Thread for documenting ideas while in an altered state of mind

[Daddy]

Think of highdeas except not fake.

Are you high? Drunk? Wired? Psychotic?  Share the awesome thoughts entering your head while you are in that mode.


This thread is a result of my drunked mode.  Not drunk enough to be bad at typing yet. 

Once I was blunted off mad dank shet and I had the epiphany which revealed unto me that Facebook is just a Pokedex for people.

[snoorkel]

my old mephedrone posts :'(

[??????]

one time i was depressed and thought everyone was a fractal and that their pasts didn't really mattered because it was shifted and morphed by their own emotions and perspective so they had no real past and they certainly don't have a real future and i became very sad that i fell in love with someone i could never know and yet that's how almost all relationships are and i guess i have to stop wanting to persue something that's finite and embrace the ever-changing infinite pattern of the psyche even my own (this is so hard instead of looking at it in a bright, cheerful manner i feel like looking in a swirling abyss)

then i started to ponder what the hell i liked about them and other ~mysterious questions~
do i like their combination of biology and social influence that gave birth to a unique person for a short amount of time?
once love has fallen out of favor, is commitment the only thing that stands? (this always seemed pretty cold to me)
how much social influence dominates the individual? what if they just vomit out shit that they learned throughout youth? what if they're just a ghost in a machine?

also i kept feeling amazed how one encounter physically alters the brain and i'll contaminate their nerual circuitry until they're dead 


last night i kept flickering between severe depression and estatic joy
i got sad because my boifrand had lovers in the past (stupid insercurity thing)
but it's not because i got jealous, it's because i felt bad for all those people when he'd get sexually excited with me
all their memories get instantly masked by new, warm emotions--emotions coming from people they never met or knew
it was like i was invading his mental territory and eating subtly eating his memories and replacing them with new ones coming from me like a cuckoo baby bird and knocking out all the other memories that they just become an "oh yeah, that was fun lol"

maybe i place too much emotion on sexuality

oooh my god there are other thoughts but i can't remember them now
they're all so related to exisitantial-esque things
LOL TEENAGED ANGST

[piano moths]

I'm high and I am thinking about my best friend even when I'm not thinking about my best friend

[snoorkel]

When you rotate the Flower of Life[spoiler][/spoiler[/url]]

through three dimensions, it looks like this:

[img]http://img22.imageshack.us/img22/4869/movmetatron.gif[/img]

[Boogus Epirus Aurelius]

If I had a gun I would walk down the street and pop out every single one of those orange sodium arc lamps and replace them with some pseudo-mock-gas-fed-flame lamps like they have in all of the period Victorian movies. I hate how those things look with that sludgy orange light.

[Socks]

my old mephedrone posts

you and me both man.

[Socks]

I realize that there is nothing but myself stopping me from killing. From murder and from swerving and ramming someone in a high speed head on. It would be unexpected, it would be violent, it would be artistic, symbolic and highly elegant, and yet, carnage, it seems like a dream. The act is so simple. I move my fingers to the right the slightest and most measured amount, and plow directly into another vehicle. I would accelerate and continue to crush the sucker until I could not anymore. There would be no explanation for it. Experience requires no such excuse. There is plenty of reasons. I have been tempted many times before, I have seen it play out in my head and replay and often the scenes change and the details shift, circumstances are added, new elements are noted. I love the rush of fatal possibility, the fine edge between control and disaster, between existence and nothing, the inescapable danger, the thrill of magnitude, the beautiful harmony of steal and man united in one cause and flawlessly gliding on hard concrete on top thousands of pounds of metal. Guided by the conscious. And the potential for disaster to coccus with one slight mishap, one miscalculation, one little mistake, intentional or not, is fantastic. I revel in the glory of imagination, twisted it may be. To the poet, and to the simple man, they are not something to fear, but to revere.

[YPrrrr]

I think there is definitely something to fear when a person in an altered mindset thinks well of such action whilst sober

[Boogus Epirus Aurelius]

I think there is definitely something to fear when a person in an altered mindset thinks well of such action whilst sober

Ignoring the idea of killing someone as an act of romanticism, you can't ignore the fact that when you're driving, you're only a twitch of your hand away from being dead. That's something to definitely consider.

[silvertone]

How do people not get overwhelmed + wierded out by the absurdity of driving cars around.

[Boogus Epirus Aurelius]

How do people not get overwhelmed + wierded out by the absurdity of driving cars around.

A few weeks ago I was driving and the sun was setting behind the trees and it was hazy and you could look right and I was blown away by it  and all of a sudden I realized, I'm driving, and I drove home, business as usual.

[YPrrrr]

Ignoring the idea of killing someone as an act of romanticism, you can't ignore the fact that when you're driving, you're only a twitch of your hand away from being dead. That's something to definitely consider.

This is true, but if you fantasize about it you should probably seek counselling

[snoorkel]

I realize that there is nothing but myself stopping me from killing. From murder and from swerving and ramming someone in a high speed head on. It would be unexpected, it would be violent, it would be artistic, symbolic and highly elegant, and yet, carnage, it seems like a dream. The act is so simple. I move my fingers to the right the slightest and most measured amount, and plow directly into another vehicle. I would accelerate and continue to crush the sucker until I could not anymore. There would be no explanation for it. Experience requires no such excuse. There is plenty of reasons. I have been tempted many times before, I have seen it play out in my head and replay and often the scenes change and the details shift, circumstances are added, new elements are noted. I love the rush of fatal possibility, the fine edge between control and disaster, between existence and nothing, the inescapable danger, the thrill of magnitude, the beautiful harmony of steal and man united in one cause and flawlessly gliding on hard concrete on top thousands of pounds of metal. Guided by the conscious. And the potential for disaster to coccus with one slight mishap, one miscalculation, one little mistake, intentional or not, is fantastic. I revel in the glory of imagination, twisted it may be. To the poet, and to the simple man, they are not something to fear, but to revere.

this is existentialism and existentialism is stuck in the past.

[Boogus Epirus Aurelius]

this is existentialism and existentialism is stuck in the past.

You're living in the past man! You're hung up on some clown from the Sixties Man!