A creepy house in backwoods Wisconsin funded by bloodmoney, built by a minion of the Aztec Night Lord Tezcatlipoca and a talking Chihuahua seeking redemption and to end the millenia-old feud with the Ho-Chunk culture hero Red Horn. Must be Thursday.
The first and most cardinal rule of any heavy drug habit is to hold fast to your center, not allow yourself to panic at the inevitable bad trip. Assenine braggarts are likely to tell you that it’s an inborn character trait that you simply either have or do not have, and that it is not possible to cultivate a tolerance.
Utter and complete bullshit. Dangerous bullshit. Because it denies the essential primacy of DISCIPLINE in the process and is a telltale sign of the feckless self-indulgent irresponsibility that means imminent death or at least a lengthy sanatorium stay. No, what is required is a steely willfulness and intense focus.
There are several techniques to achieve this focus and they all work, even under the most insane sensory assaults–provided you employ them with an iron discipline. One method is to always remain in the company of a responsible, experienced user whenever you take a new drug for the first time. But even more important is the technique of listening to your heartbeat. It alerts you to any potential medical problems early enough to seek professional care should that be necessary and it grounds you, reminds you that you are still John or Jane Q. Ordinary living in Normalsville, Planet Earth, complete with all the standard plumbing. You know that you have a living, breathing material avatar to take care of here, even if you can see and count the quarks vibrating through your hands. Or, as in this particular case, if you haven’t taken any illicit substances (that you know of), but find yourself engaged a in a twelve hour conversation with a Chihuahua dog1 claiming to be the exiled ruach2 of the Paul Ryan, the Republican chair of the House Budget Committee.
Continued at Dystopia Diaries