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Cookies but not Advil

This morning I stopped at the local 7-11 to get a cup of coffee before work. In the checkout line a man, dressed in work boots, reflective vest, and hard hat presented a box of Advil, two chocolate chip cookies individually wrapped in cellophane and a bottle of Mountain Dew to the cashier. He then pulled out a debit or credit card from his wallet and swiped it through the card slot. Nothing happened. He swiped again. Nothing.

Cashier then said, Declined. Swipe again though. Customer tried again.

Same result.

Very quietly the customer then said, Can you take the Advil off?

The cashier takes it off. The customer swipes again. It goes through almost instantly.

Was his debit/credit card full? Was it a SNAP card already spent four days into the new year?

Or can you not buy pain relief with a SNAP card.

Snake Oil is magick until it isn’t

Everything works for a little while—works until it doesn’t, and at some point, a pattern is revealed. That which is not God is snake oil. Snake oil is magick until it isn’t. Cures depend on us being sick, a snake-eating-its-own-tail situation. Our bodies know when we’ve bought the snake oil. They will eventually reject what is not true.

Bett Williams, in The Wild Kindness: A Psilocybin Odyssey

Say no to the Lizard Stalls

The goal is complete government control of psychedelics to be used by a large segment of the population in clinical settings, i.e., the lizard stalls. The more badly the outliers behave, the easier it is to convince everyone that our expert chaos magic overlords, I mean, doctors, are the only safe guides.

Bett Williams, in The Wild Kindness: A Psilocybin Odyssey

The purpose of the trip

when i trip
i listen to music
that creates a
a story or archetype
for my consciousness
to synchronize with
to exist in
to live through
as if another life
altogether
full with gratitude
meaning
purpose
and maybe even
answers

Memories in Obsidian

Photo by Malik Earnest on Unsplash

“Look up.”

Two hands lay palms-down on a brown briefcase.

Scars. From cleats and dirt, knives at the bottom of soapy kitchen sinks, mother’s maroon-painted fingernails. Memories. The only way of knowing one’s actually existed. If you don’t remember anything, you don’t know you’re there. Time. The flowing of time. The true nature of time is a spiral; not a line with a definite start and a definite stop.

“Wake up.”

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