THe Gauge narrative

Without already being on psychotropics, I wouldn't be able to partake. The month or so I spent in Egypt--so long ago, was when I was at peak use--smoking hashish/ shisha & herb. My distraction, not surprisingly, was equaling that extreme environment in a lot of ways. A French-Egyptian dude was dubious in this regard. He ended up running off w/40 bucks of ours which we thought would have obtained opium for us. ($40.oo could have kept us in hostel-comfort for probably 3-4 more days, had we not lost it.) In his ploy to get more $s before the deal went south, he tried to get us in better digs--but she the proprietor saw thru him, warning us, but we didn't listen. A weird feeling of dementia as like multi-directional staircases in M.C. Escher's art, made the very sense of cause a priori for a conscious map fall weakly into an abyss of Kairowan imponderable lapse. I wouldn't trade those times for anything safer, tho', I literally felt locked out of the passport to the vulture of culture, swearing always that any ritual as distinguished as thanks & praises allows (social conventions eluding me), I'd be as relevant to Ascetic Standards from a **limb where I saw everyone else pinned**--paraphrasing Leonard Cohen. The surprise is self-scrutiny deserves desperation & that desperation is desire's brain... was leaving me in the mean not valuing society much. Had I been confident, I would do just fine--but there was a lot of common self-instruction nowhere in my grasp. Herb provided an existential survey of the fat soul of plenty that living a real travelogue was considerably all within one house; what I did beyond the duty of hearth & home, was exactly the same whiling away as I would anywhere...just being present!!
***There is a book by an English author, Rory Stewart, about his meander transect across Afganistan 2002-3. It is excellent. I was reading this the while I was up in Ontario,Canada--Iron Bridge, far from the 3rd world, but with the then alliterative path, somehow the effect of privations met under the haze of drugged linear thought, opiates in the case of Pashtunis and the other mutually arising communities, as I read along. For some reason--I guess because it was such a fresh experience, up in the outlands of Canada, that book hit me in a much more esoteric spot. Again, because the choice to level out vast distances, securing a prone moment, though I wasn't getting high, was an idea easily asserted as in how a contact-high would. The author's little images he drew of the folks out across the expanses he trod, were rough shod just how my thinking is, as if I alone piece together the land imbued w/First Nations, I am seeing for the first time. If you haven't read it--you'll see when you do, it stands alone. There are other writings of his about walking across other Asian countries...: his communing amongst villagers of all types is an archetype in humanity. He had an ole fucked up dog--was given to him--& if not for him he would have died. It is amazing how even in the demise of existence, the mind portends the light to be met as IF...(we behold our safety without it being eclipsed). In a great wintry expanse part way thru his trek, he was all weary, hungry & thus vulnerable to the bitterCold. He gave up laid back in the ice/snow upon the margins of a frozen lake--describes the apparent forgiveness for his ineptness leaving him vacillating - emotionally like saying, "How could I just give up?" To, a welcome home, illusion of bodily warmth, which was illusory enough that it became evident to him he'd better just get to shuffling on. Down from the MT in all respects, he noticed the world glossed over, colors imbibed--totally existential, like until then, he was upon the surface of the moon, & now in a varied-formed personified forest-of-life his adventure takes on rational motives again=the telling of it.

HERE's a THOUGHT, wrote that thing the other am. subject Being, Crystal Worship __per Lumiere's blog piece, from TribedotNET::: Thinking about you--my friends, as others, as if some one thing I do, I try to anticipate that there is only an audience of one as a recipient of the valley of time strung in a few moments, when thoughtlessness gives me space... I bet you can imagine, there is somehow someone way more complex than your usual sense of relationship, if you are to come off creatively.
The characters in Refer Madness, tho' I'm not furthering something illicit here--have kinda old filmy auras, made by the old technology, but it emphasizes certain inward looks on the actors faces...(yet, I must otherwise project this reflection on others, as self-reflection, in as much as they are doing it--so M J would be conducive to this kind of experiential sense.) At the translation from the self-conscious masks we wear, the mirror always so willing, & our hearts only covet brief glimpses... sometimes like white sheen of expressions determine confidence the human condition has named you. I couldn't see anyone seeing Me--before my spiritual apostasy, & at one point the field of what I clearly saw as containing my aura reduced & begun to look less of a product of who I once was.. Into the blue, and even leveled off out there, but not remotely feeling understood at all. Sometimes I was so enrapt and yet couldn't tell anyone. I was like, if they could see what this is doing to me...if only!! It was like we all have the burnishing sun availing us of its wisdom, but I sat in its corporeal shadow--its proffer, yet not the center of its project: my person & yours.