Laughter Is Far More Than Mere Medicine

On December 20, 2015December 19, 2015 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

J.T. Hilltop

It’s a running joke. No, I’m not talking about the potential candidates running for president constantly flaunting of their assholiness, what I mean is laughter being the best medicine. Although I must admit some of the ranting of those running for president are far more ridiculous than any slapstick routines I’ve seen. The bottom-line is more than just a venue in Greenwich Village with popular acts, the bottom line is that the most creative, concise, profound, and just plain sensible information about life, love, and politics have come by way of brilliant comedians.

It started with Lenny Bruce, although admittedly I’m too young to have seen his act live I certainly have learned much about censorship and abuse of power from Lenny. But the first comedian who really made sense as well as developing my sense of humor was a big fan and learned much of his craft from Mr. Bruce. George Carlin. From the Hippy Dippy weatherman to the brightest funnyman who ever shed light on social and political issues in a way in which we could all understand. George Carlin not only made me laugh, yes out loud long before lol was a thing, but he also helped put so much more into perspective in a way which I personally could relate to. George helped me to understand my nagging sense of spiritual emptiness as well as my frustration with authority figures, ie Washington DC. Through his brilliant use of comedic perspective George Carlin shed an enlightening perspective and helped me to sort out my life issues with a hint of sarcasm and a ton of laughter. Thank you for the medicine George, much of what you said still rings true in so many hearts.

When George passed away a deep chasm of a void needed filling. His humor was so sustainable because unlike many jokers who tell the same jokes in different ways (sort of like reporters asking a set of questions that sound eerily similar to the first one they asked) his humor had evolved. But the void remained, thankfully to be filled in from an alien from outer space, Mork from Ork. Robin Williams was the next comedian to enter my little world with a handful of laughter medicine. Different from George but equally as talented and funny. Robin taught me that living my life in an improv format was okay as long as I kept my perspectives. The main difference for me was that Robin was equally adept at playing dramatic roles, but none the less his humor not only comforted me but it also helped to validate the social and political issues I had developed from following Mr. Carlin. The recent tragedy of losing Robin hit hard on a number of levels not the least of which was his ability to rise above his inner demons for as long as he did through the use of laughter.

With Robin gone another huge void had been created. The next laugh man I latched onto for medicinal joking was Jon Stewart. Jon had transcended social issues to a completely new level, delving ever deeper into politics and the disgusting hypocrisy and corruption while brining it to light in a serious way via his brilliant comedic outlook on life. As a note of accomplisment Jon Stewart was incredibly significant in the passing of the 911 first responders bill to make sure they have medical coverage. It absolutely astounds me that a single person on Capitol Hill needed to be shamed into voting for the heroes that answered the call on the darkest days our country has see3n in modern history but then again, congress are humorless jokes. Jon went up and down the corridors of the building with some responders having to shame them into agreeing to even put the bill to a vote which only strengthens my position that comedians should have more influence on social and political issues. I compare Jon to Johnny Carson on two levels. One I remember my father, despite leaving early for work in the morning never missing The Tonight Show and laughing so loud it often woke me up. I would later learn that Johnny Carson was dishing out the daily social news stories with his own brand of humor. But more than that, Jon Stewart like John Carson before him kick started the careers of many a comedian, the most notable in Jon’s case Steven Cobare, or more pretentiously, Cobert pronounced Cobare. Using incredible wit combined with profound wisdom, both of these jokers are able to place today’s issues in an understandable if not always humorous way.

There have been other laugh makers that helped shape the social and political landscapes, Monty Python, Prime Time Players, Second City among others. All have helped us to not only make sense of a complicated world, but to be able to laugh at the same time. It’s ridiculously hard to remain sad or angry while we’re laughing. That’s why I stand by the statement laughter is the best medicine. I will however admit, that some substances make the laughter even funnier, but these are humor additives not humor itself even if they sometimes make us laugh without understanding why we are laughing.

In conclusion, in a recent election in Brazil an actual clown, not clown in the sense of those running for president in the US, Tiririca, was elected to Brazilian Congress. Notably he too is a Republican but perhaps its not the same in Brazil as it is here. In summation, maybe it’s time we form an independent political party and load it up with doctors of comedy who can administer the medicine we all need these day, laughter….

PEACE

The War On Christmas Is Supposed To Start On A Friday

On November 22, 2015November 26, 2015 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn Uncategorized1 Comment

J.T. Hilltop

Despite commercial attempts at decking the halls the day after Halloween the holiday of Christmas is under siege again. Perhaps I shouldn’t call it the holiday of Christmas or I may be accused of being indoctrinated into the war and I am after all a pacifist. But it’s war that has already begun, a bit too early as everything seems to these days. The 2015 War On Christmas. This year the first battle lines were drawn very early and quite decisively with the shot of espresso heard round the world when a plain red cup surreptitiously entered the holiday fray with a social media bang! Excluding snowmen, snowflakes or other such holiday emblems was a clear violation of Geneva Holiday laws not to mention a huge slap in the face to Parson Brown in the meadow who‘s face it was rumored to be the snowman on last years cups. Be that as it may the red cups of coffee have declared war on Christmas on a Tuesday! History dictates the annual war on Christmas is always declared on a Friday. The Friday after Thanksgiving to be more accurate, a day of non denominational salebrations. Rumors of its beginnings in Central America are without merit as is evidenced in the spelling of the rumored cry in and around the Isthmus of Panama, “It’s time to keep the Isthmus in Christmas” So how did the Christmas Wars begin? Did some puppet regime take Christ out of Christmas? Maybe some green monster ripped off all of the Whoville presents under the Christmas/Holiday tree. Or was it far more devious a plot to inject commercialism into Christmas. Let’s let History be the judge..

It was a cold and breezy day with wind gusts that snickered sarcastically at all the revelers waiting on the eternally long lines. The aggressors had left the comfort of their turkey dinner to cash in on the huge sales. Like the proverbial (not from the book of proverbs) carrot before the horse a promise dangles motivating the troops into leaving behind the safety and love of family to trot happily towards the big screen TV’s advertised all week. Time was ticking down inside the stores as the front lines, the frightened first line of defense prepared for the invasion by making final checks on the store shelves and cashier stations. The manager bellowed out a warning, “Five minutes to opening!” Those four simple words sent shivers across the entire group of employees working this evening. Most if not all had left a traditional gathering of their tribal units to save their low paying jobs which would surly be in jeopardy had they not accepted the challenge of the upper management, to be working on Thanksgiving eve. But a far sinister force had already altered their destinies as they laid out their plan.

General and CEO Grinch surveyed his troops via a closed circuit television inside his very upscale warm and safe abode. His voice reverberated over the expensive audio system, “There is a day of celebration that the little people call “Thanksgiving”. The mass of sales hungry insignificant sheep claim it’s a day of unity in which they offer thanks to all they believe to have given them. Nothing is given to anyone, you have to work for it. Ladies and Gentleman the mindless followers about to invade our store maintain that this holiday is without any religious requirements but you and I both know that is a lie. All they want is to have the best and most presents under their religious tree’s and its up to us not to disappoint. We will prey on their faith in the brotherhood of savings. It is a day in which they wine and dine themselves into a state of numbness after consuming alcohol and tryptophan while watching a brutal display of small armies fighting over the real estate of what they refer to as a “football field”. This only enhances enough testosterone from both male and female viewers to whip them into a feeding frenzy for us, the corporate armies of America. We will tantalize them with the promise of huge sales and insane savings which is the force that drives our enemies, the believers in Christmas presents. We shall put everything in red and green and decorate all the halls from here to Montezuma with festive holiday greetings, bells, holly, and wreaths while calling them holiday decorations which will divide the army. Divide and conquer people! While they bicker and feud between the proper greeting to use we can convert that ridiculous energy into a desire to save. A perfect deception causing them to spend far more than anticipated in a misguided attempt to make this the best Christmas or eh, holiday ever. So be ready, today the war on Christmas will commence on this day of November 27^th, Black Friday, a day that will live on in infamy.”

Black Friday. That’s how history will retell this tragic day. Technically the corporate armies have pushed back the beginning to Thursday nights, the actual day called Thanksgiving but history will remember it as Black Friday. It will be a brutal battle in which patrons will stampeded, push, punch, and bite each other over sales regardless of their religion. In the name of Christmas sales the Christian soldiers would be licking and nursing their multiple wounds suffered during the mêlée of Christmas sales surreptitiously projected as “Holiday Sales” designed to include non Christians into the time of sharing and giving which will surely infuriate the soldiers of Christianity while lining the pockets of the corporate soldiers of fortune. Many a front line sale hunting warrior has met defeat while screaming “I don’t care what you Say, its Merry Christmas, not Happy Holidays before being trampled by sale hungry enthusiasts who care nothing about anything that does not relate to at least 50% off.

Oh sure, others have already waged the war of words on television blaming mainstream media for only reporting on the acts of kindness that need no religious declarations and ignoring the fact that the holiday is the sole possession of just one religion in particular. Tragically it matters not when you take into account it’s not a crime federal or even a misdemeanor to use either Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays as a friendly greeting of choice. To the soldiers poised for hours in front of a store to capitalize, yes that’s right, capitalize as in Capitalism, to beat their once loved neighbor into submission in the name of the final flat screen TV‘s all the niceties can commence at a more convenient time. Any cheek turning during sale battles will get a kicking tonight. Move the fuck over you pagan scum, there is a Christmas sale on! Fuck you you elitist piece of shit, it’s a goddamm holiday sale you moronic nincompoop. Who’s to say? A Chanukah sale? Kwanza spectacular? Christmas present special? Do the sales pertain to Agnostics or Atheists? Or is it exclusively a Christmas sale? Nay say the corporate gods, it’s a holiday sale. And why not? We accept monetary denominations from all denominations.

From a strictly nostalgic point of view a dark day was upon us. A one time spectacular day when the family together watched Macy‘s Parade, March Of The Wooden Soldiers, and the traditional football game while the home filled up on the wafting aroma of roasting turkey flesh had been changed forever. A day in which Dad, the head of the household stood poised with a large carving knife prepared to slice up the treasure, the huge turkey carcass on the only day of the entire year that was a day in which we all called peace on all worlds to merely express gratitude and celebrate family. It has forever been misconstrued to a day when children leave the serenity of a happy nested family dinner immediately after pie for a full contact no holds barred live global conflict of penny pinching uncaring attitudes to find the best sale at the cost of harming if necessary even an elderly grandmother. And why not if she attempted to outwit one in an either holiday or Christmas sale. Sanity broke down and the war on Christmas would escalate the very next Monday, cyber Monday!

Those reading this in the future may find this laughable, an actual war on Christmas which was a single day when it first began, but they would be ill informed not to understand how derisive a simple greeting had become. “I’m unarmed, I come in peace” may seem so common sense it couldn’t possibly have not existed forever, (No you sales nuts, not Forever 21) but there was a time when some asshole Americans actually fought a war over using the greeting Happy Holidays or Merry Christmas. It was a deep philosophical rift, with one side insisting that to say Merry Christmas offended their very existence while others insisted that unless everyone said Merry Christmas it was somehow an insult to an entire religion. If only their Gods, their Jesuses, their prophets (not profits), and Santa Clauses had had the chance to admonish them all for their foolishness we may have been able to get through a holiday (yes that’s right, Christmas is a day, Holidays are group of days in which goodwill used to be the main component) season without hating. But then again, maybe that’s what religion means to some of us, not love one another but to show our hatred to anyone not like us. There are many accounts of people so small they needed to put others down to escalate themselves to match the splendor of their twisted ego‘s. It seem that just like being a Vegan, everyone who insists that it can only be Merry Christmas or Happy Holidays seem to have a driving need to let everyone else in the world know that “I don’t care, I say Merry Christmas, not Happy Holidays” or vice versus. Go ahead say whatever, give me a greeting filled with love not words or terms. I’m happy to get any kind of a kind greeting, even a simple Whats up Dude, just don’t laud your choice over me like it somehow makes you superior. It doesn’t. Spread love not anger, and have a great friggen holiday no matter who or what you are…… Love, Peace, and more Love………

DIVIDED HOME

On November 12, 2015 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn Uncategorized4 Comments

My mom always hoped I’d make something of myself and had her “list of idea’s” of what I could be. I doubt being an inmate at Rikers Island was even on the list yet it was a remarkably easy goal to achieve. Sorry Mom. But anyway I’m a product of my old boy, my Dad, a working class martini drinking, advice giving, home owner with a white picket fence and a two car garage used for storage. Most families had 2.5 kids which, if my algebra and biology lessons are correct is actually impossible, but my old man bucked the odds by having six kids all of which it turned out were boys. The starting lineup for a hockey team if we could skate. However, I would never make it in any sport. I guess you could say I’m the typical suburban failure. I was the youngest off those boys and my destiny was laid out at birth. I was mom and dads last hope at having a daughter so I came out of my womb a prepaid disappointment. An unwanted middle class kid in a town built on the hopes of a generation that survived World Wars and the great depression and were required to remind us about that at every opportunity. They fled the concrete jungles for a promise of a utopian society. Suburbia, the enchanted land just outside the reach of urban decay my parents grew up in where they could dream of an ideal future. They dreamed of having a girl and I totally fucked up their dream.

I didn’t have to be a constant source of disappointment if they just let me be who I was from the beginning. I’m a cook at a restaurant and love it which the folks could never understand. I did far better in school than my dumb ass older brothers so mom decided I would be a doctor or a lawyer. Dad wanted me to be a football star because I played with the older kids on account of my brothers but I hated sports. Maybe I hated them on purpose to further add to pops disillusionments for me but I would never attain any of the goals they set for me. I wanted to be a romantic, a poet, maybe an actor, or even just a chef. But I fell in with a crowd of buddies who only wanted to be rebel outlaw bikers so all the hopes and dreams mommy and daddy had for me went floating down the sewer system on two wheels where rats are king. That’s me, King Rat, the badass boy from Levittown. I earned my street stripes from shoplifting at the mall, smoking cigarettes and drinking beer, and being ready to rumble at the drop of a hat. Ready to fight over just about anything, even making up reasons to kick some ass. If you looked up teenage angst in the dictionary you’d find a picture of me and my crew. Suburban heroes, rebels without causes. But in truth we were suburban hoods, wannabes, not bona fide outlaws, just angry young teens looking to make sense of this so called utopian land that treated us so unfair. The suburbs, the new frontier of the fifties. Land of conformity. So all I can say is why me? Why the fuck am I sitting in a cell at Rikers Island feeling sorry for myself just because I grew up in a divided home?

Let me clear that up a bit, when I say divided home I don’t mean my parents split up, no no no. They had a fine marriage, but we had little money and one shitty loaf of bread and a pound of bologna had to be divided up between six kids and two parents. Yea, Pops wasn’t the thickest branch on his family tree, probably because he spent more time screwing mom and having kids than climbing any corporate ladders, so he only brought home enough bacon for a family of four that Moms had to stretch for a family of eight. So with Dad’s mediocre salary and a bunch of hungry kids we had to divide absolutely everything. There was never any seconds at dinner, sometimes I didn’t even get firsts. Being the youngest of six overactive boys I was at the bottom of the food chain. The wildebeest of the dinner table hoping to have enough time to graze a few morsels before the stampede. That’s how shit got divided. I ate dinner in like five minutes, wolfing it down before any of the older wolves finished and started to pick from my plate. We weren’t poor, just divided. I lived in a room divided by imaginary boundary lines set up by three older brothers, leaving me trapped in the crappiest real estate of a four bed suite the same size as a normal kids single room. Maybe that helped me cope with my current situation of sharing tight quarters with three other guys. Or maybe Mom and Dad were preparing me for my destiny but that’s what I mean by divided family.

Doesn’t matter, you play the hand your dealt and make the best of it. I was dealt the lowest card on the totem pole so I did whatever I had to do to get noticed, to be heard over the raging hormones of my big brothers. Johnny was the oldest so he got the benefit of being first in line. The newest clothes, the biggest dinner portions, and a monopoly on Dads time. Brian, or Legs was the next in line, the tall athletic son who used up whatever pride Pops had leftover from Johnny because he played sports. Jimmy, Bob, and Danny shared the middle child status where they existed in relative obscurity and devoted much of their time to teasing me or kicking my ass just for kicks. And holy shit could they kick! They happily and democratically divided that chore up pretty evenly. And then at the end of the line, at the bottom of the barrel came me, a virtual omnipresent bruise. Apparently when I was born the umbilical cord wrapped around my neck so I came out of the womb all blue. It earned me the envious nickname “Blueboy” which everyone called me for so long I’m not sure if anyone remembered my real name, Thomas. But that’s me with a nickname that stuck like Beaver Cleaver. Blueboy O’Brian, destined to a life of crime for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just glad they didn’t call me O’Blueboy.

Levittown wasn’t a particularly tough town as far as suburban towns go, but it was a town where appearance was everything. Parents spent more money on giving the appearance of being well off than they did feeding or clothing their kids. Like half the kids around town we starved so the family could drive around in a new big Chrysler and dress in high suburb fashion. Us angry teens on the other hand didn’t give a shit about looking rich we only cared about how tough we were, like the street gangs of the big city. Another disadvantage for me, Blueboy was not the toughest nickname around but what could I do, it has always stuck. One benefit was having a nickname, because everyone who was anyone had a nickname. My best friends were Red, Snots, and Digger. Red with a full head of bright orange curls, Snots with his ever runny nose, and Digger, the braniac who tried top dig a whole in his back yard all the way to China so he could run away. When I really think about it none of them that much better than Blueboy, but no matter, we were who we were and we were four young lads with tough ass nicknames preparing for an island adventure. Rikers Island.

We started out our lives of crime on a small scale, just selling a little weed here and there and reselling some stolen items from the mall. But we were hungry for more. Digger had a BB gun and Red had an idea. We planned to rob a Dairy Barn Store in Bayside Queens. It sounded brilliant, Dairy Barns were isolated drive up stores that sold basically dairy items, but you could also buy cigarettes, soda’s, just about anything you might find at a 7/11 store. We would drive up in Slots Rambler and Red would hold the BB gun on the dude inside the store. Me and Digger would run into the store and grab anything we could sell while the unsuspecting cashier would relieve the cash register of its contents into a bag and casually hand it to Red. I sensed trouble right at the start. The Cashier looked at Red and said, “That ain’t nothing but a damn BB gun boy.” Red was quick on his feet, “Oh yea? You want I should shoot out one of your eyes with this high powered BB gun? Why don’t you just shut the fuck up and put the money from the cash register in a bag there and hand it over.” The cashier didn’t look very impressed as he pointed to a sign that said “Store under surveillance” about the same time Slott’s Rambler stalled out. I tripped as I entered the store and Digger fell on top of me. “There’s a camera right here you assholes. Who the fuck thinks robbing a Dairy Barn is a smart idea? You assholes are going down.”

Slotts tried in vain to get his car running, Digger and I scrambled to our feet and the dark of evening soon became drenched in flashing red and blue lighting. About that time I thought I probably shouldn’t have brought the bag of weed with me while committing a crime. “Put your weapon down and your hands up!” Red dropped the BB gun to the ground, Digger peed his pants, and Slotts finally got his car started and in a panic hit the accelerator while putting it in drive slamming into the fence four feet in front of him. We would eventually be tagged as “The gang that couldn’t drive straight” by the local newspapers but for now we just learned a few new legal terms. Intent, transference, and armed robbery

So anyway, that’s how I landed this all expense paid trip to the Island to include housing. I have three roommates. They look mean and nasty but I think they’re all nice guys deep down. Theres Shredder here who I assume works in an office, and Knuckles, who I’m a bit unsure of. The real big guy over there calls himself “Hammer” and he calls me Blue Balls instead of Blueboy which he thinks is hilarious. Tell you the truth I don’t really mind that…..”YO BLUE BALLS. GET ON OVER HERE ITS HAMMER TIME!”…oh, gotta go, that’s Hammer now. My culinary knowledge and training suggests he wants me to teach him how to make pie crust. Why else would he have brought such a large jar of Crisco with him? Until next time guys, peace out.

Blueboy O’Brian

Perspective (An experiment in freestyle autobiographic redundancy)

On October 26, 2015 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

A turtle is a lizard with a Winnebago on its back traveling the world like a gypsy stuck in slow motion

To an alligator an armadillo is merely an escargot on the half shell

To a lobster a shipwreck is an all you can eat buffet

Giraffes aren’t humble because it takes all day to swallow their pride

Why isn’t a chicken too chicken to cross the road

Thoughts like these rob me of sleep because of one thing

Perspective

Perspective is the way I view my world

My unstable thoughts may not impress

But my words are just a format

So I use them to express

The perspective of mind that’s not quite right

That’s why I write

Is poetry or is it prose

Or just gibberish

Who knows

Is it born of consternation

Making you tremble with trepidation

Or is it all just bullshit

Insanity going through gestation

Shit here he goes again breaking with tradition

No more rhyming no more rhythm this here is beat generation freestyle crap

The speed of dark seems faster than light when the fire goes out

Universal clout

Lightning is just a highly charged game of cosmic whack a mole

Thunder is the growling of a black holes stomach

How often does the periodic table come around anyway

Does the fortune teller see the future or just see your past in reverse

Why oh why do these ridiculous thoughts only come around when I’m trying to sleep

Ya know what kind of shit keeps my eyes open at night

Perspective

I take up space

I have the time

To write a poem

Does it have to rhyme

Sometimes they don’t

Sometimes they do

I don’t really care

Do you

Anyway its my perspective and I’ll cry if I want to

You would cry too if these thoughts were haunting you

Whether late at night or early in the morn

Perspective drives me crazy

Or is that just my norm

Here he goes again

Going off the rails on an Ozzie train of thought

Will this segment rhyme this time or will it be for naught

Some of us have known all along that we differ from the crowd

Some of us are brave enough to write it all out loud

Its what we do

The five steps of therapeutic grief as a way for us to fit in

We drink in de Nile

Angrily fight in our minds

Bargain with the voices

Cry when they win

Then give up trying to be sane and accept we’re not to blame

Its just a game

Acceptance is all we want anyway

Don’t judge us and we won’t judge you

Keep in mind there is power in numbers and we have secret warriors

You don’t want to mess around with those voices in our heads

So don’t try to burn down our forests or you will feel our wrath

Only you can prevent forest fires

We look at the world through our own prisms of one thing

Our Perspective

Accept it

The Day I Met Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds

On October 18, 2015October 16, 2015 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn Uncategorized11 Comments

Life in 1966 was so damn Norman Rockwell I feared the entire year would be featured in The Saturday Evening Post. But ‘67 arrived and the cold winter ushered in an ugly escalation in the Vietnam war combined with continued civil rights issues including segregation and more riots. Thankfully ‘67 also ushered in the Summer of Love, a glimmer of hope for humankind through the youthful exuberance of believing life can be great. A time of free love, free thought, and free minds. The long hair freaky hippies had taken hold in Haight-Ashbury and The Greenwich Village scene offered up drugs sex and rock and roll to all who dared to try. Dangling candy in front of so many impressionable naïve children. And I had one Helluva sweet tooth.

Having already been introduced to hops and malts and ready something more the promise of mind altering alternatives sounded far too attractive to pass up. “Here man, smoke this. It won’t make your stomach all bloated, no puking in the woods, no head spinning frenzy. Just a nice calm mellow high.” Why not? After all, its all natural. Hey if God didn’t want us smoking the stuff why did he grow it? Funny I thought about God because I would later find out that the summer of love would end my nagging sense of spiritual emptiness. It would fill needs I hadn’t even realized existed. It would also be the summer I met Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.

There was a lot of great things about growing up on Long Island but perhaps one of the best and certainly the most game changing was the fact that we could scrape together a few bucks and take the train into New York City. It opened up a whole new world free of judgments where we were actually encouraged to let our “Freak Flags” fly. Turn on and tune in. Timothy Leary, Ken Kesey, Stanly Owsley, and The Grateful Dead. They took over the roles formerly held by Roy Rodgers, Ward Clever, and the Kingston Trio. From Captain Kangaroo to Captain Trips at the roll of a joint. “Hey little man, you think that pot is making you feel good, get ready to grow up and go on a real trip. Just put this little dot on your tongue and let it melt your mind.” Mmm-mmm good!

My first venture into the drug netherworld was in Washington Square Park. What a cool place, jam packed with hippies singing songs, doing some sort of floaty dances, or just hanging out and smiling. A lot of smiling. My big brother had gotten us tickets for us to a place called the Bottom Line to see some dude named John Mayall. At the time I didn‘t know much about him other than hearing my brothers bluesy records by The USA Union and The Bluesbreakers. He also bought a tab of LSD for me to try. Even if I thought it was a bad idea, which I didn’t, I would have had to trip just to save face. We were with his three best friends who would be merciless when we got home if I wimped out. But I wasn’t bullied into taking it, I took it willingly. I wanted to see for myself what all the hype about mind bending sugar cubes the hippies were tripping out on. Didn’t realize I would be on a crazy ride without a seatbelt.

The park was a trip in itself. While I waited for the tab to kick in we wandered through the paths. A couple of dudes singing around a few guitar playing longhaired dudes with smiles glued to their faces. Not singing like Cumbaya, more like some folkie shit, some Dylan guy or something. Street actors, comedians, and plain flat out weirdo’s roamed the paths of the park and after about forty five minutes I broke out laughing. “What’s so funny little brother?” What’s so funny? How the hell did I know? What just because I saw some guy walk by carrying his head in his hands? Because the head was laughing even though it wasn’t attached? Well…..yea, so I laughed too. How am I gonna explain that, anyway? Some dude is walking around inside a Dali painting? Besides, when I looked back at the guy he was normal again “Fucking everything man. That dude over there just dropped his head on the ground and the fucking thing bounced back up. That’s what‘s funny!” The four of us started laughing with nary a one of us knowing why. Didn’t matter, the LSD runway was clear and we had taken off. Humor would be the fuel that drove our trip ship.

We walked around with what felt like surgically implanted smiles on our faces, so intense were those near creepy smiles that the next day my smiling cheek muscles would ache all day long. We laughed and watched. Peoples faces began melting, tree’s bent over to kiss the horizon and the blowing leaves made weird shapes that took to breathing. It was hard to walk because the ground kept moving. I was watching and laughing when suddenly I felt a hand of on my ass. A tiny little palm giving it a light squeeze. I cocked my head slightly not wanting to seem obvious which must have looked really obvious, but what I saw sent a rush of adrenaline from my toes upward stopping at the groin for a few teasing seconds. The hand belonged to a five foot two smiling young lass about three or four years my senior. That may not seem like very much older now but when your thirteen going on fourteen its an entire era. The amount of cred you got being with a sixteen year old at that age is astronomical. She had very long tightly curled jet black hair and was wearing a sort of gypsy dress. A flood of emotions fluttered through my body, passion, lust, sexual tension and awkward nervousness highlighted by the nagging sense that one false statement or move will reveal my junior status and negate all of those other electric plugged in and turned on sensations. She giggled softly so I looked her right in the eyes, smiled back and whispered into her ear something along the lines of “Gliddy gloop glooppy, nibba nappy noopie la la la low low” Startled she stopped in her tracks, looked up at me for four seconds before breaking out into an uncontrollable laughing jag. At first I was embarrassed, then slightly angered, until I suddenly realized she was tripping too and laughing with me not at me. An instant friendship was born. We were sharing the same bizarre plane in some alternate universe and frankly I forgot about my brother and his friends. I talked to her excitedly about the book “Siddhartha” and she shared the name of a new prophet named Carlos Castaneda. She opened my eyes by opening my mind and over the next year I would study a variety of spiritual alternatives. It was just tangerine trees, marmalade skies, me and the girl with kaleidoscope eyes.

Her name wasn’t really Lucy of course, and the Lucy in the Sky was more reference to LSD than anything else but suffice to say both Lucy’s and I had one of the most unforgettable evenings of our lives. Or at least I did. I gave away my ticket and told my brother I would meet him later. Lucy and I found ourselves laughing and crying and in some compromising positions. And smiling. A Lot of smiling. I called her Moss because we rolled around…..I called her Moss and that’s the name I’ll remember her by. It was a once in a lifetime meeting, a two ships in the night beautiful moment meant to share and enjoy before releasing the moment and returning to our previously scheduled lives. I had cancelled my subscription to Saturday Evening Post and graduated to Rolling Stone that night thanks to Moss. I mumbled something stupid like can I see you again but Moss had no intention of remaining in contact, she was just a traveler in time and space, another fucked up teen trying to make sense of a turbulent and confusion world. But I gotta admit, every once in a while I think about the night I met Moss and wonder, for a brief moment, what ever became of Lucy In The Sky.

Original Thought, The Prophet II (A Shady Sequel)

On October 4, 2015October 1, 2015 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

What? Another sequel? Sequels are never as good as the original. Then again what the Hell is ever as good as the original? But wait, is it original? Now there’s a thought. But is it an original thought? Some say there is no such thing as original thought because someone somewhere has more than likely had that same thought before. Come to think about it I think I heard that somewhere before. In a way I guess that’s true of course, Tommy Edison gets credit for the light bulb but others claim it was discovered either simultaneously or perhaps even slightly before by someone else. Either way that light bulb has not only spawned generations of ideas it has become the icon of an idea itself. Why one just went off in a thought cloud above my head. But was it original?

Scientists (or is it romantics?) tell us no two snowflakes are exactly alike but I personally find that impossible to believe. What possible kind of study could possibly encompass every snowflake ever? The friggen things melt before ever being checked and logged into the snowflake database. Or is it a snowflake genetic information storage cloud or frozen genome, its so hard to keep track of all this damn information! Some icy flakes haven’t even been created yet so it’s a bit premature to say no two snowflakes are alike. All things considered I’m confidant at least two of those snowflakes in that Alaskan snow drift must be clones. So I will attempt to put original thought into my warped and frivolous snowflake perspective by doing what any original artist would do. I’ll steal it. Or borrow it at least, so this perspective is brought to you in original conceptual form inspired (and ripped off) of a book by the brilliant Lebanese laureate Kahlil Gibran. The Prophet.

The Un-original But Still New Prophet

And then a musician came to him and said “speak to us of music, how is our music not original?” And he answered “Music invades our sensory organs through repetitive and sometimes annoying arrangements of sound. Because we have only 12 notes in every octave it is extremely difficult to create a melody that hasn’t yet been played either in ones mind or on an instrument. Combine that with the fact most of us have been listening to music since our first lullaby and have no doubt watched enough television to have jingles burned deeply into our psyches that its impossible not to be influenced by tunes we have heard before when we create music. One could pick up a guitar to start playing something perhaps having just heard that “Nationwide is on your side” commercial and unconscientiously letting the tune drift into what one was translating from mind through the guitar strings. That’s not to say that you can’t make an original song, but it must have come to you from somewhere in your past listening.” It’s called inspiration. Perhaps artists should be wondering where they came up with an original before accusing others of stealing their originals. Music is meant to be shared, and if you want to call yourself a musician do so without believing you invented sound itself. (Disclaimer: I do not take legal responsibly if the Nationwide jingle is bouncing around in your head right now)

And then a poet came to him and said “speak to us of poetry, are not poets original?” And he answered, “Poetry is a way of painting words into feelings and emotions. Poets help us to see ourselves in their flowing word canvas. We are all born poets, it’s just that far too many of us forget that once we grow up and allow our creative thoughts to integrate with the clutter of day to day bullshit. Poets observe and report through the eyes of creative pureness. Poems range in style and can be crystal clear to some while totally indiscernible to others. It is meant to be felt and understood not analyzed. Poetry is an expression of the soul often written while at our most naked and vulnerable selves, when we express our innermost thoughts in words. In that respect it is original, but are not words merely combinations of letters? We have only 26 letters from which to choose our order yet somehow we manage to confuse the usage of English language. But their there they’re, everything will be fine. You poets are indeed original human beings with fragile ego’s so for the sake of avoiding another few years of therapy then yes, poetry is indeed original. But remember it’s the receiver of the poet’s message who perceives the originality not the poet.” It’s called inspiration.o

Next a shady Politian came forward and said to him “Speak to us of politics. Are not all of my political ideas original?” And after regaining his composure from sarcastic laughing the prophet answered, “Politics and political opinions are like unwashed armpits. If you stay at home with them you can handle the stench of your own opinion but if you venture out in public best to deodorize your opinions if you value friendships. Its impossible for one to have their own original political opinion because every controversy known to humanity has been discussed, re-discussed, and-over-discussed a million times without an answer. Whatever stance you choose to take has already been taken. In addition, millions and millions of dollars have been spent to tell you what your opinion on various political topics are either through subliminal ads or motivational scam artists disguised as news agents with television shows who’s sole purpose is to anger you into an opinion based strictly on your religion and/or political party of choice. That is not to say you can’t have an original non political opinion of your own but to do that you would need to research the subject through trustworthy methods of information, then sit alone with only your thoughts and think it through. Devoid of outside influences if you concentrate long enough it is indeed possible to arrive at an original conclusion, but it is extremely difficult with all the information super highways and abundance of social media outlet trolls prowling around in the hopes of forcing their opinion upon you. Otherwise we simply verbally regurgitate someone else’s spoken thoughts.” That would be inspiring. In my opinion of course.

Next a scientist came to the Prophet and asked, “Why is there religion when we have science? Is not The Origin Of The Species truly original? I mean it‘s right there in the title” The prophet shook his head. Every species contains originalities specific to that species but humans have an option between science and religion. Both religion and science serve a purpose for humanity. Science it the study of the world around us and religion is the study of ourselves. Science helps us to understand how and why things work but it can’t explain everything. It is based on testing and re-testing data to prove hypothesis and formulate conclusions. Religion attempts to help teach us about who we are, how we should treat one another, and to love all creatures great and small. Science is like a pesky mosquito to religion that becomes more and more difficult to swat. It‘s a clash of philosophies, ideology vrs. Cause and effect”

“The main problem religion faces in this context is most times it’s not a choice, more of a birthright. Often ones religion is determined by their parents or by nature of where they are born and they become defined by their rituals and beliefs. So religion is given, not original beliefs that spontaneously combust. (not counting Moses flaming bush) Religion is philosophical set of tenets based on faith not experimentations as does science. One must have faith that the religion they are following has all the correct answers, and the leaders of that religion who give those answers are interpreting the holy texts correctly. One Bible or Torah or Koran can be interpreted in many different ways which give us a massive variety of religions. We have used religion to explain the unexplainable since the dawn of time, assigning gods to nearly everything in nature. So it is useful in explaining the unexplainable and in teaching people how to act correctly as it applies to living together on earth when done correctly. If your religion includes science and instructs you on how to interact with the world then you are indeed lucky, and may possibly have found a true religion. If on the other hand you have become enlightened and reached a state of living that excludes the need for a conglomerate of teachings and beliefs you are even more lucky, because you can appreciate others beliefs while not allowing them to infect yours.” So religion is helpful in adjusting your soul and science is helpful if adjusting your knowledge. You must strike your own balance, but do us all a favor. Don’t attempt to force either upon the rest of us, let us all find our own way. Since the dawn of organized religion they have been perverted into excuses to create wars. If you take a scientific approach and analyze history as it applies to wars you will find just about every war has a religious contention at it’s core. You can’t kill your way to peace.”

And then a child came to him and asked “Well then Prophet, if musicians, poets, scientists, and theologians all contend they deal in originality and may perhaps be wrong then what exactly is original thought and how do we achieve it? Do we learn it in school?” The profit thought cautiously before he answered “Let us start with what’s not original thought. Original thought is not learned in a school or institution. Education is a great thing and though it may seem empowering it can’t give you original thought it can only prepare you for it . Many of the young hipsters of the day believe that being able to quote famous philosphers or scientists makes them appear smarter than others because they possess the power of original thought but it doesn’t. It only makes them seem arrogant and out of touch. Education only gives us the foundations to develop original thought. The very second we enter the world we are being shaped by those around us. So to begin with we need to discard all the distractions of life. In order to achieve original thought you must put down the books, turn off all your electronic devices, and reach deep inside the self and get in touch with your soul, for it is the soul that is the one true original. Get educated then be your own inspiration. An open mind will show some ignorance but a closed mind will show all of it.” Meditate on that….. PEACE

Vote For Me And I’ll Set You Free

On September 11, 2015September 10, 2015 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn Uncategorized1 Comment

Yea brothers and sisters, The Existential Baker is considering a run for the Whitehouse. I mean why not? I’m all about change and that’s pretty much what we all want isn’t it? We don’t need politicians, entertainers, or CEO’s to tell us the government is broken, we are all intelligent enough to figure that out ourselves. The government cracked the exact same time the Liberty Bell did but its become more of a huge rift than a crack. Look what’s going on today, people are cheering for what may very well become the first Insulter In Chief of the nation. They’re using messages of anger, hate, and name calling to incite us into making ridiculous decisions just because it will be a change. Do you want change only for the sake of change? Fuck it guys, I could be that change just as easily as a reality show host that is based on deception like all reality shows, a doctor, a CEO, or another same old same old Politian. The difference is I’ll be honest because I‘m not backed by any big business. Truth is, no big business in its right mind would give me a second look. One hell of good a credential when you really think about it.

I mean seriously, look at all the presidential contenders. They look, dress, and talk like they are already for their position in Disney’s Hall Of Presidents. Are you telling me the country couldn’t be run by a group of mellow headed people in tee shirts and sandals better than those dressed in the Wall Street Military uniforms of uniformity ? We’re nothing but votes to those freshly dry cleaned suit wearers, they couldn’t care less about our personal struggles unless we might make good sound bites in their State Of The Union addresses. They are all for alternative fuel while accepting campaign contributions from big oil companies. A candidate backed by war profiteers and tax shelter seeking billionaires. No taxing the rich, no giveaways to the poor, no relief for the “working class”. What is the working class anyway? Someone working a minimum wage job to feed their family is still a worker, just not in the same class as those a little better off. Trickle down economics trickles into the banks of the rich and then disappears. All that money spent on elections someone has to be owing someone else an awful lot of favors. But they will reward us by halting immigration. They have plans to stop immigration so long as their families and servants are already legal. They tell you what you want to hear, what you think the solution is and make you think it was their idea to begin with. They will pamper the religious masses just to kiss their asses and get their vote. Once elected they don’t care but I still will. Vote for me AND I’LL set you free!

Hey, heres some good news guys, they all want to make sure that healthcare insurance companies cover Viagra, but God forgive you if you use your savings to buy condoms, they won’t be covered. Neither will birth control pills ladies, put some cheap aspirin between your legs and deal with your hard man the way God intended. On your knee’s. Check it out, its in the bible somewhere. And if it isn’t they’ll find a scripture that can be bent just enough to in sinuate it. So they are happy to get your man hard for you but please don’t come to our healthcare plans for your “lady problems” like unwanted pregnancies or other “crazy women issues.” Just keep your man happy and hard and while your on your knees say a little prayer to God to apologize for being so……slu….Um, Forward.

So you ask why should you vote for me? Aren’t I one of those tree hugging liberal hippies? Your Goddamn right I’m a tree hugger! Those fucking tree’s give us oxygen, give homes to millions of species of birds and other animals, offer fruits and nuts for all to eat, and they go on and on through harsh winters, brutally dry summers, winds, rains, and whatever nature can throw at them and they still stand tall exuding life giving assistance for anything and everything. When the mighty tree’s do die, they take it on themselves to nourish Mother Earth herself. If that doesn’t deserve a hug I don’t know what does! Am I a tree hugger? Hell yes motherfuckers I am a tree hugger, the bigger question is are you, and if not, why not!

So that’s Why I am considering running for president, because I believe Americans deserve better than the crap choices being offered today. Choosing the lesser of two evils is still an evil. Don’t buy their horseshit phony plans of keeping us wealthy and secure, all they are selling is the illusion of wealth and security so we can go about our daily business comforted in the fact that we are safe. You know, like we hear every time violence strikes a community, that kind of thing just never happens here. Of course it does, it happens anywhere and everywhere. Violence has no geographic limitations and not a single one of them can guarantee our safety. Neither can I, but here’s the difference. I won’t lie to you and make you feel all warm and fuzzy, I’ll give it to you straight. Or gay, what difference does it make? Live and let live, stop telling other people how to live their lives. No red or blue states, united states. United! Like everyone get their shit together and worry about their own lives, mind their own business. We are all one single species, human beings. So if I do decide to run I’m asking you to vote for me not because it’s a change, or I’m not a Politian, but because if you vote for me I’ll set you free! Thanx Y’all Peace out!

In Praise Of Punnery

On August 28, 2015August 27, 2015 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn Uncategorized2 Comments

I just want to profess my love for one of humors most clever yet looked down of art forms. People say that puns are the lowest form of humor you could buy. That makes no cents. It seams (A hem) to me the higher a person is, the funnier the pun appears to be and the harder they laugh. You’ll get no boo’s if you give then booze. Or whatever else will raise the level of the pun to cause the funny bones to be so humerus. I for one am a huge oscillating air blower of punnery. It takes a clever use of word twisting, timing, and structure to create a successful pun play. There is an art to doing it correctly, if a pun is too loose it won’t fit in to your punch line and if it’s to tight you won’t be able to pull it off. (Ahem)

So next time you hear someone say that puns are the lowest form of humor, get them high. Then maybe they can take their hang ups out of the closet and give a few chuckles. Some good home groan will make them grown and shake their head for sure. In the meantime, keep punning and keep laughing, humor comes in all shapes and sizes and its all good…PEACE

Understanding Nothing (Transcendental Meditation)

On August 18, 2015August 17, 2015 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

J. T. Hilltop

Chapter III

I laid there in the sand totally exhausted, happy, and satisfied beyond belief. The smile on my face was so enormous my jawbone ached and my eyes were nearly closed. I had just had the most incredible sex in my life and I couldn’t move. Desiree began to gently shake my shoulder apparently ready to go one more time but I was spent. I looked up saying ”Sorry babe I just couldn‘t….oh, Dr. Kha, its you!” The fog began to clear from my mind, “I see you make visit to paradise JT. Must be careful not to get too wrapped up in desires, make you feel good but also cloud judgment. But she teach you that not me, I teach you everything about nothing. If you want see opposite universe it take much more than acupuncture, incense, and meditation, you need Transcendental Medication. Tomorrow we put you in sensory depravation tank with special punctures dipped in mixture of essences from Belladonna, Angel Trumpet, and Nutmeg Paste. Essence will free mind and allow to see without eyes. Transcendental Medication. Ownry then JT will you see truth, opposite universe, and maybe even understand nothing. Tomorrow is day you begin journey to meet God face to face.”

Meet God face to face?! Well this is gonna be pretty interesting considering I can barely remember having ever believed in God. Oh I know there was a time but only because it was what my Mom told me to believe and I trusted her implicitly. Why would she lie about God? But around age six or seven my best friend and his family died in a house fire two days after his birthday party. Mom told me my friend was up in heaven now where he’ll be safe. I asked why God wanted the family and why he made their house go on fire and all she could tell me was that God had a plan and we shouldn’t question him, but I wasn’t buying that bullshit. I started having my doubts about this God character and his so called plan so I made up ways for him to prove himself to me. Instead of “now I lay me down to sleep” I engaged in conversations at bedtime with God. Only they weren’t dialogues they were monologues. Night after night. I only asked for small signs, no giant challenges, no plagues or forty day storms or anything like that. Something simple like make my covers fall off or scratch the wall. I never asked him to beat up my older brother or return my best friend and his family back to life or anything profound, just you know like leave a light on, move a book or something. Anything. But night after night, no signs, no answers. Mom took me to church on Sundays and even at that young age I could see it was filled with hypocrites singing and praying. Old man Martin who was perpetually drunk in his backyard all dressed up in suit and tie singing, hands folded. Old lady Brown kneeling on the pew. In whispers the adults called her a Jezebel. I didn’t know what that meant at the time but by the way the adults showed distain I knew it wasn’t a good thing. Years later I learned kneeling was a common occurrence for her but apparently kneeling was okay only if it was on the pews on Sundays. By the time I turned eleven I was already a full fledged atheist but I continued my religious schooling to appease Mom. I was even so fascinated or maybe hopeful I studied other religions as I got older. I learned more about God by more names than I thought possible and became more sure than ever that God doesn’t exist. At least not the God I’d been taught. And now after all that I’m meeting God face to face tomorrow! At least according to Dr. Kha. Well maybe God’ll explain why he never even tapped on my wall.

I was nervously excited as I entered the THC clinic the next morning. A nurse led me down into the basement and laid me down on a cot that was chained to a sort of crane with chains and pulleys. Like a harsh torture hammock. I looked up with a quick glimpse believing the nurse to be Ambrosina. She smiled at me, winked and whispered, “Later JT. I’ll see you later.” Before I could even answer Dr. Kha came in with a small silver table filled with needles and a bowl of syrupy liquid. “Must be excited JT, yes? First I dip pricks in essence, place them at precise point and then close you in tank. No incense, no music today, ownry serenity. When ready we let you free from tank and journey begin. Relax and enjoy enlightenment my son.” I laid there motionless, a combination of anxiety and excitement as Dr. Kha placed the dripping needles about my body like acupunctures. The needles were warm and wet. Six on my forehead, two in each ear, two in my neck, and at least a dozen in each leg. I could feel the essences making they’re way into my blood and it warmed my veins. I instantly relaxed the anxiety faded away leaving only a smile. I felt at comfort with the feeling because it wasn’t foreign, it was like the old days just before the LSD kicked in. I was about to start tripping like I had in my drug experimentation days and it warmed my soul with fond memories.

I was strapped in the hammock and lowered down into a tank of warm water as the lid of the tank closed leaving me in complete darkness. Total darkness with no sound at all. No music, no one near me, it kinda made me feel vulnerable, like a lamb waiting for slaughter. I was feeling a bit claustrophobic. Anxious, confined, alone yet strangely serene. Alone with my own thoughts. As time passed I began to wonder if perhaps this is a big waste of time. I became angry I was allowing this to happen to me. I wanted out. I called to Dr. Kha a number of times but he didn’t respond. I was alone and my anger faded into depression. I remembered the five stages of grief and realized I had just denied TM, then bargained to get out, got angry and finally depressed. I was now finally at acceptance. Total darkness. Alone with nothing but an irritating voice in my head insisting I was missing some major point about nothingness. My head was swirling with thoughts or maybe dreams of all sorts of shit, memories from way long ago, places I have been to, totally random things. I think I had some very bizarre dreams. I’m not even sure what’s a dream or what is a thought? From surreal to harsh reality it was one episode after another. The dream or thoughts seemed to float, moving as though filled with helium, the further they went away the calmer I got. After about…wait, that’s odd. I have no idea how long it’s been. I have no idea what time it was or how long I’d even been alone here in the dark. Had I fallen asleep? Has time stopped for me? As I pondered again the readmitted claustrophobia and panic subsided, sliding me into complete acceptance. Everything is serene, calm, and quiet. Existence is not as special or amazing as I thought. Oh I’ll give you the complexity of being a living breathing thing is quite extraordinary, what with networks of communication inside me traveling at mind bending speed, blood, oxygen, even the way I need to eat and void unnecessary remnants from food is amazing. And evolution, well what is evolution other than strategy of survival? But the FACT that I or anything exists here, right here right now on this seemingly huge planet is so remarkably insignificant when I think about it in Universal terms.

Super Nova’s, Black Holes, Quasars, and galaxies, those are amazing. Time and space being curved or the possibility of alternate universes, that’s amazing. I’m nothing, just a teeny weenie blip of nothingness in time and space. I giggled as I watched that thought float away when I thought I heard a voice. “Now you are understanding nothing JT. You are ready to see alternate reality.” It was Dr. Kha’s voice but how? Must be a camera or some sort of electronic monitoring he used. “No use camera, no use device JT, ownry listen to you.” Wait! What did he say? Listening to me? But I’m not talking I’m only thinking. “Not thinking JT, talking. Not words out loud but still talking. And we hear you. You are ready to come out now.”

The pulley’s lifted the makeshift cot upwards as the top opened brining me not into an office but in a clearing in a mountain wilderness blistering with life and color. Oh my God the colors were so deep and rich, so real. I was inside a melting crayola colored landscape beside a stream. Dr, Kha was there along with two strangers. “Come sit down with us JT, we share herb of life… You come to me asking why there is something instead of nothing, yes? I ask you now, why it cannot be something and nothing?” I asked him who the two men were and he told me they would lead me to God after I finished my lessons. He handed me a long pipe which I took readily inhaling almost instantly. The smoke had a minty smoke flavor and was not in the smallest way irritating. I held it in like it was pot until it exploded inside my head. Actually exploded. My head must have grown ten inches. Images where fractured as if they were photos layered on top of each other and superimposed. I tried to stand up but instead floated, or better hovered effortlessly as the three men laughed. “I don’t see what’s so funny, everything is out of focus. Motion, Time, sound, even life is out of focus.” The men continued laughing until Dr. Kha pointed to me, “Seem you forget pants JT. You come ownry in underwear. You are right everything out of focus. That how world really is. You see on quantum level now, you move with quantum motion and see with quantum eyes. You think unreal but exact opposite. Everything around you in constant motion JT, but your non quantum eyes cannot perceive. That why most people can never see God. I believe if most people really were able to see God they be scared, not elated. You see realities now JT, in your normal world nothing really what it seem to be. You are going on journey most people cannot handle, that what Transcendental Medication do my son, it open your mind and eyes to realities clouded by limitation of human perceptions. Dreams are real perceptions JT, ownry seem too abstract to you to be real. You not have pants on because it dream that haunt you as child. That’s from the drugs. The medication will help you confront many uncomfortable dreams you have had but also some very good dreams. And dreams you have not had yet. A new era of perceptions waits for you JT, you were chosen for this journey. Your two guides are messengers of God and I am your handler. The three of us will lead you on journey of everything , something, nothing, and true God after you visit Ambrosina for lesson on desire and power. Go to her, she waits for you and you must first understand yourself before you can know nothing.” Dr. Kha smiled at me like a teacher, or a father maybe, “Take your boat.” I looked at the stream which had my little row boat from my previous visit tied to a tree. “Just get in boat JT, and follow river. You will know when to…. get off…Ha ha ha. Then when you come back we discuss your perceptions” What an odd sense of humor, an old man like Kha using a sexual double entendre about “getting off” I thought to myself as I got in the boat. Dr. Kha untied the rowboat setting me free, “Not as old as you think, but much older as well JT.” I heard all three men laughing as the boat headed to wherever the current took it. How the fuck could he hear my thoughts? I’d better be careful what I think.

The ride didn’t take very long because I could see a woman in the distance waiting on shore. I wished the boat over to her and it went of its own accord. When I got out I was back in the island paradise where Ambrosina had so totally controlled and dominated me bringing me to the most incredible orgasm of my life. I got off the boat with profound anticipation and walked up to the woman waiting. I knew I was looking at Ambrosina but she appeared so different. Her hair tied in a ponytail wearing very little make up. She was dressed casual yet somehow stern. A beige corduroy button down dress with matching skirt. In place of the sexy shoes were low heeled casual loafers. Sensible shoes! She appeared demure and intimidated as she walked up to me, placed her mouth right at my ear an whispered, “If you want me you have to take me tonight. You have to want me bad enough to force me.” As she walked away I watched her ass bounce lightly back and forth giving me a semi erection. Despite the changes I wanted her in the worst way. The lust built up inside my loins and I knew I would do whatever I had to in order to make love to Ambrosina again. But how to start, I’ve never forced anyone before, that’s rape! Ambrosina turned around looked at me with her incredible sensuous eyes. I glanced down at her lips as she mouthed, “I’m ready JT, come take me. I’m here to service you. I give consent but I want it hard!” I knew I had the power to ravage her and it felt invigorating. I had this tingling feeling I was really gonna dig being Transcendentally Medicated and my now full on erection nodded in agreement.

TBC

Just Messin’ Around

On August 10, 2015August 9, 2015 By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

Silk Tie Samurai swings a platinum hammer

Isabella at his side what a mamma jamma

Big foot Banjo strumming catfish blues

Working for the Samurai to get his baby shoes

Samurai getting high on tabaccky wacky

Exercising downsizing gotta fire a lackey

Silk Tie feeling pissed picks up the silver axe

Just like Dizzy Lizzie gave out forty whacks

Strumming sad was Banjo a blowin’ in the wind

Got the axe cuz he was lax now he’s getting skinned

Cloud nine the hand out line guzzling down his booze

No healthcare welfare and he got nothing left to lose

Lyric spitting Bobby was a preacher smoking grass

Tripping to the other side on a window pane of glass

Tell us bout the weather Bobby tell us bout the times

Dr. Seuss be feeling loose throwing down some rhymes

Searching for some messages in a bottle full of hope

Mr. Jones got him stoned then strung him out on dope

Lulu Voodoo promised Biggie Karmic retribution

A total loss to the boss is Lulu’s Voodoo solution

Silt Tie the sneaky guy creeping out with Jill at night

Knocking boots with Juicy Jill somewhere out of sight

Juicy drains the bosses tie then gives an extra shaking

Husband Jack don’t have the knack of brining home the bacon

Yesterday is over but today is on the move

Looking back on happy days getting in a groove

No tell Motel where Isabella done lost her crown

Tie mounted Jill uphill and Jack came tumbling down

Hey man don’t ya let yer past come into play

The most important history is the one you make today

Don’t swim up a waterfall with your head a going under

Won’t see hidden lightning afore ya hear the silent thunder

Bosses secret spinning round caught in the storms eye

When Isabella gets the facts sparks is goanna fly

Make love make time I’ll be yours and you be mine

Keep the promise if you wannna have a diamond shine

If you cheat you feel the heat from the fires of divorce

Silkies fly was open wide and Juicy was the source

Sang the song of love gone wrong came like a cinder block

Isabella got all the bucks and Lucy got his…

Locked box treasure stock full of pyrite gold doubloons

Underneath the darkest skies he’s howling at the moons

Crude dude Buddha Belly dressed in a solid gold tuxedo

Turn around he’s outta town where the hell did he go

Now stupid fella and Isabella dancing tangos in her bed

Doesn’t learn a lesson but he getting real good head

Out to the temple where Buddha spews silk advice

Shouting for bloody Hari Kari into the mirror thrice

Now Mr. Luck big bucks owns the Silk Tie Gambling House

His daughter loves a renegade think the dudes a louse

But baby girl with the golden curls opens up her gown

Every time her Running Bear lets his pants fall down

Switchblade Renegade plays baccarat with Silkies daughter

On a bleak losing streak completely drunk on holy water

So Bigfoot and Running Bear got into a big fat hassle

Buddha Belly and Golden Curl snuck off to Silk Tie castle

Silkworm Samuri fired each employee there on the spot

Trying to cool the whole town down his daughter running hot

Food stamp lava lamp Bigfoot and Lulu skip outtta town

Renegade was going up and Baby Curl was going down

Belly and Isabella ran away while Silk Tie and Lucy split

Every batter gets a splatter when the fan gets hit with shit

Terrapin – The Journey

Tag: humor