Looking for something to do on a Black Friday morning, I can think of no choice better than what avails itself to me now – corrupting the youth. If I hereby tempt good Socrates to pass the hemlock, then so be it.
It seems that modern youth have stumbled upon my evil secret – “iDosing“. This little-known drug is surely the high-tech version of heroin. If you doubt me, know this. I have been experimenting since early teenage. I have been irrevocably addicted since college. I have since graduated to the hardest of stuff. Unlike the evil “reefer“, for which a moment of ecstasy leads to a lifetime of regret (or at least of losing one’s car in depressingly small parking lots), iDosing – as nearly I can tell – leads only to more ecstasy. Hence its truly addictive nature.
Admittedly, there are side effects. If you get a bad batch, and become addicted to that particular form, you could end up in a rather insidious condition known as “bad taste”. For this reason, I tend to buy from as many dealers as possible. Steve Jobs was one of my favorites. Too bad he bought it. He was my Pablo Escobar. But his corrupting organization is still in place, thank Heaven.
Alas, buying from multiple dealers only furthers the addiction, for now I can get high on almost every form of the drug available. I have been known to “take a hit” in the elevators at work, much to the horror of my fellow passengers. Well, fuck ’em. Straights. What the hell do they know? I just go to my cube, unwrap my rig, and shoot up. Hell – there are kids now who don’t even bother to put away the rig when they walk into the boss’s office. What’s one more pitiful old junkie? My addiction doesn’t even stand out at this point. I’m a digital Burroughs in the era of solarized Amy Winehouse video.
I remember when I discovered the hard stuff, back in college. Before class, laying back in the recliner in my dorm room, I was listening to Lou Reed’s brilliant and enigmatic “Heroin”. While most people appreciate the masterful way that this song translates the drug experience into music, I was far more struck by what was made obvious by the fact that an analogy was even possible. That music was – very essentially – a drug experience. Honing that experience by repeated listening to the song, I was quickly hooked.
Demon rum – move over. Demon music provides everything that a night at the bars provides – without the hangover and the empty wallet. And it does even more.
Soon, one appreciates the nuances of the drug. It can be a stimulant. It can be a beautifully melancholic depressant. It can be – well – inspiring. Which leads one to the mechanism of action.
Now, the Western materialist scientists, of which I am one, will tell you that it’s all about dopamine, neural pathways, regions of the brain, and all that other stuff. Which is quite fine, as far as it goes. But to really understand what’s happening, on a higher-level information plane, you have to go back to the ancients, who were able to achieve an extraordinary understanding of the universe long before the rigors of atomic theory and the essentially mathematical nature of reality were worked out by several millennia of what were essentially their grad students. Don’t get sidetracked by the subsequent calculations. Go back to why we started those calculations to begin with.
Music inspires. As in letting spirits in. MUS(E)ic. Yeah. Call them what you will, but muses and spirits and all that primitive stuff are less the failed understandings of the past, than they are the prescient anticipations of people who knew that these things had meaning, and had to be called something, long before the understanding of information itself begins to give us a handle on the things themselves. When two was not even the choice between zero and one to Western mathematics, there was no possibility of truly examining things more fluffy than could be seen in this world and enumerated with Roman numerals. But that doesn’t mean they don’t exist. To people who don’t have electricity, calling a “phone call” or an “avatar” a “thing” probably seems next to ridiculous, whereas from our end, we realize that the only way to make a picture “permanent” is basically to reduce it to mathematics, leaving the physical thing behind to decay and perish. Just like the drugs that inspired them, and perhaps ourselves, the best version of art is probably that which remains after you destroy it in the physical universe.
So my advice to youth? Let music inspire you. Speaking as a boring empiricist, I can assure you that my best writing was done in a drugged and addicted state, swilling my brain with the hardest of stuff. Beethoven, Bach, and a host of other fiends, who grew their dope to feed not only their own addictions, but those of others. Viral dope – that still infects minds today. But don’t stop there. Wonderful new forms of the drug are to be found everywhere. Japanese hardcore – trance – house – hell, the names are all you need to know, to know that the stuff kicks ass and will lay you out. The fact that I can mention nā-palm and Beethoven in the same sentence, as having truly inspired me to my better thoughts, is all one needs to realize that there is something vital and powerful about a drug with no form in this world, other than our crude and imperfect attempts to represent and share it.
So, now – while the scoffers and the deniers are rolling their eyes, let me act quickly.
PSST! Hey, kid! I’ve got somethin’ for ya!
[Exhibit A: Post by defendant under the influence of “Beethoven Symphony No. 9”.]