that they are hallucinations, though. half of me believes that they are real.
"is this the real life, or is this just fantasy. ?" much like my youth, I am finding snippets of meaning through songs. piece by piece, they are slowly building up what I so (viciously?) tore down. tearing down the wall. being exposed for the monster that I am/was/will become. I am here to re record the past, sew all the tatters together, and see if I can make something of this life I have been living. it is difficult to pinpoint the exact time/period where I lost my mind, and I honestly can't remember if I have always been this way, or if it is acquired magic. Cody thinks I woke up the beast through my drug use, stirred and prodded something dormant that may or may not have eventually sprung to life. I don't know if there is any possible way to know at all, and I am trying to be okay with that. but it seems that is an issue of mine. being okay with the unknown. I have this almost instinctive desire to know, understand, comprehend, and analyze everything there is to know. ever. I want spiritual truth. I want enlightenment. I want nirvana. to transcend from this earthly plane. I want to know the secrets of the universe. everything. divine knowledge. give me everything you have, so I can sit down, analyze what it really means, and use/apply it to my life to make it better. but in my past experiences this has not always been the outcome I had been expecting. I opened and expanded my mind via drugs, and found only brief, false enlightenment, followed by what could be described as nihilism. that all the meaning I had been searching for in those truths, had no meaning at all. no answer. in reality, it is something terrible and so incredibly far from what you were looking for. there is no truth, it is only an illusion to mask the horror of the truth. let me use for an example, a quote/idea from the movie "the prestige." when you start with the idea of a magic trick, you are under the expectation that the magician is going to take something ordinary and make it extraordinary. you want to see magic. you want to see an illusion. you want to be fooled. you don't want to know the truth and reality behind the magic of the trick. take a canary in a cage, make him disappear. this is only half though, to complete the trick you must bring it back. so, you do. the audience is amazed, the illusion worked. the audience goes on with their life, while the magician knows the truth, which is that the bird is dead inside the cage, while his brother reappears. the sick, twisted truth behind the magic. the truth lies plainly in your palm, like a piece of rotting fruit. all in all, from my experience, you don't want to know the truth. it will rip your soul apart.
and it is not too far fetched to say that it did rip my soul apart piece by piece. if there was ever an ultimate rock bottom, i visited. rented a motel. went sightseeing. sent some postcards (wish you were here). it was like going abroad to study, i suppose. you’re never sure when you will return, and when you do, you have grown so used to the customs and culture, you have a hard time getting readjusted to the life you left behind. interaction with people is the best, in my opinion. they are trying to figure out what planet you beamed down from, while you are caught between the “real” them, and the one your mind creates and projects above their heads. the man upstairs. it gets difficult to keep what is said straight- your version is them saying the most horrible things: that they know what you did, how they will tell everyone and your secret will be exposed. the real person is usually attempting to offer kind words and reassure you of things, all the while wondering what the fuck is wrong with you. sometime the figures of the person disappear, leaving you to literally read their expression (which is similar to reading their mind) and you are caught with their thoughts (whatever they may be) and what they are physically saying. these things tend to run together and mash up, leaving you unsure of what just happened in the conversation. and the best part? you haven’t even opened your mouth up yet. no contribution has been given on your part, other than a wide eyed stare.
the same phenomenon can occur without anyone around, as well. a personal example would be Cody’s family. i love them, but “they” drew me into a particularly bad stage of psychosis. in the Harmon household, bonding is a strange ritual that i am not used to. there is shouting, extreme intensity, competition, being a complete asshole to one another in the sake of bonding. occasionally there would be verbal fighting, but nobody stays mad long. there is just this energy, this high frequency intensity among the family equivalent to if someone had slipped them some cocaine (cocaine + individual = asshole). everyone’s personality is amplified. i am not used to this level of chaos, so while using my drugs and during periods of distress, i would seek refuge upstairs. this would mean lying in the dark on Cody’s bed, in his room with the door shut. “hiding”, they called it. while i was in my safe haven, i would discover that his family would still be with me, projected above my head. or, just inside my head. saying random things. their thoughts. his brother Colton was the worst. i would be going along with my thinking business, usually high or altered; breaking SOME law. i would find people remarking about what i was thinking. “why the hell are you thinking about ________?” to which i would remark “i’m sorry, now get out of my head” and their reply would ALWAYS be “emily, you’re in our heads. YOU get out.” so i was under the impression that everyone in the house (world?) could hear my thoughts. which wouldn’t have been so bad, but in most circumstances, i would be doing something “wrong” or “illegal”. one instance i was under the influence of a large dose (6-7 hits) of LSD, with cocaine, pharmaceuticals, and marijuana in my possession. that was my secret. that, and the fact that i was absolutely tripping my ass off on LSD. on acid, you go to another world where everything is colorful, funny, insightful, amazing, perfect: ineffable. and you KNOW it is because of the drugs. your mind is practically screaming it from the rooftops. in this universe, i suppose it could be a form of higher consciousness; everyone can hear what everyone else is thinking. EVERYONE. this includes the higher authorities. and you are over here screaming about how fucking great everything is on acid. so i spent my entire trip in dire fear of the authorities coming to take me away and damn me to hell. my boyfriend Cody was sober at the time, and was my trip sitter. now, Cody plays guitar, and he is really good. one of the best, in my opinion. he has the potential to do amazing things. he has mastered many things in terms of guitar, including a special technique that allows you to talk using the instrument. have you ever heard of music being a language? “i heard there was a secret chord that david played and it pleased the lord...” let me tell you- that exists. i am not sure of the dynamics, and have no idea how it works. but he can talk. communicate. words. sentences. i know it has been said that certain songs have feelings to them, but he can play words. and we talked (we, i am assuming, was his higher consciousness) and as we talked the others couldn’t hear us. eventually he brought me down from my trip with milk and klonopin, and i spoke nothing of this for months. each time after that, i could hear him talk when he played. so did other skilled guitarists and musicians. usually negative things about me. (at band practices where i was not wanted) his guitarists would talk shit about me using this technique. in recorded songs i found messages in instrumental parts. i eventually stopped listening to music.
Another thing i encountered through my trips and altered states and psychotic episodes, and occasionally now at random, is the transparent, shiny, diamond like figures and outlines of people. it would be like a window into another universe, only the people would be doing the most mundane things. washing dishes. doing laundry. there were also shadowy versions of figures walking. these people are tiny, while the diamond figures were lifesized. recently in a dream, i was finally told what they are. apparently, they are real people in another universe/world/dimension/plane/reality. but these seem to be the people in my head. a voice in my dream told me that these people are real, and somehow- i think accidentally- i killed one. i don’t know how. i honestly don’t remember. i recall wanting to die myself , and was trying to tell anyone in my head, but they wouldn’t listen. i went through a really dark period in my life, and had this serial killer spree. i don’t know if it was real (i mean, i didn’t kill people in our world); but if it was in theirs, i do not remember. at this point i sound utterly insane. i know. i fucking know. but that was the most HILARIOUS part of all this is that the people/voices in my head say “emily, you’re not crazy- you’re smart/intelligent/a genius. if that isn’t funny, then get the hell out. my hallucinations are telling me that i am not crazy. i don’t know if i fully accept that they are hallucinations, though. half of me believes that they are real.
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