the pic is of me and and my sis bec with some hangovers in SOCA.....sometimes i can only think of all of the great shit i want to do someday when i am finally sober, after i have had a few beers. it seems easier then, except that i think of much dumber things, or even after a while, don't even bother thinking of things to do someday except jump off of chairs. when it boils right down to it, what else is there really to do, except "jump off chairs". isn't everything that we do all day long really just "jumping off of CHAIR'S" in one form or another?
i was on top of a baseball backstop one night, when i was very young, or younger, with about a half ounce of psyllocybin(?) mushrooms in my belly. i stayed up there half the night, until it seemed that the sun was teetering on the brink of the mountains, and the according little league games were just looming in the horizon of my paranoia... whilst there i listened to the dogs, waves upon waves of dogs, hollering, barking, yelping at eachother all back and forth across the north tucson basin. it was so clean, so discernable where the sounds came from, i could almost see the paths of the chain reactions as they travelled through the neighborhoods, up into the hills, back down into the arroyo-side streets, and back again, over and over. yelping here led to howling there led to barking there and so on. the where became ever clearer, but as i wound down in my mind to these final, deepest hours of morning, normal life impending, i was confounded as to what was being said, so emphatically, so repeatedly, back and forth, and back and forth, over and over, to my psychedellic visual delight. inevetable came morning, and i crawled down back out of the sky, from my perch, and staggered to the street, where i was promptly picked up by a friend who had been been driving laps around the neighborhood, looking for where i had run off to a bit, but really more just digging on the other half ounce of mushrooms coursing behind the wheel of a half ton of ford steel. looking none the less, and listening to pink floyd "dogs" over and over again. from that rattled old tape, i finally knew what the dogs were hollering about all that time up in the air, north in the valley, high as a kite, i finally believed my ears.
jump off chairs.
jump off chairs.
jump off chairs.
jump off chairs.
jump off chairs.
jump off chairs.
jump off chairs.
jump off chairs.
jump off chairs.
jump off chairs.
jump off chairs.
jump off chairs.
jump off chairs.
jump off chairs.
jump off chairs.
jump off chairs.