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Lyrics
Life is a series of highs and lows. I say that a lot.
We have the great gift of perspective. The ability to
see things in context. My first true psychedelic
adventure was in SUNY Albany. When I say first
psychedelic adventure, I put aside such mild
hallucinations like being able to see my reflection
in my shadow under the heavy influence of good pot,
and the time I had chicken pox and imagined I was in
a dude ranch with three other cowboys, talking about
the effectiveness of resisting death. We're talking
hardcore doses. Purple lips. They were shaped in such
a configuration that each perforated tab contained
half a lip, so if you bought a ten strip you'd get
a face made out of purple lips. I wasn't really sure
if I wanted to do it, but I knew that I wanted to see
inside myself. I had all these great ideas about
what I would write if I understood philosophy. Up to
that point, everything I had written either mocked
philosophers or imitated them. That does not go to
say that what I had written and thought up to that
point was not original or creative, but my writing
lacked the subtle undertone philosophical writers, or
any writers worth reading have when they write. This
style of writing is characterized by leaving the
reader with something to think about. It's no longer
worth it for me to write something without an undertone,
I'm not even sure I could if I tried. Ever since I
ventured into the part of my brain I was looking for,
I kindof lost the ability to look at things the way I
used to; with a sort of wise naiveté. I envy those who
have simultaneous access to intelligence and wisdom.
Now I'm stuck writing in pure undertone. I often
associate this undertone with words like god and zen.
This can be most obviously exemplified by perusing my
columns, the most ideal of which, for the purpose, is
one I titled "Zen and the Art of Plinko."
I had asked Ken Dalton (one of the finest and most
serenely pissed off persons I have ever had to
pleasure to know and read), a fellow columnist and
editor of the op-ed section for the C.W. Post Pioneer,
to define Plinko for me. His definition: Plinko is the
game on "The Price is Right" game show where a player
attempts to get a chip into a slot worth five thousand
dollars through a maze of studs that sends the chip
bouncing haphazardly downwards towards a set of slots
worth insignificant sums of money, aside from the
aforementioned five thousand dollar slot. A true game
of chance, Plinko is, allowing the player no method or
means of foreseeing the direction in which the chip
will move, or into which slot it will land.
The rest of the column read as follows:
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