Stupid-O-groovE ~5
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First published: Friday December 11th, 2020
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First published: Friday December 11th, 2020
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(Episode Five - Shaman you! the intermission, or a -vention)
There once was a time when intoxicants used to be cool. Alcool. ...but only for a limited audience in a proper symposium. Perhaps fourteen to thirty, all, without a doubt, aristocratic wise men. Regrettably, some with a purchased one. Then came a Dionysian slip to convivium (which included Etruscan professionally drinking women, because Romans weren't into sausage fests as much as the Greeks). And a slippery slope towards the old ways started taking place. Only shamans kept their art pure for quite a while longer.
In the name of the intoxicants
Whiskey comes from uisce beatha. Water of life, which was necessary simply to bring immediate life to the continuous dying process of being.
The Vikings translated the same more in the direction of white water, which is what you would not drink in nature. Seriously, if it's white and foamy, don't let your tongue touch it. Even if you're wearing Nike. ... All this though they had
Mead also known as the blood of Kvasir, a magical drink that made a person an immediate poet or scholar. This part is true.
...but there's no battling the charm of novelty, or drinks of a seasoned Al-coholic.
Beer was once the cornerstone of civilizations, builder of pyramids. Yet, that was a long time ago, and, like any novelty, it's been diluted in time, on time and with time. Now, the once glorious liquid digestive is favored by people gathering around Ford Bronco's and Chevy El Camino's. At least in spirit.
The shaman's of old kept their ways for longer. For just one example
Psilocybin was the bridge to gods and possibly a few Berserks for your friendly neighborhood pillage and plunder.
Now, faded to mere additional recreation on recreation.
Forget special reasons and moments, meaningful questions and consultations... After all, when you hear the Friday song, it's time to kill the week which kills the weak. For the older It's Friday with Brody, for the younger, it's Friday with Black, who is out.
And then there were the new shamans with their fancy
LSD, which did induce a funny bike ride in Basel right before becoming a cure to everything. It was potent, which the bike ride is not good for, enough to become a truth serum by agents, who misunderstood. Truth serum it was, but not in the ways of making people tell you the truth, but more in the sense of seeing the truth beyond the curtain. Good times, the big boys keep telling.
Now
Don't they say:
Too far in celebration and it's mourning.
The intermission is over. Q over q.
There once was a time when intoxicants used to be cool. Alcool. ...but only for a limited audience in a proper symposium. Perhaps fourteen to thirty, all, without a doubt, aristocratic wise men. Regrettably, some with a purchased one. Then came a Dionysian slip to convivium (which included Etruscan professionally drinking women, because Romans weren't into sausage fests as much as the Greeks). And a slippery slope towards the old ways started taking place. Only shamans kept their art pure for quite a while longer.
In the name of the intoxicants
Whiskey comes from uisce beatha. Water of life, which was necessary simply to bring immediate life to the continuous dying process of being.
The Vikings translated the same more in the direction of white water, which is what you would not drink in nature. Seriously, if it's white and foamy, don't let your tongue touch it. Even if you're wearing Nike. ... All this though they had
Mead also known as the blood of Kvasir, a magical drink that made a person an immediate poet or scholar. This part is true.
...but there's no battling the charm of novelty, or drinks of a seasoned Al-coholic.
Beer was once the cornerstone of civilizations, builder of pyramids. Yet, that was a long time ago, and, like any novelty, it's been diluted in time, on time and with time. Now, the once glorious liquid digestive is favored by people gathering around Ford Bronco's and Chevy El Camino's. At least in spirit.
The shaman's of old kept their ways for longer. For just one example
Psilocybin was the bridge to gods and possibly a few Berserks for your friendly neighborhood pillage and plunder.
Now, faded to mere additional recreation on recreation.
Forget special reasons and moments, meaningful questions and consultations... After all, when you hear the Friday song, it's time to kill the week which kills the weak. For the older It's Friday with Brody, for the younger, it's Friday with Black, who is out.
And then there were the new shamans with their fancy
LSD, which did induce a funny bike ride in Basel right before becoming a cure to everything. It was potent, which the bike ride is not good for, enough to become a truth serum by agents, who misunderstood. Truth serum it was, but not in the ways of making people tell you the truth, but more in the sense of seeing the truth beyond the curtain. Good times, the big boys keep telling.
Now
Don't they say:
Too far in celebration and it's mourning.
The intermission is over. Q over q.