12/21/2023 –
I’m in a living video game and I’m being introduced to this new faction of aliens I’m going to be working with. Before the big introduction my agent or handler or whatever wants me to know that these beings openly mind control humans. That’s just a thing that they do and he’s only mentioning it because he knows I might find it morally objectionable on some level. He wants me to know up front rather than having me find out on the back end essentially.
I’m not sure what to think about this but the introduction is made and I’m face to face with this green humanoid grasshopper entity with the prototypical large telepathic eyes. Definitive insectile vibage for shizzle. Anyway, remember how this is a living video game? When I meet this far out grasshopper bro I have the option to ask it about their human mind control program and let’s face it, when do I ever turn down additional dialogue options in these sort of games?
After I click the prompt, the thing starts rapidly vibrating all over the screen in the most otherworldly and insane way imaginable. It was not happy about this line of inquiry and the vibrations are causing mild but not completely unpalpable discomfort deep within me.
What’s next is communicated without words but rather in next level astral telepathy. I’m shown an image of one of these insect weirdos crudely grafted onto a human monkey suit and controlling it like a mech suit. This does not look super pleasant for the human but it’s deeper than that. Once they do this, the person is more dead than alive. More inhuman than human. I’m then told that they do not see death like we do. What’s hilarious is that I leave this scenario thinking:
“I might revert to an earlier save point and just not ask that question.”
This leads to an insanely complicated string of dreams that I only grasp onto at the end. I’ve been a key component in these grasshopper chooms’ plans and I’ve enlisted the help of some sort of chemist to finally wrap the plotline up. We’ve found the answer. With these two yellow pills, we can make people forget the being-used-as-insect-puppet-people thing. The downside is that it erases all memory of the time in their lives when this was happening, period. We test it on this younger dude whose mind had only been invaded for a couple of weeks and it works perfectly. Finally, the solution.
Then the realization. The chemist grasps it quite suddenly before it ever occurs to me. I need to take the pills. I’ve been more manipulated by them than anyone. Holy fuck, he’s right but Jesus. They’ve been fucking with my head forever. God only knows how long. A few months? My whole life? I’m not going to remember any of that but there’s something even more profound in my sudden inner contemplation. These freaks fucking with my head was the most interesting thing that ever happened to me by a long shot. I’m leaving that behind for quotidian consciousness city and I know it. On one level, I won’t even know what I’m missing, on another it’s terrifying.
My chemist co-conspirator does not understand why I’m having reservations about this at all. How could he possibly understand? I know I don’t have a choice so I sit down on the leather couch and take the little yellow pills, then I stare off into the surrounding room, slightly terrified. The computer screen in the distance is starting to wig out. This is the end.
Gee, whatever could this mean after a day I’d spent with my schizophrenic brother? The metaphor’s not difficult to grasp. Once you’ve left any sort of normal life behind, you don’t really want to be “cured”, you know what I mean? Hi five, you’re more dead than alive. Rocking the plastic like a man from the Catskills.
Then the next morning it happens, the most preposterous of delightful synchronicities. I’m working out and I was planning to dig into season 2 of The Bear but for context you’ve gotta know that in my mind, I’d been referring to this show as “The Bar” the entire time. Why? Because there’s this Davey Crockett song where they pronounce bear as bar and I always found that funny, when I was like 5. So in my head, this show is “The Bar”.
I’d even been contemplating how ridiculous it is that I’m internally referencing a song I haven’t heard in roughly 40 years. Then before I work out, I intuitively decide that nope. Season 2 of “The Bar” just doesn’t seem right. I’d been meaning to re-watch The Big Lebowski for quite a while and I am out of nowhere consumed with the idea that now is the perfect time. I probably haven’t seen the thing in nearly 20 years, even though it’s an absolute classic which is odd in itself. So I pay to rent it, and holy shit. I’d totally forgotten that it prominently features the phrase:
“Sometimes you eat the bar, sometimes the bar eats you.”
Pronounced bar rather than bear on purpose. What the fuck? So it wasn’t just the Davey Crockett song. Thanks for answering this internal question that only I had in the strangest way conceivable. More to the point, why on earth was I suddenly consumed with the idea of watching the movie The Big Lebowski on the morning after I’m dreaming about being mind controlled by grasshoppers? Why indeed.
12/22/2023 –
I’m in a ganj-i-tation trance and I’m analyzing the music I’ve made over the years. This one album stands out from the pack and it’s looking like a glowing orb tied to a black presentation stick on almost like a constellation map.
This is a very conflicting album among fans as on one hand, it’s considered one of my greatest, on another hand a lot of people think it’s kind of inconsistent. I also get the vibe it’s the one that had the greatest level of outside funding, like a legit label was involved and insisted that I work with big name producers or some shit. Is that even a thing anymore?
Who knows, but this one track is now separated from the solar orb album icon and drilled into. I’m now listening to the cut and it’s got a mellow mid-tempo almost yacht rock feel to it with a rhythmic almost softly shouted falsetto chorus. The track seems sort of incomplete according to the suits so I add this minor key reverb drenched Sultans of Swing-esque semi-wanky clean guitar part into the pre-chorus section.
Yeah, that is in fact way better and it seems very much like something that came completely effortlessly to me once it was suggested. It’s like I was cool with the song and some producer game me some notes and that’s what I came up with to appease him yet I have to admit, the thing’s gold now and the part I added is what took it from a cool song to a classic. After all this I’m now told:
“That’s why the industry will never die.”
OK then. Very strange message and I guess the point is, sometimes the suits are right? They helped me make my most popular and conflicting album. Shrugs.
Later in the night, while pulling out of a hypnagogic trance I’m told:
They did mention Kurt Cobain a few nights back. All the success in the world just turned him into a more cynical junkie. I have zero clue why I’d assume I’d have been any better off if placed in a similar situation.
For the rest of the night there’s this new kind of piss yellow kitchen sink and cabinetry installation with red trim that everyone seems to love except me. Nah, I like the traditional bright white with black trim version of the same thing. I do not get the hip new piss yellow design. Call me old fashion I suppose.
12/23/2023 –
I’m slipping into the other realms and I’m driving around in a car, or moreover I’m riding around in a car that’s driving itself. What is this odd environment we’re navigating through? It seems genuinely alien. And yet, wait a minute, it actually looks like Youngstown, where I grew up. There is now an understanding while I coast around. Such a simple vision and yet, I was talking to a guy from Ohio about how I haven’t been back in 20 odd years at a Christmas party the night before. The metaphor is very succinct. The past is an alien world.
Also, while you're here, do you like psychedelic industrial noise rock? Of course you do!
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