PSYCHEDELIC APHORISMS

DeepDotWeb’s in-house shaman would like to share with you some of his thoughts:

BEGINNING OF THE FIRST INSTALLMENT

*        *        *

We may call him “Custer.”

The angry little fellow on the hill, making his last stand against the raging whirling walls of colour, closing in on every side.

He puts up resistance, does what damage he can, and then he, too, is swallowed and swept away – or else remains, and poisons all that follows.

*        *        *

When under its spell, the mind overwhelms the self by drowning it in gifts.

*        *        *

Like a kitten in spring. “So much to do! So many birds and scents and mice and winds to sniff and chase and follow!”

*        *        *

Pearlhunting in a thunderstorm.

*        *        *

… And the song became a sleigh-ride through a frosty winter landscape.

The bass drum became the smattering of the wolf-dogs’ feet; the cymbal the crack of my whip as I urged them on; and the snare the beckoning drum of the god ahead.

*        *        *

Two hands, grotesquely disproportioned – the left hand a weak little stump of withered meat, the right a monstrous claw of steel, tearing the bark as he storms along its trunk.

*        *        *

A tattoo of the tree in one’s chest.

Its roots below all earths, its crown above all heavens.

From each green and golden leaf, “dew drips down into the dale below,” where the people have gathered together, to drink and to bathe in its waters.

*        *        *

The god happened.

*        *        *

… That the gods yet sleep and hunt in hiding, woven into the knotwork of the mind…

*        *        *

… A feast with green, green grapes – “and crispy strips of bacon!”

*        *        *

“Lost no more to time and place, / for I have seen the land / I have heard the Valkyrie sing / and I’ve touched Odin’s hand.”

*        *        *

The cymbal is the whip and the slap and the thunderbolt of the god.

It warns us, too, against the madness of the seven colours, and reminds us of our final duty – to return home, at the end of every hunt.

For “to return empty-handed is a sin – but not to return at all is an abomination.”

*        *        *

Coming home, at long last, with four rabbits and a deer, slung over a bloody shoulder.

*        *        *

Oh these things which will not melt.

*        *        *

“Let us make new masks, then, if these old ones no longer fit us.”

*        *        *

END OF THE FIRST INSTALLMENT

Share and Enjoy

  • FacebookFacebook
  • TwitterTwitter
  • DeliciousDelicious
  • LinkedInLinkedIn
  • StumbleUponStumbleUpon
  • Add to favoritesAdd to favorites
  • EmailEmail
  • RSSRSS
mm

TheBitcoinNews.com – leading Bitcoin News source since 2012

Virtual currency is not legal tender, is not backed by the government, and accounts and value balances are not subject to consumer protections. The information does not constitute investment advice or an offer to invest.