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Spencer wrote a poem

Oct. 20th, 2007 | 02:34 pm

i feel so comfy
but like...it's like the pole is cold..and like my head hurts..but I'm still comfy. In the meditating position I feel like I'm not using any muscles that's keeping me up. But I'm still comfy. There's a cougar behind us..but I don't care. 'Cause I'm still comfy. The end.

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Nine Drawings

Oct. 20th, 2007 | 12:22 pm

These 9 drawings were done by an artist under the influence of LSD -- part of a test conducted by the US government during it's dalliance with psychotomimetic drugs in the late 1950's. The artist was given a dose of LSD 25 and free access to an activity box full of crayons and pencils. His subject is the medico that jabbed him.

First drawing is done 20 minutes after the first dose (50ug)
An attending doctor observes - Patient chooses to start drawing with charcoal.
The subject of the experiment reports - 'Condition normal... no effect from the drug yet'.

85 minutes after first dose and 20 minutes after a second dose has been administered (50ug + 50ug)

The patient seems euphoric.

'I can see you clearly, so clearly. This... you... it's all ... I'm having a little trouble controlling this pencil. It seems to want to keep going.'

2 hours 30 minutes after first dose.

Patient appears very focus on the business of drawing.

'Outlines seem normal, but very vivid - everything is changing colour. My hand must follow the bold sweep of the lines. I feel as if my consciousness is situated in the part of my body that's now active - my hand, my elbow... my tongue'.

2 hours 32 minutes after first dose.

Patient seems gripped by his pad of paper.

'I'm trying another drawing. The outlines of the model are normal, but now those of my drawing are not. The outline of my hand is going weird too. It's not a very good drawing is it? I give up - I'll try again...'

2 hours 35 minutes after first dose.

Patient follows quickly with another drawing.

'I'll do a drawing in one flourish... without stopping... one line, no break!'

Upon completing the drawing the patient starts laughing, then becomes startled by something on the floor.

2 hours 45 minutes after first dose.

Patient tries to climb into activity box, and is generally agitated - responds slowly to the suggestion he might like to draw some more. He has become largely none verbal.

'I am... everything is... changed... they're calling... your face... interwoven... who is...' Patient mumbles inaudibly to a tune (sounds like 'Thanks for the memory). He changes medium to Tempera.

4 hours 25 minutes after first dose.

Patient retreated to the bunk, spending approximately 2 hours lying, waving his hands in the air. His return to the activity box is sudden and deliberate, changing media to pen and water colour.

'This will be the best drawing, Like the first one, only better. If I'm not careful I'll lose control of my movements, but I won't, because I know. I know' - (this saying is then repeated many times).

Patient makes the last half-a-dozen strokes of the drawing while running back and forth across the room.

5 hours 45 minutes after first dose.

Patient continues to move about the room, intersecting the space in complex variations. It's an hour and a half before he settles down to draw again - he appears over the effects of the drug.

'I can feel my knees again, I think it's starting to wear off. This is a pretty good drawing - this pencil is mighty hard to hold' - (he is holding a crayon).

8 hours after first dose.

Patient sits on bunk bed. He reports the intoxication has worn off except for the occational distorting of our faces. We ask for a final drawing which he performs with little enthusiasm.

'I have nothing to say about this last drawing, it is bad and uninteresting, I want to go home now.'

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(no subject)

Oct. 20th, 2007 | 11:24 am
mood: mellowmellow
music: Tool

My life feels like a warm cup of lemon water in winter to me, beautiful, hostile, cold, and quick. I could go on with insane gestures and comparisons until you think I'm crazy or doped up, but some days I'm just happy to be here.

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I'm at sch00l

Oct. 10th, 2007 | 09:06 am
location: TAPS
mood: boredbored

we have no recess
I have nothing else to say except that we have no recess and I'm just realizing this.

Wow, I would rather be in keyboarding right now...

I take that back...
I would rather be asleep right now
or in a car going somewhere far away...maybe Canada, or Iceland.
or asleep in a car....

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keep on keepin' on

Oct. 9th, 2007 | 04:41 pm
mood: unsure

My journal may be the only thing keeping me sane. Not my LiveJournal, my journal. Although I don't see how that can be, since writing to myself is like talking to myself, and talking to yourself is indeed a sign of insanity.

I've had a stupid day, I real fucking stupid day. I should be put on Xanax...I've heard it helps a lot.

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Raise your hands if you understand!

Oct. 7th, 2007 | 08:40 pm
mood: highhigh

Let's take a poll.  How many of you people know you're alive?
BULLSHIT, you're plastic soldiers in a miniature dirt war!
C'mon, how many of you people know you're alive?

how many of you people know you're really alive?

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Sep. 30th, 2007 | 01:12 pm

I'm angry
I write when I'm angry

MY FATHER IS AN IDIOT. He comes over at like 10 in the morning every fucking weekend. He insists on cooking me breakfast. It's always bacon. I FUCKING HATE BACON. I tell him I hate bacon every day and he still fucking makes it EVERY DAY. He has his own goddamn kitchen to cook his goddamn bacon on. Fuck...He's been here all morning, watching TV because I refuse to speak to him. You'd think with me being a bitch to him and all he'd take a hint and fucking leave, but no. I think he enjoys annoying me, I really do.

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Bit of advice.

Jun. 19th, 2007 | 01:55 am
mood: WTF?
music: Agoraphobic Nosebleed

Don't dwell too much in the past, It only makes things complicated. Focus on the future.

That might be a thinker, think on it.

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A million little pieces.

Jun. 18th, 2007 | 04:36 pm
music: Nirvana

I don't want to be alone. I have never wanted to be alone. I fucking hate it. I hate that I have no one to talk to, I hate that I have no one to call, I hate that I have no one to hold my hand, hug me, tell me everything is going to be all right. I hate that I have no one to share my hopes and my dreams with, I hate that I no longer have any hopes or dreams, I hate that I have no one to tell me to hold on, that I can find them again. I hate that when I scream, and I scream bloody murder, that I am screaming into emptiness. I hate that there is no one to hear my scream and that there is no one to help me learn how to stop screaming. I hate that what I have turned to in my loneliness lives in a pipe or a bottle. I hate that what I have turned into my loneliness is killing me, has already killed me, or will kill me soon. I hate that I will die alone. I will die alone in my horror.

-James Frey

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A little story.

Jun. 13th, 2007 | 10:23 pm
mood: creativecreative

Today Christian comes in my room, looks at my nightstand and says, "Oh my god please tell me this is it....yes!" He picks up my lightsaber and begins doing bad assss star wars martial arts with it. Cool once in a lifetime thing, ya know?

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