Daytripping in the belly of the worm.

My preparations for the day were scarce. It was a Friday and I had but one class, which I decided to skip for the sake of actually enjoying my day without the added mental pressures of assignments or unnecessary distractions or even physical lethargy that goes with attending this particular class, but I digress. My preparations simply consisted of listening to some of the music I usually listen to and thinking alone in my house. The day was off to an enjoyable start, but, as it would turn out, it would be a lesser point. My friend M and I were to go out today with an aim in mind: I was to experience my first day under the effects of marijuana. The name is so silly when written down.
Our plans were delayed slightly by an inevitability, one that was rectified by chance, we were to meet at 11 or so but ended up meeting at around 5 PM.
Having just arrived, the events had already been set in motion. We had gotten in M's car and drove off to pick up her friend, who will henceforth be known as D. The drive was short but pleasant, and we had arrived at the train station before I had even had the time to consider the actual distance and time that had elapsed between our point of departure and the point at which we made the scene. D was an amicable fellow, in fact everything about the compact atmosphere of the vehicle we were in was comfortable, there were no pretensions or artificially crafted settings, everything was as normal as it could possibly be, that is to say, natural, real. Not five minutes had past since I had formally been introduced to D when he suddenly hands M a curious-looking bag, an emerald pouch that looked like it was in dire need of freedom, it burst almost by looking at it.
The sequence of events that lead to the actual usage of the drug was more like a lucid blur than anything else, one moment I was captivated by the gleaming smile of the sun bouncing off everything as it showered the world with a pounding warmth and the next I was being handed a peculiar object. As fortune would have it, the object was really a transportation device in disguise, meant to augment the edges of the mind, to turn one's self into a receptacle of sorts where information not only traveled but was stored and processed, churned infinitely by chemical agents resulting in a shower of experience that trickled down with noise and brightness. I took around six hits total, M and D took just about the same, though perhaps the effects were more obvious or easier to recognize to them. I did not feel as if anything was out of place until perhaps the third or fourth hit, even then the out of placeness, or strangeness, was harmonious and even. There was no peculiarity worth nothing that would make it a disturbing event or even something unnatural, on the contrary, it actually felt natural, perhaps the effects weren't all that pronounced in my system or experience I knew that it was in me and it was congruent to my thoughts, it was almost as if I had an excuse to see the world the way I have been as of late, an enhancement of sorts.
One of our destinations was a mall where M wanted to eat, after that we were going to go play on some arcades which at the time seemed like a very, very fun idea. Our plans were faltered by the almost obnoxious number of all sorts of underage kids present, thus we moved on. The trip consisted of a trip within a trip, I was under the effects while riding in a car with M and D and it was mostly centered around conversation and music, though at times my mind wandered, distracted by the colorful spectrum of lights and sounds. All too often they collapsed into a brand new melody, everything had a life of its own, a synesthesia of sound and color warped by the notion of velocity and motion, it was a landscape of its own, and I feel as if I was part of it with the right two people (and for this I am eternally grateful, the atmosphere was so calm I was not once preoccupied with worrying about silly peculiarities). As the sun descended like colossal remnant of the Perseid shower that had ended just days before, M was dropping D off at his house where we were indulged by his mother, who was an extremely interesting and intelligent person. Again, still under the subtle effects of the drug, the conversation that ensued was very enjoyable to simply listen to, my participation was limited but it was difficult to feel as if I wasn't a part of it, not only because I was being addressed but the nature of the words seemed inviting, as did everything around me. Tonality was important and I seemed to be focusing on that more than the actual words themselves, though this is where I believe the effect was starting to wear off, my mind's pacing began to slow down and as if by literary machina so too had the world wound down with me, the night was warm, but silent. An universal warmth that seemed to permeate every binding and refused the superficial tendency of all things, to eschew one from the other, it was a cohesive warmth that seemed to swallow certainty and put my consciousness at ease.
All things considered it is not an experience I will soon forget, it was honestly just fun and enjoyable, and I look forward to repeating it, as I have found that the best approach for these manners are simply to approach them as objectively as is humanly possible and to simply let it flow.

That which the flesh is heir to...

There are days when fortune's taciturn smile shines like a razor, she begs the whole of reality's wonders to bleed profusely on the insignificant personage clinging to its threadbare fabric, and it is on those days I feel as if I could die a happy death.

Today is one of such days. I want to kiss every molecule in feverish desperation to say what by law of language and tongue is impossible to say. And after all, what words are not swallowed by oblivion? They are as the cache of time, the quantum gifts that waste away all past, present and future, or at the very least the notion thereof, their wiles made neutral by its inherently entropic flow, but a tragedy by human examination, but I digress.
To love truly, whether it be life, person or circumstance, is to begrudgingly accept the truth: that it is not always possible to say, and what one cannot or may not say, then one must pass over in rapt silence. I dare not even call this joy, I dare not even sully or betray the dizzying reality of it all with my feeble words because the instant is near and gone without so much as a notice, what once was no longer is and to speak of it would be to grant it burial when such a notion has barely even lifted its sympathetic fingertips from my countenance.