The northlondonhippy

Archive for February, 2006

I’ll level with you…

I don’t actu­ally have a topic today. I’m just here because I have some time right now.

Does that make you feel neglected?

I’m sorry about that, but I’m in the mid­dle of a rather long and gru­elling run of work. Some­times life is like that, but come next month, my bank account will be laugh­ing and isn’t that the main thing?

It’s the usual sit­u­a­tion, I’ve spot­ted all sorts of inter­est­ing things to com­ment on; you know, give it the old skewed hippyspin.

But time has been a pre­cious com­mod­ity this week, espe­cially free time and its not over yet. I’ve still got more work at the end of the week; I’m only off for 2 glo­ri­ous nights and I’m going to make the most of them.

I’m not sure how just yet, but this hippy is quite resourceful.

So here I sit, in front of this blank com­puter screen, with noth­ing but a blink­ing cur­sor and the words above this sen­tence, star­ing back at me.

Hardly my strongest start!

Per­haps this lack of direc­tion is a god­send in dis­guise. A dis­tinct lack of direc­tion has cer­tainly served me well through­out my life, so it should work for a blog entry too.

Let’s jam, let’s riff, and let’s just see wher­ever the fuck my stream of con­scious­ness takes us. I expect we’ll end up some­place interesting.

Here’s some­thing you won’t know until I tell you: Between this para­graph and the pre­vi­ous one, nearly 3 hours have passed. Tricky, eh?

Mrs. H woke up and I stopped writ­ing to hang out with her as today is her day off. At least it should have been, but she got called into her office this after­noon unex­pect­edly. It was an over­time bonanza for a short day, so she said “yes”.

So what did I do for the three hours beside hang out with my missus?

I took drugs!

I’ve had a cou­ple of spliffs, a dope cake and I took a herbal pill.

Right now, it’s Wednes­day after­noon at 1pm, which I think is the per­fect time to get off your face. Well, it’s as good as any when you’ve only got 60 hours off!

The dope is some sort of com­mer­cial grade skunk and it’s most accept­able, if not par­tic­u­larly a gourmet strain and I’ve got loads of spliffs rolled and ready to go.

I baked the dopecakes last week, using a sim­ple store-bought Vic­to­ria sponge mix, some muf­fin cases and some yummy vanilla icing. Oh and don’t for­get the dope; 2 grams of the afore­men­tioned skunk and ½ a gram of my home­made hash, care­fully scraped from the bot­tom cham­ber of my grinder.

Besides tast­ing great, they came out extremely strong, but I expected that when I pre­pared them. I based the amount of dope on end­ing up with 24 indi­vid­ual cakes, but ended up with only 12, so they were twice as potent as I had planned. I wanted a sin­gle dose to be 2 cakes, but these moth­er­fuck­ers mon­ged you roy­ally with just one!

I haven’t cooked with cannabis in years, mainly because you need to use a rea­son­able amount of weed to make them effec­tive and that makes it pricey. It was a nice treat.

Eat­ing cannabis gives you a much dif­fer­ent high than smok­ing. It comes on slowly, and is harder to describe. The feel­ing is relaxed, care­free and chilled, from head to toe. It lasts a long time as well.

I ate 1 cake around 30 min­utes ago and I’m just start­ing to feel its effects. In another 30 min­utes or so, the feel­ings will be more intense and some peo­ple that eat­ing dope can be quite trippy. That’s never been the case with me, but every­one is different.

The other sub­stance I took is a legal one, called NXT PHASE EXPLODING HAPPINESS (Pur­ple) and I think it comes from Hol­land. I didn’t recog­nise many of the ingre­di­ents and was too lazy to Google them, I thought fuck it; they look cool.

Nintey min­utes after swal­low­ing one, the effects are very pleas­ant, relax­ing but up. I’m guess­ing they are a piper­azine blend, BZP, TMPP or some­thing like that, but I’m not sure.

The brand, NXT PHASE have a whole line of legal highs which might be worth explor­ing fur­ther. So far, I’m dig­ging these, but I think I’ll just stick to the one pill for now.

My last expe­ri­ence with any like this was around my birth­day, when I took way too many PURPLE OHMS. Since then I’ve read some trip reports, which said 2–3 pills, pro­duced a very strong trip. I took six. Oooops. Don’t try that at home, fuckers!

I know I have them a bit of a bad review when I last wrote about them, which is why I’m offer­ing this lit­tle update. I dou­bled the dose, which is a very silly and stu­pid thing to do. It’s hardly sur­pris­ing that I had a bad time with them, now that I am aware of this.

That doesn’t mean I’m going to try them again, but it is the rea­son why I haven’t played around with any legal pills in over a month.

The other rea­son I’m men­tion­ing this is because at the moment, the num­ber one search term that’s bring­ing peo­ple to my blog is “PURPLE OHMS”. For all of you out there in inter­net land, here’s my pre­vi­ous post on the sub­ject, which will save you from DIGGING IT OUT YOURSELF.

Ok, now it’s get­ting harder to con­cen­trate on what I’m writ­ing and my typ­ing is turn­ing to shit as well.

That means it’s time for me to wrap this up and post it while I still can. Thanks for putting up with me. Bye fuckers!

It seems think­ing too much is bad for you. I could have told you that.

I think way too much myself, so I know this bet­ter than anyone!

Accord­ing to a RECENT STUDY AS REPORTED IN TODAY’S GUARDIAN, my favourite seri­ous news­pa­per, the best way to arrive at a com­pli­cated deci­sion is to not think about it and just decide.

That seems so bloody obvi­ous to me. Of course it’s the best way to make a deci­sion. Your “gut” instincts are always going to sur­pass your intel­lect when it comes to sort­ing some­thing out.

Call it your cos­mic con­nec­tion to the uni­verse, or your zen-like one­ness with every­thing that exists. Call it what­ever the fuck you like, but your sub­con­scious knows every­thing already.

If you trust your­self enough to make that leap, then you’ll be able to deal with absolutely everything!

There’s one thing that’s always served me well when­ever I need to make any sort of deci­sion and that’s good, old fash­ioned, com­mon sense. Com­mon sense has never let me down.

I know the dif­fer­ence between right and wrong, some­times I just choose to be wrong. That makes me a bit of a sociopath I think.

The other trick to mak­ing a deci­sion is another sim­ple one. Iden­tify the cri­te­ria you should use to make the choice; what ques­tions do you need answered before you can make a determination.

But if you do that, then you’re prob­a­bly just think­ing too much!

You could just use my old stand-by method, which has a 50% accu­racy rate no mat­ter what the ques­tion, as long as there are only two pos­si­ble answers. It’s espe­cially well suited for “yes or no” situations.

I flip a coin.

“Heads” says you liked this entry; “tails” says you thought it was shite!

Yo groovers, what’s shakin’?

I’m not so much shak­ing as trem­bling, but I’m old and it’s prob­a­bly just the onset of some debil­i­tat­ing and degen­er­a­tive brain wast­ing disease.

Ah, the joys of aging!

I’ve been think­ing about grow­ing old recently; obsess­ing about it is prob­a­bly a more accu­rate descrip­tion. It makes a change from obsess­ing about my own death and the deaths of those close to me though!

It’s good to shift gears occasionally!

I’m 43, but I’m quite a youth­ful 43, what­ever that means. I’m spry, agile and pos­sess all of my phys­i­cal fac­ul­ties. I’m not par­tic­u­larly fit in a cardio-vascular sort of way, but I’m as strong as an ox, only I prob­a­bly smell better.

Lately, though, and I’ll whis­per this because its not some­thing I’d want to say too loudly, but lately, I’ve been hav­ing odd aches and pains in my mus­cles and joints. My knees hurt some­times, when I squat down to do some things, like wipe a mess off the floor or even tie my shoes. The only way to relieve the pain is to stand back up again.

And yes, my shoes have laces; I’m not so old that I’ve switched to loafers, just yet.

I’ve got hairs grow­ing out of my ear­lobes. They’re really long, coarse, white hairs that hurt when I pull them out. I’ve got flecks of grey in my beard, but because I keep it trimmed quite short, they’re not notice­able. I’ve got the odd white hairs on my head too, but there’s so few of them, I could count them on one hand.

The point is, my body is chang­ing. It may not be as fast as other peo­ple, but the years are grad­u­ally tak­ing their toll on me, as they will on all of us.

And there’s sweet fuck all I can do about it! Fuckers!

In seven years, I’ll be fifty years old. Fuck! Fifty! Seven years is noth­ing, it’s a blink of a fuck­ing eye!

In my mind, I still feel 15; only I can drive my car and buy liquor. Oh and I have a mort­gage. And a respon­si­ble job. And a seri­ous cannabis habit.

And peo­ple say all of those things don’t go well together! Well bull­shit to that; I’m liv­ing proof you can be a highly func­tion­ing, dope-smoking, mem­ber of society!

I even pay my taxes! I’m a well-behaved hippy.

But here’s the thing: I was born too soon.

Aging is a dis­ease, a genetic aber­ra­tion; a defect in our cod­ing; noth­ing more. At some point a lit­tle tiny bit of one of our lit­tle tiny strands of DNA goes POP and sud­denly your body starts to break down.

We call it aging and because we all do it, we don’t see it as a dis­ease, but it is. Soon, sci­ence will dis­cover the cure. We don’t all have to die.

Think I’m crazy? Think again.

Those wacky boffins have already mapped the entire human genome. Very soon, they’ll have a bet­ter under­stand­ing of what each gene does to the point where they will be able to iso­late the bits that con­trol aging.

And do you know what they fig­ure out how to do then?

They’ll learn how to switch-off the aging process. Effec­tively you’ll immortal.

Of course there will be other things that could get you, like can­cer, heart dis­ease and plane crashes, but the first two will prob­a­bly be genet­i­cally cured too. So watch out for those dodgy 747’s that do the long haul routes!

Genetic sci­ence is going to be able to fix every­thing that’s wrong with you at some point in the not too dis­tant future; includ­ing the most com­mon dis­ease known on the planet: aging.

I’m just sorry I was born a bit too late to take advan­tage of this liv­ing for­ever lark. I reckon I’d be good at it. Oh well.

At least my writ­ing will live on eter­nally, after I’m gone.

Maybe the world will catch on to me then and every­one will know that I really was (am?) the first true genius of the twenty-first century!

Hey ho my fine-feathered fuck­ers, for­give me for my absence, but I’m back now and feel­ing bet­ter than ever!

Bet­ter than ever for me is not really say­ing much. It’s some­thing, I guess.

So I’ve got a joke for you. If you are eas­ily offended, please look away now and go read some­one else’s blog.

Please note, I said, “please”.

Ok, don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Jesus is get­ting butt-fucked by Satan.

Satan is really giv­ing it to him hard and Jesus turns around and asks Satan, “Is this heaven, or is this hell?”

Satan then looks up at Jesus and says, “I was just think­ing the same thing.”

Ba-dum-bum.

Did I make you laugh?

Did I offend you?

Does it mat­ter either way?

The joke is inten­tion­ally offen­sive; it’s meant to get a reaction.

The big laugh; if there is one, should be sparked by the open­ing line. It’s the humour of the out­ra­geously uncomfortable.

Trust me, open your stand-up rou­tine with this line and you will be greeted with a burst of ner­vous laugh­ter fol­lowed by the sti­fled silence of peo­ple try­ing to con­tain their guilty guffaws.

The punch­line, if you can call it that, is far more sur­real and intel­lec­tual. It under­mines the open­ing line because it requires the audi­ence to think about what the joke is really saying.

What is heaven, what is hell? Could one person’s heaven be another person’s hell? Is there a heaven or a hell or for that mat­ter was there really a Jesus? Is the Devil still in busi­ness? Was he ever?

The main thing is did I offend you? And if I did, what does it say about you?

We’re sup­posed to have free speech, but do we? Can I really post this joke in my blog and not expect some sort of reaction?

Well, prob­a­bly not, because I remain largely undis­cov­ered and under­ground. I’m the biggest inter­net celebrity you’ve never heard of blah blah blah.

Are Chris­tians going to take to the streets and start burn­ing hip­py­ef­fi­gies? I think not.

Most peo­ple are strong enough in their beliefs not to allow the rav­ings of one mad hippy in north Lon­don to upset them.

Those who would be offended by my lit­tle stab at blas­phe­mous, thought pro­vok­ing humour, are the weak minded of our world. Their frag­ile belief sys­tem is such that there is no room for any pos­si­ble doubts to be raised, satir­i­cal or otherwise.

Which is why I’m not mak­ing any jokes about a cer­tain well-regarded Prophet, peace be upon him. I don’t want a fatwa on my ass!

But sup­pose, for the sake of a lit­tle spec­u­la­tive game play­ing, that some­one stum­bled upon this post and was offended.

Now, take it one step fur­ther and imag­ine this per­son, who is so offended, belongs to some right wing, fun­da­men­tal­ist Chris­t­ian group in America.

Sud­denly the link to my lit­tle blog is fly­ing through cyber­space at the speed of light to all cor­ners of the globe and before I know it, thou­sands, maybe even hun­dreds of thou­sands of crazed Chris­t­ian war­riors are out for my blessed hippyblood!

Egads! What’s a poor hippy to do?

I go into hid­ing, max out my credit cards, mov­ing from one 5-star hotel suite to the next, check­ing in under assumed hip­py­names before end­ing up in Rome, where I would sur­ren­der to the Pope him­self seek­ing sanctuary.

The Pope would invoke a long for­got­ten law of the papacy and have me put to death, iron­i­cally, by crucifixion.

With my beard and long hair, com­par­isons would undoubt­edly be made, as the nail­ing of this hippy to a cross would be broad­cast live, on every tv chan­nel across the planet.

And when I reach the after­life, after deny­ing it’s exis­tent for nearly my entire life; guess what happened?

I’ll find myself bent over, get­ting butt-fucked by Satan.

The uni­verse does have a sense of humour. Even I’d be laugh­ing at that eter­nal outcome!

I’m not feel­ing par­tic­u­larly well today.

It started last night while I was work­ing and came on quickly. I feel fever­ish, I’ve got chills and I’m a bit nau­seous. Fun!

I came home a bit ear­lier last night by a few hours and I’m not going in tonight. I just don’t feel well enough.

Why is this news to any­one? Why?

Because I’m the hippy, fuck­ers! That’s why!

I’m the biggest inter­net celebrity you’ve never heard of, but not for long!

How do I know that? Sim­ple, the longer you do some­thing, the more likely it will catch on! Pretty soon, every­one will be mak­ing my site their home page! Wait and see!

I’m a mes­siah for the new mil­len­nium. Well, the new mil­len­nium is not that new any­more, but you get the idea. I’m here to be your sav­iour, to deliver you from this cesspit of a world we live in, into my weird and wacky world!

My world’s a lot more fun than the real world because all the drugs are legal and blow-jobs are com­pul­sory! You can’t say fairer than that!

In my world, we only tell the truth, we don’t cloak our lies in bull­shit. All of the bull­shit here is clearly marked.

Wel­come to my world, fuckers!

As a blog­ger, I’ve been at this for nearly 2 years. I could bore you with all that’s changed in my life in that time, but then you prob­a­bly could too! I know a thing or two about this blog­ging lark, I’m old school!

I know that hip­py­fans come and hip­py­fans go, but once a hip­py­fan, you’re always a hip­py­fan! I get in your blood like a virus and I stay there and fes­ter away at you till you’re beg­ging me for more!

Why should you dig me? Sim­ple, I’m hav­ing more fun than you, but then I have more fun than everyone!

Even sit­ting here, under the weather, I’m hav­ing fun. I’m dig­ging some cool music through my Air­Tunes set-up and I’m puff­ing on a nice skunky spiffie. Who could ask for any­thing more?

Well, I could have won the EuroMil­lions thing last night. I had four tick­ets, all losers. It’s ok, since there were three win­ning tick­ets, I wouldn’t have wanted to share it four ways! Either it was gonna be the whole 125 mil­lion quid or nothing!

As it turned out, it was nothing.

I’m still poor. Send me money or at least some valid credit card num­bers, com­plete with the secu­rity codes. Please.

Seri­ously, if you’re some super-billionaire with more money than com­mon sense, how about slip­ping me a few mil­lion? You could con­sider it a char­i­ta­ble dona­tion and knock it off your taxes.

Do a good deed and spon­sor a hippy today! We’re not just for xmas you know, we’re for life!

I’m sure you’ve all heard about the pub­li­ca­tion of cer­tain car­toons in Den­mark (and now many other Euro­pean coun­tries), which have upset some of our friends in the Mus­lim world.

No doubt, you’ve also by now heard about the ferry that sank in the Red Sea while trav­el­ling to Egypt from Saudi Ara­bia. The pas­sen­gers were mainly the very reli­gious, return­ing from the Hajj.

You have also have heard that these car­toons, which satirise the Islamic faith have spurned vio­lent reac­tions in the Arab world and some fairly scary demon­stra­tions here in the west.

Now there are some that might draw some con­clu­sions over these unre­lated events, sug­gest­ing that god didn’t like how the Mus­lim world was react­ing to these draw­ings by send­ing them a fairly clear mes­sage in the form of a ship­ping disaster.

But not me. I would never sug­gest such a thing.

Why?

Because I reject the con­cept of god. Because god, if he did exist, prob­a­bly would have a sense of humour. If you don’t believe me, just look at your­self naked in the mir­ror sometime.

If there was a god, he wouldn’t get angry about car­toons. He wouldn’t sink a ferry either.

I think we’ll dis­cover some­where along the line that a human error of some sort caused that ferry to go down.

Any­way, if there is going to be an all-seeing, all-knowing, all pow­er­ful god, I’d nom­i­nate myself in the role. I’d be a great god, you’d all learn to love me!

So don’t be sur­prised when peo­ple far cra­zier than me start mak­ing this con­nec­tion between the car­toons and the ferry. They will and yes, Pat Robert­son, I’m glanc­ing in your direction!