this week i

published my fourteenth, our twenty-sixth survey of employer-sponsored insurance with health affairs and headlines.  we added pricssa too


 

bought convey-r.org.  guilherme wouldn't let me buy convextbook.com.  meanwhile hannes promoting duckplyr this takes exactly zero seconds


helped sell out the california honeydrops at the 9:30 club after vegetables at the 2nd floor izakaya nearby.  two drummers now, like the grateful dead



read fear and loathing in las vegas: a savage journey to the heart of the american dream by hunter s. thompson

the drink was beginning to cut the acid and my hallucinations were down to a tolerable level..i was no longer seeing huge pterodactyls lumbering around the corridors in pools of fresh blood

i shrugged and gave him a bill.  this garish, deep-orion carpeted lobby of the desert inn seemed an inappropriate place to be haggling about nickle/dime bribes for the parking lot attendant.  this was bob hope's turf, frank sinatra's.  spiro agnew's.  the lobby fairly reeked of high-grade formica and plastic palm trees

"where's the ether?" said my attorney.  "this mescaline isn't working"

the main advantage of ether: it makes you behave like the village drunkard in some early irish novel . . . total loss of all basic motor skills: blurred vision, no balance, numb tongue - severance of all connection between the body and the brain.  which is interesting, because the brain continues to function more or less normally . . . you can actually
watch yourself behaving in this terrible way, but you can't control it

hallucinations are bad enough.  but after a while you learn to cope with things like seeing your dead grandmother crawling up your leg with a knife in her teeth.  most acid fanciers can handle this sort of thing

lucy!  be cool, goddamnit!

that evil little fuck is so guilty that i should probably kill him myself, on general principles

maybe just a fresh adrenalin gland to chew on

and every one of them stark naked, except for the weapons

waitress: hey lou, you know where the american dream is?

after west point and the priesthood, lsd must have seemed entirely logical

failed seekers, who never understood the essential old-mystic fallacy of the acid culture: the desperate assumption that somebody - or at least some force - is tending that light at the end of the tunnel

psychedelics are almost irrelevant in a town where you can wander into a casino any time of the day or night and witness the crucifixion of a gorilla - on a flaming neon cross that suddenly turns into a pinwheel, spinning the beast around in wild circles above the crowded gambling action

just another fucked-up cleric

 

10/10