The clock ticks, the spring kicks and the cuckoo flies its nest. The mechanics slaughtered, reality squandered as time goes on in a mess. What shall we do with this new found freedom? Let’s have fun, hustle up a mystery. Let’s flood the scenery with tears and laughing. Elixirs that torture apathy as they score some unrepentant melody.
But the chuckles languish, jostling with anguish, forcing an experiment in understanding. How do you find yours? Do you do as you’re told? or are you a castaway? an individual? How big is the petri dish that holds your culture?
Maybe you sit on the right side of reason and gobble up explanations about why things are being, maybe you wonder if justice will ever pay a visit. But attention drifts and in squabbles slink, leaving aliens where before there were humans. Answers dissolve in the solution that holds us. Hope stuttering for something different.
So, let us wander, follow trails, see abstract lands rise that supplant the familiar. Lands where imagined bands of forgotten heroes refuse to give up on something better. Where they play all kinds of tricks encouraging new memories to fester. Where a way of living not buckled to the glances of the expectant masses’ gets dressed up and beckons a fiesta.
Cursing, in creeps the need, the desire, to be seen as somehow pleasing or competent, maybe as understandable. Leaving the buckle to break and the phantasy of hidden ideas to escape, glazing and tarnishing the world’s forbidden aura. The spectacle of living free swallowed by the tedious hypocrisy of the assumptions limiting tomorrow’s possibility.
But then false dreams cannot last forever, the sun always rises another morning, leaving certainties cracked and flustered. In creeps conventional wisdom, stealing the new identity as the world curses for having made the excursion. So, it seems, the only option is to gloom handedly succumb, bury the treasure now shamefully tarnished. Treasure no longer shimmering with the wonder with which it was uncovered.
Although there is another option. Believing need not be shut off but can become a new way of seeing. A bit of psychotic confetti to dress up reality. The world and the universe are chaotic aplenty, so why not become one of the disordered ranks, there’s something in the nonsense. Let’s talk and see what happens.
Welcome to Accidental Psychonauts Anonymous. A club of lost rememberings.