I have tried to write three different things about this song and all of them got fumbled somewhere in the runback. Stream of conscious is something I get too caught up in, and since I stopped drinking, I can feel its flow a little too closely at times. Different foods, different electronic patterns in the house, other people's aura floating through the house... all of it seems to be more easily affecting my thought stream. Not sure how to block it sometimes. I mean, if it's too much electronics, sometimes you can go out and flick the breaker and it resets everything, and that clears everything up because it takes a while for the army of machines to get their hummmm and buzzzzzzzz back up, like cicadas and cricket symphonies, but artificial, and never getting quiet for a thunderstorm, unless of course the power gets knocked out.
You can't really live off the grid, contrary to alternative energetic belief systems. You might step off the normal grid, but you're still trapped inside a square of that grid. Oddly enough, a Rojonekku lesson/exercise is taking one of the students along the power lines, those monstrous Tripods carrying the bulk of our electricity straight from alleged "plants" where dinosaur carbon is boiled into power, because power lines are never encumbered by overgrowth, and go for miles between major roads, and you won't see a house for two days of hiking, because who the fuck wants to live underneath a power line. You can feel the hummmmm and buzzzzzz extra strong walkabouting underneath of those things, but it's strangely balanced by the sheer lack of active civilization around as well. Lots of plant life you'll find too, unbothered patches of wild oats, St. John's wort plants blooming like mad, little yellow flowers in megacity clusters. The ol' lady says wild harvesting them is no good for medicine, because of the electromagnetic interference, but I make some tinctures anyways. I mean really, most of my students are still young and fairly degenerated for fat portions of their times not under my eyeballs' double gaze. I figure some electromagnetically charged oils probably helps rather than hurts drawing back them to the powerful side of life.
I've done a lot of meditating upon where machines fall into that life/death equation. At one point, I was convinced that there were good people and bad people, who were both ultimately on the good side of things because you still had to have a soul to go bad. And there was a vast majority of humans who were relatively soulless, or it was so shriveled up and concealed, they didn't know how to access it anymore. I still feel that way, I guess, but not quite sure how to navigate machinery and mechanisms into all that. I mean, there's something that feels good to the soul about walking on railroad tracks, or seeing ran down cloverleafs of graffiti stained elevated highways creepy crawling over a cluster of what was probably a bright beacon downtown of capitalist civilization at one point, but is now faded and damaged and yet somehow still beautiful looking, probably more so than when it was brand new. And junk cars are some of the most beautiful things I know of. How does that equate? Where does it fit?
Oddly enough, this song falls into relevance, because it's an ode to doing ecstasy, and again I'm not sure about the pharmaceutical derivatives of plants that the searching and lost types tend to abuse nowadays. Personally, I like the internal feel of non-pharmaceuticals, because the pure negative sterile energy of the places those types of drugs are manufactured in can really tilt you towards the wrong axis. And yet it still feels good to wander that way, and search for something, altering the mind's outlook by whatever means is available, because something doesn't seem to add up I guess.
Most likely, we can never know the full equation to it all. I make that clear to the Rojonekku students. I am no expert, on anything. If I tell you something and it makes sense, that's great. But don't hold that as gospel because memorized words are frozen in meaning, and the real truth is always slithering back and forth, just out of proper grasp.
STEAL "Rollin'"
NEXT: Pure motherfucking science!
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