The only thing, the only thought, that gives me even a small measure of comfort is the notion that, if I do live into old age (small chance you're thinking), I will finally get to play the roll I was born for, that of a crotchety and cantankerous old man. The kind of guy who tries to cause you physical pain when he shakes your hand and who dismisses everything you say with a gruff retort and furrowed brow. If, in the meantime, I grizzle myself with sufficient vigor, I might hope to eventually approach, however humbly, the tone of the great and irascible old bastards of yore.
Having thus acknowledged that I have not yet attained the kind of authenticity that only advanced age can bring to such an endeavor, I will now engage in a misanthropic diatribe about the current generation of American young people.
What, may I ask, is up with kids these days with their Wyatt Earp mustaches, their macrobiotics and their goddamned dubstep music? Granted the era I grew up in was no Italian Renaissance, but the ghosts of authentic culture from the past still clung perilously to this world and continued to inform the zeitgeist. (Like all those bands in Texas that sounded like the Butthole Surfers) I am fully aware that there could be something I'm missing but the modern mainstream, and even the first few layers underneath, seem to me to be informed by a vapid and shallow sensibility. How else are we to explain the proliferation of bands that revolve around creative marketing rather than creative music and band cultures that revolve around brand identity rather than the sharing of ideas and true fellowship?
American young people gather in urban centers on the weekends and gravitate to whatever club corresponds with their communal aesthetic. Their clique is defined by such trivialities as their style of clothing, what flavor of modern pop music they listen to, and of course, their drug of choice.
Which brings us, albeit in a roundabout fashion, to the brown stuff I found on the ground this morning, behind just such a club, amongst the refuse of last night's debauchery. A crystalline powder in a small plastic bag, the mystery substance, whatever it is, must have been fished out of some poor yupster's pocket by mistake. Perhaps he was reaching for a pen to write down some girl's number and dropped it on the ground without noticing, only to realize later and curse his luck. Or maybe he's laying in the hospital right now drifting in and out of consciousness, whispering to his friends in a moment of clarity, "It was that brown stuff."
Whatever the case, the mystery substance now belongs to me.
Is it wise to snort random substances you find on the ground? Probably not, and I even hesitated for a few minutes while considering the possibly catastrophic consequences. But what validity can The Ground Score have if I'm not willing to walk the walk? When you look at it from that perspective I really have no choice but to ingest the suspicious substance and reliably report the effects to you, the curious reader. And so...
Having ingested said brown substance I will now take notes throughout the day documenting my impressions of the drug. (I had initially intended to transcribe whatever notes I came up with verbatim but this turned out to be impossible. For sake of clarity and readability my notes have been edited and abbreviated.)
Initial Impressions--- The Brown Mystery Substance is apparently an amphetamine based hallucinogen. Early reactions are elevated heart rate and respiration, mild excitement and euphoria, and a minor hint of paranoia. (but that might be because the police are really on to me) Of course, there are all kinds of bizarre "research chemicals" on the market these days and I'm sure there are many that even I have never heard of. If I had to hazard a guess I would say the mystery substance could be Molly, Sassafras, 5MeO-DIPT, 2CT7, 2CB, or possibly toad venom. We'll never know for sure but judging by that dubstep music it must be some fucked up shit.
2 Hours In--- The only thing that matters is our ability as a species to reconcile our differences and gather around the common goals of maximizing our resources here on Earth while putting all of our scientific know-how and engineering capability into colonizing other star systems or, at the very least, finding some other viable sources of energy beyond the Sun. It is too early to tell, but it is possible that at some point in it's evolution the phenomenon known as "life" will be able to have some effect, some say, on the evolution of the universe. It may be that all intelligent species are predisposed to self destruct before they have technology advanced enough to effect events on a cosmic scale, or it could be that such power is ultimately unattainable. But I don't think so. There are physical boundaries to be dealt with and many non-trivial engineering issues to be overcome but I believe that if a sentient species, like our own, could be made as a group to understand the stakes and the possible consequences of inaction, over the ages, progress could be made. Indeed, so far we have already come, but many of our works are tainted with malice and greed. We must excise these cancers if we are to ever take ourselves seriously as a race. In other words, why not aim high? The way to achieve this goal is as follows: Have sex and teach your kids about science.
4 Hours In--- Maybe the mustache people are actually benevolent and I've allowed myself to be blinded to their basic humanity by superficial details. Perhaps the world is not so black and white as I thought but only appears to be so because we create our own reality. Or maybe the world really is brutal but we just have to radiate love and positivity anyway so at least we can say we're not part of the problem. Maybe in the big scheme of things someone who hates people with mustaches is even worse than people with mustaches. It's just a whimsical little decoration after all. Sure it's silly but maybe those people need mustaches. Maybe the mustache somehow protects them from the horror of the world. Maybe I should try to have more compassion for my fellow man just because they MIGHT have redeeming qualities.
The Come Down--- Ahhh Christ Jesus why do I have to be such a fuck up? What the hell am I trying to prove. I'm a dead man walking. When they finally put me in the ground tell them I did it all for science. See there's that fear of death creeping in again. (It's a drag do you know it?) Human consciousness would seem to have so much more value if only it were more enduring. That's why I'm into the Carl Sagan trip. Even though I, as an individual, am just a flit of dust in the cosmic perspective, I can only hope that my species will somehow make it's mark in the universe. Even if it's just a big "Fuck You" spelled out in asteroids.
Final Analysis--- Euphoria is only valuable if it is a euphoria born out of knowing. If all you're interested in is euphoria there are better ways to induce it than through psychedelic drugs. A good psychedelic forces you to see the truth about who you really are and your place in the universe. The euphoria comes from being at peace with who you are and learning to rejoice in it. I was half expecting the mystery drug to be a banal party facilitator but it proved to have weight and substance. It induced the good fear. The rich, genetic fear that you have to overcome in order to be one of the tribe. In the modern world there is no need to endure the Ant Ritual or the "Man Called Horse" treatment. The young people have found a new way.
Today--- That was all written into my notebook yesterday on Sept 7 and today I'm typing it up at the library. I was all set to dismiss the mystery drug and ended up spending the whole day writing about outer space. I came up with a bunch of stuff I left out of the review because I'm going to try to expand it into a science fiction story about a guy who snorts a random substance he finds on the ground and is teleported into another dimension. In conclusion I'd like to add that all of these stunts were performed by professionals and should not be attempted at home.