Eleventh Words from B.C.

I'm back again and this week I do have things to say. Last week was a bit of a disappointment. Maybe for you and certainly for me. I know I'm the only one who could have done anything about that being that I was the one who wrote it, but I just wasn't in the right mood (or write mood if you fancy a pun) and the week actually hadn't been all that eventful. Now I'm ready to jump right back (or write back if you fancy repetitive humor) in with yet another rip roaring Words from B.C. But before I do that there are a couple things I'd like to get off my chest. I'd like to send a message to each of the guys out there reading this. Alan, you googly-eyed bastard, I've puked alphabits into better narratives than you'll ever come up with. Brad, customs officers should be shot and your car is a piece of shit. Brian, you scrawny wanker, Ed Wood was on par with Stanley Kubrick compared to you. Danny, as long as I can remember I've fantasized of feeding your lifeless corpse through a wood chipper a la Fargo. Darren, I mock your value system, and past instances in which I professed to like you were fraudulent. Harfield (or should I say Harf [more like Barf]), jazz sucks therefore so do you. Analyze that in your logic class. Joe, you testicularly challenged albino, hockey sucks and therefore so do you. Keith, you fat sack of crap, I hate you and so does everyone else. Matt, hip-hop sucks more than jazz and hockey combined. Steve, go to hell you chestless son of a bitch. Tim Banman, you have curly hair. I hate people with curly hair. Tim Friesen, you're short. Who else is left? Oh yes. Trevor, every moment in the same house as you was a living hell. I think that's all of them. As for the ladies, I have no problem with the ladies. I love the ladies. And the ladies love me. Boo yah. Well, I feel a lot better now. Thanks to Tim Banman for the idea... you bastard.
So where was I? Oh yeah, about to get rip roaring. This week I'd like to focus on the subject of dreams. Why? For a couple of reasons. One, over the past while (or few weeks if you fancy a more specific generality) I've had a number of interesting dreams, including a couple of lucid ones. And two, I just recently found out that The Spirit Within (I know I mention this store a lot in my emails but it has been an important part of my Vancouver experience) carries a plant called Calea Zacatechichi, also known as the Leaf of the God or Dream Herb. It's a mildly psychoactive plant that has actually been experimentally verified to increase the occurance and recall of dreams, particularly lucid dreams. This is very exciting for me because, as many of you know, I've been keenly interested in lucid dreaming since I saw the film Waking Life. While certain habitual practices and mental techniques have increased my ability to become and remain lucid while in the dream state, a natural chemical aide would be a welcome addition to my repertoire. I plan on taking a trip down to the Drive tomorrow to purchase significant quantities of the plant material and I look forward to personally testing its efficacy. As for the dreams I've already had, there was a lucid one in particular that I would like to describe. The earliest point I can recall was waking up (in the dream that is) in bed lying on my back. My bed (in waking life as in this dream) is a wooden four post bed with a sheet of linen patterened with gibberish Latin that hangs over the bed between the four posts. Hanging in front of me from a string attached to this sheet was a piece of paper. The only thing I can remember reading on the paper (though I believe there was more) was something along the lines of "Enjoy this dream." "That's interesting," I thought. "I wonder if I actually am dreaming." I looked at the watch on my wrist (which I normally take off before going to bed) and sure enough the numbers were jumping back and forth seemingly at random. 2:31:54. 3:73:15. 1:62:87. (It occurs to me now that this is similar to the effects on language I experienced after a large dose of psilocybin mushrooms as I described in the Eighth Words). "Hey, what do you know?" I thought. "I am dreaming." And now I was lucid. I got out of bed and went upstairs. I don't remember getting from my room in the basement to the living room upstairs. It could be that the memory of the dream has faded or it could be that I simply appeared upstairs and wasn't aware of the lack of transition. I looked out the living room window for a moment then went to the door and stepped out into the front yard, still in my underwear. I realized this but as I knew it was a dream I hardly cared. There were many more cars driving on the street than usual (i.e. in waking life). Not that there was heavy traffic, just more than normal. I could see the people in the cars looking away and shielding their eyes as they passed. This struck me as funny. Occasionally, throughout the dream, the lucidity would begin to fade and I would have to reassure myself that I was still dreaming. So I would check my watch again, and again the numbers would shift in an apparently random fashion. At this point I decided to try something I have been having trouble with during my lucid dreaming: flying. Normally this is a simple matter and many people use it as a recognizable indication that they are in fact dreaming. The last two or three times I have had a lucid dream, however, I have found the act of flight surprisingly difficult. It's as though gravity (which doesn't actually exist in the dream world) acts unusually strongly on me. Of course, unusually strong gravity in my dreams is far less than while waking. I can generally get off the ground by force of will and even maintain flight at an altitude of a few feet, but often I will eventually drift back down to the ground. This time I was able to slowly crawl to the height of some buildings with the intention of getting an aerial view of Port Moody. I wanted to know how the view in my dream would compare to photographs I had seen while awake. (It's interesting to note how I was able to make clear distinctions between my memories of experiences from my waking life and the perceptions I was experiencing in my dreams). I didn't actually get to make the comparison, as the next thing I remember I was back on the street. This could have been another transitionless change. I should mention that by the time I went flying I was fully clothed somehow. When the dream ended I could feel or sense the shift in consciousness and I saw myself from outside my body. I went from a first person view to a third person view and then I woke up. I wouldn't exactly consider this last part an out-of-body experience. An out-of-dream-body experience maybe, but not a true OBE per se. I could get into some of the philosophical ramifications of the phenomenon of lucid dreaming at this point but it's getting pretty late here and I don't want to be up too much longer. I'll save it for another day though. Or maybe you can puzzle some of them out for yourself. It can't hurt to get people thinking about the nature of reality. Unless it leads them to ideas that shatter their whole systems of belief and they experience a catastrophic existential crisis accompanied by complete mental breakdown. But what are the odds of that happening?
Anyways, on to another topic. In order to make some small amends for being in B.C. on New Year's Eve this year I'd like to do something that I haven't done for anyone (including my mother) since I first came out here, which is to give the people in Winnipeg a telephone call (true, my mom has called me several times, but I haven't phoned her so my previous statement was true) on New Year's Eve. I'm guessing there's going to be a party at the Warsaw House so I'll go on the assumption that that will be the place to call. I'll also assume that by 7:00 anyone who wants to talk to me will be there. If either of these assumptions are incorrect, please email me and let me know what would be a better time and/or place to call. Remember that I'll still be there in spirit. I'll talk to some (hopefully most) of you on the 31st. Until the next one.

Tony "Don't press the button unless you know what it does" Hawkins

Tenth Words from B.C.

Wow. The Tenth Words. That means I've been in B.C. for ten weeks already. That's almost two and a half months. That's the longest period of time I've ever spent outside Manitoba. So what do I have to talk about at this point. Going into this writing I would say not much. A few things have happened since I last wrote, but not anything spine-tinglingly exciting. My Grandpa came out to visit for a week. We all played cards and went out for dinner. Nothing spectacular. I picked up some Banisteriopsis caapi vine and some Syrian Rue seeds from the Spirit Within. I also picked up a magazine from the U.K. called Philosophy Now. It's got some interesting articles in it. In particular, several on the subject of paranormal phenomena. I haven't actually read those ones yet, so I won't be discussing them now, but I'm sure I will at some point. On Wednesday I, of course, went to see The Return of the King. For those of you who haven't gone to it (or at least read the book), shame on you. What the hell are you waiting for, somebody to give you a goodbye kiss? Get out there and go see it. The Battle of Pellenor Fields tops every single battle sequence in cinema history put together.
Nothing happened on Thursday. Or did it?
I finished reading Homage to Catalonia. It made it very clear where his inspirations for 1984 came from. It also made it quite frightening to see how little he changed his experience for his fiction. The book would certainly be essential reading for anyone interested in the Spanish Civil War. Some previous knowledge of communist and anarchist ideologies helps in reading it however. Since finishing that I have also made my way through The Teachings of Don Juan by Carlos Castaneda. As I mentioned before I also read his Art of Dreaming. I'm currently reading Being-in-Dreaming by Florinda Donner which is closely related to the latter. I'd still like to read a couple more of Castaneda's books before I begin a discussion of them. I forgot to mention it earlier but I've also read Of Mice and Men by John Steinbeck since I've been here. It's pretty short and only took me a couple days to finish it. That's probably why I forgot to include it in any of my reading lists.
As I said I don't really have that much to say this week. We'll see how things go next week and hopefully I'll at least have more to talk about in the New Year. Until the next one.

Tony "I only brought the carrot because I thought it would make you happy" Hawkins

Ninth Words from B.C.

Well. I did get some feedback from the last email. Most of it was along the lines of "What the hell?" I think I may have been a little bit too esoteric for some people. As Darren put it, "being a person with precisely 0 experience and interest in the intoxicating substances, [I] have absolutely no idea what you're talking about." There are three things I must respond to in this sentence. First the matter of having no experience with the substances. This is where I may have fallen short. I mentioned that it is difficult to describe psychedelic experiences given their subjective nature. This is true with people who have had these experiences (subjectively, of course) themselves and even more so with people who have not. Though I tried to keep my descriptions interesting while at the same time somewhat general so as not to completely lose those readers who have not had a psychedelic experience (Darren, Alan, Brian, Brad, Carmen, Joe, Keith, Nicole, my Mom, and Trevor if I am not mistaken), I perhaps did not succeed as well as I had hoped. I will attempt to correct when and if I can. The second thing I must respond to is the matter of lack of interest. This is obviously not something I can help. There are people who read this who are interested in these subjects, and more importantly I am clearly very much interested in these subjects. To put it bluntly, these are my goddam letters and if you don't like them you can go to hell. But I'm not going to put it bluntly. What I would rather do is try to explain these things in a way that gets people to look at them in a new light, and even to inspire their interest in the subject. To this end I will move on to the third matter, referring to the substances as "intoxicating" substances. Granted, I have used this term myself, but given some consideration I believe this may have been a mistake as it carries the negative connotation of "toxic". First off, I think I should clarify just what substances I am referring to. Psilocybin mushrooms, LSD, Salvia divinorum, ayahuasca, peyote, should not be considered "intoxicating" in the strictest sense of the word. To intoxicate is to stupefy or excite by the action of a chemical substance such as alcohol. Certainly I can consider alcohol intoxicating. I would even categorize marijuana under this definition (though again I don't think the negative connotations are appropriate). The effects of these other substances, however, are vastly different from stupefaction and excitation. They should more accurately be labelled "entheogenic" substances. The etymology of this word comes from the Greek "entheos" (god within) and "gen" (becoming). It was coined by R. Gordon Wasson to replace terms like "hallucinogenic," "psychedelic," or "drug" and which I use now to replace "intoxicating." As he said in his book Persephone's Quest, "We must break down the 'Drugs' of popular parlance according to their properties and overcome our ignorance, which in this field is still monumental. 'Entheogen' is a step in that direction." I think what I am trying to say is that these substaces are not simply for getting wasted and having a good time. That's not to say one can't or shouldn't have a good time while using them. Entheogenic trips should be enjoyed, but they also provide opportunities for so much more. They allow for intense personal introspection that is impossible without them. They can ignite fires of spiritual ecstasy that some people may not have thought possible. I speak from personal experience when I say this. And to any that would say that these substances are evil, harmful, and should be illegal I say, Would you prohibit a Christian's sacraments and tell him he cannot commune with his god through prayer? Would you tell a Buddhist that he cannot meditate? Why then would you ban my sacraments and tell me that I cannot experience the joy of connection with the divine that these substances offer? Why would you deny yourself that joy? Now that I've hopefully opened some minds with that little analogy I'd like to go even further with this idea, but hold on to your skepticism for a moment because what I propose isn't as outlandish as it first sounds. I don't think the perceptions induced by these entheogens should be called "hallucinations." I believe they should be referred to as "visions." And here's where most of you would think, "What the hell? Now Tony thinks he's a psychic because he did some drugs that fucked up his head?" And that's when I answer, "No, I don't think I'm a psychic and those drugs haven't fucked up my head." Allow me to explain. A hallucination is an apparent perception of something that is not real but is believed to be so. It is something that happens to people dying of hunger and thirst or with a mental disease like advanced syphilis. A vision is just a perception. I am using the word "vision" to include other sensory perceptions as well. I am not saying that these visions are necessarily telepathic, clairvoyant, or prophetic, but I am not denying the possibility that some of them could be. To label them simply as hallucinations would be to do so. In other words, I don't believe I am a psychic but I do believe that it is possible to have what might be called a psychic experience through the use of entheogenics. You might be back to thinking the drugs fucked up my head but there are millions of people who believe the universe was created in six days twelve thousand years ago so I'm not that fucked up. You know, in comparison. Before leaving this subject (which may make some of you very glad) I would like to mention a few more ideas I had about a universe which is a holographic projection of a single consciousness. I would have included these at the end of my last email but it took me a long time to write and I wanted to get it sent before the weekend was over. Anyways, here's how language, time travel and reincarnation could be explained by this holographic universe: All physical things are illusions so the act of speech which causes the movement of air molecules is actually just the projection of the actions of an interconnected unity of things. It is performed as a communication between two consciousnesses which are actually just different perceptions of the same consciousness. Time is a thing as space is a thing. Both of which are illusions. All time and all possibilities are an interconnected unity of things. Time travel is a matter of changing the perception of consciousness to attune to one of the infinite possibilities. Memories of past lives are simply shared perceptions of the same consciousness. This may not make any more sense to you than the other stuff I wrote but it was only meant to be more of the same.
Let's talk about what I've been reading. That's something everyone can relate to. Unless you're illiterate. But then you wouldn't be reading this so it doesn't matter anyway. As I said before I just read a book of poetry by Charles Bukowski. After that I read Confessions of a Sinner by Saint Augustine. Why? Because it was here and it was short and it's kind of a classic of western philosophy. Was it good? Well, underneath all the "Yay God!" crap there were a couple of interesting ideas and relevant points, but it was mostly horseshit in my opinion. I know that's not going to be the most convincing argument by I don't have the inclination to draw out any rigorous proofs against it. Now I'm on Homage to Catalonia by George Orwell. For those who aren't familiar with the book, it is an account of Orwell's involvement in the Spanish Civil War fighting against the Fascists led by Franco. Like On the Road it reminds me a lot of how the world has changed throughout the last hundred years.
I'm going to keep it short this week and let you all recover from the 4000 words of my last email. Until the next one.

Tony "How many bottles do you need to conquer the world?" Hawkins

Eighth Words from B.C.

Ok, I'm back at the keyboard again, and it's going to be a long one. That means I'm not going to do too much sidetracking or add a lot of poetic flourishes. There are a few things I wanted to mention before I go into my extraordinarily fascinating and mindblowing primary subject.
Pavement. Not the road, the band. I've been listening to their album Terror Twilight. What an awesome album. Better than Slanted & Enchanted in my opinion. My favorite line of all: "Irish folk tales scare the shit out of me."
On the Road. Finished reading it. I enjoyed it, but it made me sad to realize how much the world has changed since then. Also finished a collection of poetry by Charles Bukowski called Open All Night. I'd like to share one of the poems called "I don't want Cleopatra" with you all. It's not exactly a typical Bukowski piece, but I liked it. After that I'll get into the heavier material.

I am always exposing myself.
I go out on the front porch in my shorts
bend over to pick up the paper and
my parts fall out.

I sunbathe nude in the backyard
and sometimes stand up.
"you fool," my girlfriend says,
"Mrs. Catherty can see you over the
wall!"
"where is she?" I ask.
"she's standing right there watering her
rose bushes!"
"oh..."
"get down!"

to me, nudity is a joke.
I don't think nude people are attractive
at all.
I like my women fully clothed.
I like to imagine what might be under
there.
it might not be what you'd expect.

imagine stripping a woman down
and she has a body like a little submarine
with a periscope, propellers, a few torpedoes.

she would be the one for me!
I'd marry her right off and
be faithful to the end.

Now, about Terence McKenna's ideas. It occurred to me that I may not have provided enough context with the passages I quoted. I decided that in order to correct this I would go back through the book and pick out a number of selections that will hopefully contextualize and expand upon his ideas that I presented previously. I must apologize to anyone reading who was hoping for strictly original material from these emails, but I don't foresee all of you reading the whole of True Hallucinations and this way I can familiarize you with the important parts that I would like to talk about. Don't worry, I will be adding my own thoughts as well.
This first passage is a description of McKenna's experience smoking synthesized DMT at Berkeley. It should give you an idea of where he's coming from when he talks about words being transduced into something visible.
"I had had the impression of bursting into a space inhabited by merry elfin, self-transforming, machine creatures. Dozens of these friendly fractal entities, looking like self-dribbling Faberge eggs on the rebound, had surrounded me and tried to teach me the lost language of true poetry. They seemed to be babbling in a visible and five-dimensional form of Ecstatic Nostratic, to judge from the emotional impact of this gnomish prattle. Mirror-surfaced tumbling rivers of melted meaning flowed gurgling around me. This happened on several occasions.
It was the transformation of language that made these experiences so memorable and peculiar. Under the influence of DMT, language was transmuted from a thing heard to a thing seen. Syntax became unambiguously visible. In searching for parallels to this notion I am forced to recall the wonderful scene in the Disney version of Alice in Wonderland, in which Alice encounters the hooka-smoking caterpillar seated on a mushroom. 'Who R U?' the caterpillar inquires, spelling out his question in smoke above his head...
Which is not to say that DMT is to be thought of as a stimulus for mere inner cartoons. It is not. The feeling that radiates from the DMT encounter is hair-raisingly bizarre. It is as much as one can stand without the categories of consciousness becoming permanently rewritten. I am occasionally asked if DMT is dangerous. The proper answer is that it is only dangerous if you feel threatened by the possibility of death by astonishment. So great is the wave of amazement that accompanies the dissolving of the boundary between our world and this other unsuspected continuum that it approaches being a kind of ecstasy in and of itself." (7-8)
Later on in the book he makes the following comment, similar but brief.
"The normally invisible syntactical web that holds both language and the world together can condense or change its ontological status and become visible. Indeed there seems to be a parallel mental dimension in which everything is made of the stuff of visible language, a kind of universe next door inhabited by elves that sing themselves into existence and invite those who encounter them to do the same." (73)
Now I know that some of you may be a little put off by his description of these visions as "elves." Keep in mind, though, that this is an attempt to describe what is basically indescribable. It is fantastical, but it is not a fantasy. The important thing to consider is what he's saying about the synesthesia of meaning. Words are just symbols, but it is possible for meaning to come from direct sensory input. Words can sometimes even be an impediment to conveying meaning. As Jen said in her reply to my last email words "come with preconceptions and mistaken identity." This can make it very difficult to describe hallucinogenic experiences. McKenna says this is particularly true of DMT experiences "where a kind of glossolalia of thought, which had seemed the very embodiment of meaning to me, seemed mere gibberish when verbalized and heard by other people." (53) This reminds me of a second hand story I believe I heard from Steve about two people who were tripping on psilocybin mushrooms and carrying on a meaningful conversation with each other, but which was heard as blathering and strange vocal noises by their sober companion. I myself have experienced what I might call a deconstruction of language (though in reverse) while on psilocybin. While I could read words and hear them spoken, and though I recognized them as the English language, they seemed to be in a completely random order and devoid of coherent meaning. I decided I would check this apparent randomization of language by memorizing something read while tripping and rereading it when sober. I chose to read some words on Trevor Wideman's stereo that didn't seem to make sense to me. I read them as "linear skating mechanism." Unfortunately, the next day it still said "linear skating mechanism" and it still didn't make sense to me. That experiment, admittedly, was unsuccessful and inconclusive. I am still curious to know the parameters of this incomprehension. Was I actually hearing and seeing things differently? Or was I simply not able to interpret it properly? My limited attempt to obtain an answer seems to suggest the latter. In either case, why was this so? What had the mushrooms done to cause this? I must further take into account that it was not only language that seemed to undergo randomization. My apparent perception of time itself was jumbled. I felt at some moments as though I was remembering what was in the future and experiencing now what had already happened and what should have been happening now was going to happen in the future. For example, given a timeline of 5 minutes, my awareness would not move linearly through that time as normal (0:00-0:30, 0:30-1:00, 1:00-1:30, etc.). It would move through sections randomly (4:00-4:30, 1:30-2:00, 3:00-3:30, 4:30-5:00, 0:00-0:30, etc.). One might consider it a kind of temporal dyslexia. Although this is not an entirely accurate portrayal it is probably the best I can do with the limited symbolism of words.
I've gone off on a bit of a tangent here and I'd like to come back to the visible language idea for a moment before moving on again. Steve wrote in his email to me that he didn't think it would be possible for human eyes to detect micro-density changes in the air. Yes and no. What I quoted was merely a speculation, on the extreme end of possibility. However, it is actually possible to see such movement of air molecules. I should have included this next quote at the time. It follows directly after the one in question. "Normal speech itself is sometimes seen to effect the refractive index of the air in front of the speaker's mouth. Viewed in profile a speaker is sometimes seen to generate a wavering of the air in front of the mouth that is like the shimmer of a mirage above a hot highway. Perhaps this is an indication of the hidden potential of speech to go beyond its normal function of symbolizing reality to actually signifying it." (151)
Now before I get to the final topic of my discussion (which is really the most intriguing and ontologically challenging) I'd like to share a somewhat unrelated portion of the book. It's unrelated to what I plan on talking about, but it's one of the more interesting stories contained therein. It's about an experience Terence McKenna had in Nepal with an English couple he met there while investigating hallucinogenic use of pre-Buddhist shamanic practices in the area.
"The method I had evolved for probing the shamanic dimension was to smoke DMT at the peak point of an LSD experience. I would do this whenever I took LSD, which was quite occasionally. It would allow me to enter the tryptamine dimension for a slightly extended period of time. As the summer solstice of 1969 approached, I laid plans for another such experiment.
I was going to take LSD the night of the solstice and sit up all night on my roof, smoking hashish and star-gazing. I mentioned my plan to my two English friends, who expressed a desire to join me. This was fine with me, but there was a problem; there was not enough reliable LSD to go around. My own tiny supply had arrived in Kathmandu, prophetically hidden inside a small ceramic mushroom mailed from Aspen.
Almost as a joke, I suggested that they substitute the seed of the Himalayan Datura, Datura metel, for the LSD. Daturas are annual bushes and the source of a number of tropane alkaloids--scopalamine, hylosciamine, and so on--compounds that produce a pseudo-hallucinogenic effect. They give an impression of flying or of confronting vague and fleeting visions, but all in a realm hard to keep control of and hard to recollect later. The seeds of Datura metel are used in Nepal by saddhus (wandering hermits and holy men), so their use was known in the area. Nevertheless my suggestion was made facetiously, since the difficulty of controlling Datura is legendary. To my surprise, my friends agreed that this was something they wanted to do, so we arranged that they would arrive at my home at six PM on the appointed day to make the experiment.
When the evening finally came, I moved my blankets and pipes up to the roof of the building. From there I could command a fine view of the surrounding village... Six o'clock came and went, and my friends had not arrived. At seven they still had not been seen, and so I took my treasured tab of Orange Sunshine and settled down to wait. Ten minutes later, they arrived. I could already feel myself going, so I gestured to the two piles of Datura seeds that I had prepared. They took them downstairs to my room and ground them with a mortar and pestle before washing them down with some tea. By the time they had returned to the roof and gotten comfortably settled, I was surging through mental space.
Hours seemed to pass. When they seated themselves, I was too distant to be aware of them. She was seated directly across from me, and he farther back and to one side, in the shadows. He played his flute. I passed the hash pipe. The moon rose full and high in the sky. I fell into long hallucinatory reveries that each lasted many minutes but felt like whole lifetimes. When I had emerged from a particularly long spell of visions, I found that my friend had stopped playing and had gone away, leaving me with his lady.
I had promised them both that I would let them try some DMT during the evening. My glass pipe and tiny stash of waxy orange DMT were before me. Slowly, and with the fluid movements of a dream, I filled the pipe and gave it to her. The stars, hard and glittering, stared down from a mighty distance on all of this. She held the pipe and took two deep inhalations, sufficient for a person so frail, then the pipe was returned to me, and I followed her into it with four huge inhalations, the fourth of which I held onto until I had broken through. For me it was an enormous amount of DMT and I immediately had a sense of entering a high vacuum. I heard a high-pitched whine and the sound of cellophane ripping as I was transformed into the ultra-high-frequency orgasmic goblin that is a human being in DMT ecstasy. I was surrounded by the chattering of elf machines and the more-than-Arabian vaulted spaces that would shame a Bibiena. Manifestations of a power both alien and bizarrely beautiful raged around me.
At the point where I would normally have expected the visions to fade, the pretreatment with LSD synergized my state to a higher level. The cavorting hoards of DMT elf machines faded to a mere howling as the elfin mob moved on. I suddenly found myself flying hundreds of miles above the earth and in the company of silvery disks. I could not tell how many. I was fixated on the spectacle of the earth below and realized that I was moving south, apparently in polar orbit, over Siberia... In a series of telescoping leaps, I went from orbit to a point where I could specifically pick out the circular depression that is the Kathmandu Valley. Then, in the next leap, the valley filled my field of vision. I seemed to be approaching it at great speed. I could see the Hindu temple and the houses of Kathmandu... Among the several hundred roof tops I found my own. In the next moment I slammed into my body and was refocused on the roof top and the woman in front of me.
Incongruously, she had come to the event wearing a silver satin, full-length evening dress--an heirloom--the sort of thing one could find in an antique clothing store in Notting Hill Gate. I fell forward and thought that my hand was covered by some cool, white liquid. It was the fabric of the dress. Until that moment neither of us had considered the other a potential lover. Our relationship had functioned on quite a different level. But suddenly all the normal sets of relations were obviated. We reached out toward each other, and I had the distinct impression of passing through her, of physically reaching beyond her. She pulled her dress over her head in a single gesture. I did the same with my shirt, which ripped to pieces in my hands as I took it off over my head. I heard buttons fly, and somewhere my glasses landed and shattered.
Then we made love. Or rather we had an experience that vaguely related to making love but was a thing unto itself. We were both howling and singing in the glossolalia of DMT, rolling over the ground with everything awash in crawling, geometric hallucinations. She was transformed; words exist to describe what she became--pure anima, Kali, Leucothea, something erotic but not human, something addressed to the species and not to the individual, glittering with the possibility of cannibalism, madness, space, and extinction. She seemed on the edge of devouring me.
Reality was shattered. This kind of fucking occurs at the very limit of what is possible. Everything had been transformed into orgasm and visible, chattering oceans of elf language. Then I saw that where our bodies were glued together there was flowing, out of her, over me, over the floor of the roof, flowing everywhere, some sort of obsidian liquid, something dark and glittering, with color and lights within it. After the DMT flash, after the seizures of orgasms, after all that, this new thing shocked me to the core. What was this fluid and what was going on? I looked at it. I looked right into it, and it was the surface of my own mind reflected in front of me. Was it translinguistic matter, the living opalescent excrescence of the alchemical abyss of hyperspace, something generated by the sex act performed under such crazy conditions? I looked into it again and now saw in it the lama who taught me Tibetan... I could not understand it. I looked away from the fluid and away from my companion, so intense was her aura of strangeness...
Then the thought of discovery sobered me enough to realize that we must get away from this exposed place. Both of us were completely naked, and the scene around us was one of total, unexplainable chaos. She was lying down, unable to rise, so I picked her up and made my way down the narrow staircase, past the grain storage bins and into my room. The whole time I remember saying over and over to her and to myself: "I am a human being. I am a human being." I had to reassure myself, for I was not at that moment sure.
We waited in my room many minutes. Slowly we realized that by some miracle no less strange than everything else that had occurred, no one was awake demanding to know what was going on. No one seemed even to have heard! To calm us, I made tea and, as I did this, I was able to assess my companion's state of mind. She seemed quite delirious, quite unable to discuss with me what had happened only a few moments before on the roof. It is an effect typical of Datura that whatever one experiences is very difficult, indeed usually impossible, to recollect later. It seemed that while what had transpired had involved the most intimate of acts between two people, I was nevertheless the only witness who could remember anything at all of what had happened.
Pondering all of this, I crept back to the roof and collected my glasses. Incredibly, they were unbroken, although I had distinctly heard them shatter. Obsidian liquids, the ectoplasmic excrescences of tantric hanky-panky, were nowhere to be seen. With my glasses and our clothes, I returned to my room where my companion was sleeping. I smoked a little hashish and then climbed into the mosquito net and lay down beside her. In spite of all the excitement and the stimulation of my system, I immediately went to sleep." (58-63)
Though I don't speak from experience, I can assure you that actually experiencing this would be about a billion times more bizarre and mindblowing than the description. The weird thing about Datura is that, not only is it incredibly difficult to remember what happens while on it, often people don't realize they are intoxicated while on it. They may hold long conversations with inanimate objects, but at the time it seems perfectly normal. It's not something you would want to do without a sitter to accompany you (especially if you decide to venture outdoors). But that's neither here nor there (you know, I really like that expression).
This is where it should really get interesting. I'm going to begin with a final quote from McKenna, from which I will go into some really ripping concepts.
"Before Einstein, space was thought to be a dimension where one put things; it was analogous to emptiness. Einstein pointed out that space is a thing that has a torque and is affected by matter and by gravitational fields. Light passing through a gravitational field in space will be bent because the space through which it travels is bent. In other words, space is a thing, not a place where you put things.
What I propose, in a nutshell, is that time, which was also previously considered a necessary abstraction, is also a thing. Time not only changes, there are different kinds of time. And these kinds of time come and go in cyclical progressions on many levels; situations evolve as matter responds to the conditioning of time and space. These two patterns condition matter. Science has long been aware of the patterns of space--we call these 'natural laws'--but the patterns of time? That is another consideration entirely.
Matter has always been assumed to epitomize reality, but it actually has some qualities more nearly like thought. Changes in matter are defined by two dynamic patterning agencies that are in a co-relationship: space and time. This idea has certain axioms, one of which is taken from the philosopher-lensmaker Gottfried Wilhelm von Leibnitz. Leibnitz described monads, which he envisioned as tiny particles that are infinitely reduplicated everywhere in the universe and contain all places within themselves. Monads are not merely here and now; they are everywhere all the time, or they have all space and time within them, depending on your point of view. All monads are identical, but they interconnect to build up a larger continuum while at the same time maintaining their individual, unique perspectives. These Leibnitzian ideas anticipated the new field of fractal mathematics, an exotic example of which is my idea of a temporal pattern.
Ideas such as this offer a possible explanation for the otherwise mysterious mechanisms of memory and recall. Destruction of up to 95 percent of the brain does not impair memory function. It appears that memory isn't stored anywhere; memory seems to permeate the brain. Like a hologram, all of the memory seems to be in each part...
This 'holographic' aspect of memory has been assumed to be of central importance by such thinkers as David Bohm and Karl Pribram." (195-196)
It gets even more interesting when you consider an experiment performed by physicist J.S. Bell. What he did, in a nutshell, was break an atom in half and change the spin of the electrons on one of the halves. What he found was that regardless of distance apart the electrons on the other half would also change instantaneously. So could the two halves of the atom somehow communicate with each other over vast distances by some kind of signal? Well, no signal can travel faster than the speed of light so apparently that is not the case. What Bohm suggests is that the two halves aren't really separate at all, that the whole physical universe is actual a kind of hologram itself. In other words, the separateness of objects is merely an illusion. Bringing in McKenna's idea of time as a thing like space we see that the illusion applies in both time and space. This again connects with Leibnitz's monads being everything, everywhere, always. The idea of a holographic universe, evidenced in numerous areas, may also explain some paranormal phenomena such as telepathy. If all things are connected on a deeper level than what we perceive it is much easier to understand how the minds of two different people can be connected. Further, if our perceived reality is only a projection then it must be much more malleable than we suspect. What we believe to be impossible may actually be possible. The limitations of our physical world may simply be a matter of consensus. In conclusion (because I'm not sure what else to say at this point), let's all drop some shrooms and explore the vast realms beyond our fixated perceptions. Until the next one.

Tony "The thing behind the fridge attacked the cat again" Hawkins

Note: I would very much appreciate feedback on this one. Did I really go overboard with the quotes? Should I have gone deeper into the subjects? Were the subjects too heavy? Was it simply too long? Should I just stick to reciting what I did the past week? Would you like more poetry or more prose? More philosophizing or more storytelling? Or am I doing everything just fine?

Seventh Words from B.C.

I'm sitting at the computer again. Bag of nachos to my left (just ran down to the 7-11). Bottle of beer to my right (Granville Island Brewing's Winter Ale). System of a Down on the stereo (Somaphore and Sixty Stories coming up). I take another sip of beer. It's not bad. I've tried the Pale Ale as well. Still haven't found anything to compare to good old Fort Garry Dark. I miss that beer. I miss twelve dollar pitchers at karaoke. Listened to Weezer last night. Remembered how I thought about singing Say It Ain't So one time. Fell into nostalgia and couldn't get to sleep. Is nostalgia the right word so soon after leaving? Whatever. End result's the same. Missing all you guys. It's gotten worse: Can't listen to CUIF Radio. Can't use MSN. Can't hear voices. Can't read words. Unless someone sends an email. Those are always nice. Haven't been getting many lately. Not even junk mail. Got one from Nicole though, asking to be added to the mailing list. Happy to oblige. I think we're up to about sixteen readers. Or at least sixteen addresses that this is being sent to. I have the illusion of an audience at any rate. So what have I got to say to my audience today? I'm thinking not much. I could be wrong. I had a couple things I wanted to mention but I don't know how long that's going to last. How about we interrupt this dreary tedium with a poem? It's one of the things I wanted to throw into this mailing. There's another one coming but I think I'll tack it on at the end. In the meantime, enjoy this:

Once I hugged a girl with thorns on her chest
We stuck together like velcro
She didn't appreciate me
Bleeding all over her white shirt
What could I do?
I was stuck on her
My mom always said
"Never remove an impaled object"
She used to be a paramedic
Whenever I read an author describe sex
With an impaling metaphor
I think of that and laugh
With thorns poking through my ribs
I thought of that and laughed
Then I asked her
"As long as you're impaling me
Do you mind if I return the favor"
I laughed again
She didn't appreciate me
Being so crude
Thorny girls never have
A great sense of humor
I don't hug girls anymore
I just shake hands
They don't usually get stuck together

On Monday I met up with Tim and we went to the Amsterdam Cafe. If Fuel's ceiling collapsed and Kustom Kulture fell into it you would get a similar, rubble strewn replica. Beyond the being-allowed-to-smoke-weed-inside aspect though, the place doesn't have all that much going for it. I imagined a lounge kind of atmosphere with couches and such. Instead there are a few booths and an island bar with stools around it. This seemed pretty illogical to me. Who wants to pull a stool up to counter when they're stoned? Not I. I want to sink down into a low, comfortable couch. I gave it a try, but given the option now I think I'd just as soon stay home. Afterwards Tim and I bummed around for a while and went for dinner at Sikh Temple. End of Monday adventures.
I went to see The Missing on Wednesday. It's one of the better westerns I've seen. Long, but not tediously so. Well acted. Some creative directing. Good use of lighting. I would recommend it.
That's really all I did this week that's worth mentioning. Nothing happened on Thursday. NOTHING.
I wanted to go into some of the ideas presented by Terence McKenna in True Hallucinations but to tell you the truth I'm not feeling all that inspired right now. Here's what I'm going to do instead. I'm going to include some passages from the book and if they happen to spark any ideas in any of you write me an email and tell me about it. That way I'll have something to go off of for next time and you'll all have a reason to reply. Here we go.
"I have come to believe that under certain conditions the manipulative power of consciousness moves beyond the body and into the world. The world then obeys the will of consciousness to the degree that the inertia of pre-existing physical laws can be overcome. This inertia is overcome by consciousness determining the outcome of normally random, micro-physical events. Over time the deflection of micro-events from randomness is cumulative so that eventually the effects of such deflections is to shift the course of events in larger physical systems as well."
This may seem far fetched but consider this:
"It is easy for consciousness to direct the electrical flow in the central nervous system (though we have no idea how this is done); it is less easy for it to move, not electrons, but the whole atomic system spread far and wide in time and space. This may explain why it is easy to form a thought, but having one's wishes come true takes longer."
He has some interesting ideas about language as well:
"I saw that there is an interphase between consciousness active in the world and consciousness active in the central nervous system, whose intermediary is the body. That interphase is language. To use language, consciousness informs that brain to inform the body to impart coherency to the random motion of the air molecules near but outside the body. This coherency is supplied by consciousness in the form of a word... Language is thereby seen to be a kind of parapsychological ability since it involves action at a distance and telekinesis, albeit voice-transduced. Perhaps under the influence of psilocybin an immense energizing of will could be vocally transduced into the world where it might do more than imprint a signal onto the random motion of air molecules. Perhaps instead a word, visibly beheld, might be transduced and appear through appropriate shifts of refraction in those same air molecules."
What he's saying is that it would be possible to see what is being said (a phenomenon which is apparently common during DMT experiences).
So let me know what you think. I anticipate some stimulating discussions. Until the next one.

Tony "I wanted to go ice skating but apparently our bathroom doesn't get that cold" Hawkins


there's a very small man
or maybe a woman
no--a man
somewhere in my head
he has a chisel and a hammer
and he's carving something
on the inside of my skull
i can hear him doing it
tap tap tap
his little hammer
on his little chisel
it's at the back
near the crown of my head
he works on it
three or four hours a day
but never on sunday
i think he's a jesuit
i don't mind the tapping
what frustrates me
is that i'll never see
what he's carving
i want to know
if a little jesuit
is etching the likeness
of christ into the
inside of my cranium

Sixth Words from B.C.

It rained all weekend.
A pisser
Cumulonimbus pissing
The sky's been drinking the Pacific
Unloads on the coast before hopping over the mountains
Kept on till Monday
Got on a bus, just spitting
Hit the Skytrain, full rain by the end of the line
Commercial Drive
A common destination
Center of attention and activities
Fulfilling for my proclivities
Gets dark so soon
Four hours from noon, onset of the gloom
Doesn't shut down
Electric lights provide artificial night life
Yeah, that's cool but I sleep too late
Not enough windows
Can't see the day break
Clocks don't tick
More electronics
I won't think about it
Stop

I went back to the Spirit Within. Wanted something different from salvia's kick-you-in-the-face type of trip. Something a little slower, more laid back. Heard a suggestion of peyote tea. My interest is piqued. How much is that? Sixty to eighty bucks. Whoa. A little out of my price range right now. I'm maxing at forty. What else you got? Seeds. You don't put these ones in the ground. What'd he say? My Lady of the Morning? Yeah, that might have been it. Like Morning Glory? Kind of. Take a look. It's about the size of a pea, brown fuzzy husk. You can use sandpaper to rub it off. A knife works just as well. Don't want to leave it on. You'll get sick. Give em a shave and chew what's left. Ok, how much? Seven bucks a gram. That's what I like to hear. And the active chemical? LSA (lysergic acid amide). Yeah, I'm familiar. Like natural LSD (lysergic acid diethylamide). So what's the dose? Well, I knew a guy who ate one seed every day for a little mental clarity. Three or four will give you a nice mellow feeling. Take ten, it's like a full blown acid trip. I'll take two grams.
Worked out to 21 seeds. I took one that night. Can't say I noticed any effects. Not to say there weren't any, but obviously it wasn't a strong enough dose to start the walls bleeding. I tried taking four the next night. After an hour or two I could definitely sense it. The feeling was quite comparable to taking about two grams of psilocybin mushrooms. Noteworthy was the lack of muscle tension that accompanies the latter. No jaw clenching and fist squeezing. The same strange sensation in the sinuses. Certainly the same pupil dilation as well. Enjoyable? Yes. Though as with mushrooms I do prefer the transcendentalism that comes with higher doses.

Wednesday. Met Tim at Grandview Park and went to a writer's group at the Purple Thistle (it's sort of a community center for street youth). Fairly enjoyed it. May very well go again next week. I wanted to include one of the pieces I wrote as part of an exercise and here seems as good a place as any. It's not the longest piece I've written but it's what I came up with in fifteen minutes.

His mind fell to the floor like a drunk at 3 AM. His eyes took in the splash and splatter across the carpet. "Is that going to leave a stain?" That must be someone else's voice in my head, the mind thought as it sank into the blue foam underpadding. How did it get there? "Why, I've always been here. I don't like to talk much when you're inside crowding things up." An eyebrow twitched on his otherwise vacant face. A cocker spaniel wandered in and started lapping at the ectoplasm that was spreading out from its point of impact. Could you tell my body to get that dog out of here? I think he's eating my capacity for sarcasm. "You mean MY body? You're just going to soak into the floor anyway. A mind is a terrible thing to waste, after all." His mind was not amused by this in the least. It might have been but the dog had moved on to its sense of irony. What do you mean by YOUR body? I've been running things in there for 25 years. "And I think we're long overdue for a change. If anything of you doesn't get digested you'll have to let me know all about the intricacies of canine viscera. Ta."

So. What happened on Thursday? Nothing. Nothing happened on Thursday. What makes you think anything happened on Thursday? I didn't say anything happened on Thursday. I don't know what you're thinking if you think something happened on Thursday. There are certain things and they happen, but those things absolutely did not happen on Thursday. No more questions.

I went to the library today. I was returning the Illuminatus! Trilogy which I had finished. I highly recommend it to any and everyone. Especially if you're interested in anarchism, psychedelics, occultism and magic, and/or conspiracies. I had started reading On the Road but I'm glad I only read the first chapter because the library had gotten in the third and final of my interlibrary loan requests. True Hallucinations by Terence McKenna. I started reading it tonight and so far it's about an expedition he took with his brother and three other people to the Amazonian jungles of Columbia in search of some rare tryptamine based hallucinogens used in the shamanic rites of local native tribes. It reminded me of the movie Fitzcarraldo because the trail that they have to take through the jungle was created for accessing and transporting rubber. I've only read a couple chapters at this point, but it's quite interesting. While I was at the library I also picked up a book of poetry by Charles Bukowski. I figure I can read it a bit at a time while I'm reading True Hallucinations and On the Road. Maybe I'll get some inspiration from it for my own poetry as well.

I'm not going to go on much longer. I know I'm breaking the chain of successively larger emails but it's hard to top the four pages of my last one. I'd just like to say thanks to Trevor Wideman for turning me on to the idea of quesadillas as a meal. They're very easy to make and highly customizable and they've become a major part of my diet since I've moved out here. There are still a few people who haven't written to me at all yet. I'd like to give those people a kick in the ass. Anyone who is in a nearer vicinity is welcome to this by proxy if they feel inclined to help me out. Everyone else, I hope you are having a good time and enjoy your weekend. Until the next one.

Tony "If it's all the same could you take the butter off the table?" Hawkins

Fifth Words from B.C.

So here we are again. Another week has gone by on the west coast as it has everywhere else. That means it's about time to sit down in front of a keyboard and screen and do a little bit of the old typey-wipey. I'd like to welcome two new additions to the mailing list. Welcome Petchie and Pixi. Or my Mom and Miranda as they may be known to you. An interesting bit of coincidental alliteration there. And now where shall I begin? Perhaps where I left off would be an appropriate place. Certainly. Technically I am starting where others left off but they left off in reply to where I left off so off to the left I go. Not literally of course but I thought it might be amusing to throw in another left and off but spun around to magnify the novelty of it all. Ha ha ha. What's that? I should stop this inane babbling and bloody well get on with it? A truer statement could not be made. The Matrix. That's what I'm getting at. Slowly. Don't worry though, I won't be spoiling anything this time. And if you find the subject boring, don't worry about that either. I have much more to say but I must get this out of the way. Is that okay? No? Well I'm afraid you'll have to take it up with someone else because I'm not going to change the subject now that I've already gotten into it. Well, yes that's true. I haven't actually said anything on the topic yet. Look, it's going to get said at some point so if you don't want to read it you can either skip it now or skip it later. What difference does it make? I know it's easier for you if I leave it till the end so you don't have to find the place where you want to resume but I have other people reading this you know and they might want to skip the part that actually does come at the end. Alright, now you're just being unreasonable. I really don't see what that has to do with it. Can we talk about this later? I have writing to do. If you don't shut up right now I'm going to come over there and-- Oh bloody hell! Now look what you made me do. It's all over the place. Can you go get me a towel? Because I want to make myself a turban. Why the hell do you think? Just go get me a fucking towel. NOW GODDAMMIT! Fucking Christ I don't know why I put up with this... Thank you. There. Did I miss anything? Good. Now just keep your mouth shut and let me write this thing.
Hi everybody. Sorry you had to witness all that. Now where was I? Oh yes, the Matrix. After my last email I received two strikingly similar replies from Darren and Steve (though Darren's was certainly the more sober of the two). They both provided fairly satisfying explanations as to how the machines were able to maintain a thermodynamic balance between the energy input and output of the whole human-as-power-source system. I had forgotten Morpheus' comment about the dead being fed to the living and Steve reminded me about the machines combining this energy with a "form of fusion." My idea that the extinction of all photosynthetic plants would result in an elimination of oxygen from the atmosphere was obviously premature. Granted, having most humans encapsulated and everything else (presumably) extinct would mean that very little of the remaining oxygen would be consumed, but even if there were no animals to perform aerobic respiration it seems to me that naturally occurring oxidation of metals and such would eventually remove enough oxygen from the atmosphere to make it unbreathable. Apparently not enough time had passed for this to have happened. Darren brought up a further question of the Matrix universe which was, "Why humans (i.e. rather than animals)?" I believe I can answer this question. While it is quite possible that the machines DO use animals as a power source as well (waste not, want not after all) there is a further reason why humans were utilized. If you've seen the Animatrix you may have noticed that in the Second Renaissance Pt. 2 the humans agree to be used by the machines as part of their terms of surrender following their defeat in the war against the machines. The machines demanded of the humans, "Hand over your flesh and a new world awaits you." And there you have it. Thanks to Darren and Steve for their participation in the ongoing saga that is the Words from B.C.
So now I have to come up with something else to write about. Not that that's terribly difficult or anything, but I'll just clarify that I am moving on to another topic now. Specifically I'm moving on to the topic of reading which is a standard of these emails. It occurs to me that some people may find this subject tedious but I don't intend to treat them any different than those who found the last subject to be so. Thus we march ever onward till the drums they beat no more. I finished Day of the Triffids. Quite enjoyed it, I did. Reminded me a lot of the movie 28 Days Later. It takes place in England, a guy wakes up in a hospital to the end of the world, there's a scene where some people jump off a dock and hold hands underwater... Wait, that was Prince of Tides. The book that had come in on the interlibrary loan was The Psychedelic Experience: A Manual Based on the Tibetan Book of the Dead by Timothy Leary, et al. I later found the full text of the book on the internet so taking it out of the library was a little redundant. At any rate, I read it and it provided instructions on how to make use of hallucinogenic drugs to achieve a transcendental state of ego-loss. I frequently thought of the amazing experience I had on mushrooms while I was reading the book. While I don't think the information in it could have improved on the best parts of that experience (nothing could have added to the bliss and utter joy of some of those moments) I think I could have benefited from some of the advice it gives on coming back to a normal ego state. After those two books I checked out The Illuminatus! Trilogy by Robert Shea & Robert Anton Wilson. So far I've read the first book and I'm very much enjoying it. It's rather hard to describe. It's a kind of blend of fact, fiction, humor, conspiracy theory, occultism, psychedelics, anarchism, and 60s-70s activist culture with a chaotic timeline a la Joyce or Faulkner. I set that aside temporarily though because Stephen LaBerge's Lucid Dreaming came in, so I'm reading that right now. Last night (or rather, this morning) I had a dream that should have been lucid but I just couldn't make the connection. In the dream I was riding in a car with a person I knew had died but it didn't occur to me that I was dreaming. I even thought to myself, "I know he's dead. They even performed an autopsy. How can he be here?" For some reason, though, it just didn't kick in. I think it's a sign that practice is slowly starting to pay off. The next book I have queued up (after I return to and finish The Illuminatus! Trilogy) is On the Road by ol' Jacky K. I look forward to that.
It's 2:30 in the morning right now and I still have a whole lot more to write about (they just keep getting longer and longer) so I think what I'm going to do is save what I've got and finish it tomorrow. Of course you'll never know the difference. Unless you start reading this at 2:20 in the morning and get to this point and decide that you've had enough for one night and that you'll read the rest tomorrow, in which case you'll have a pretty good idea. So if that's the case, the point that I'm going to stop writing tonight is right... now.
And BAM! I'm right back into it. It's like I never left. It might take me a little while to get back into the rhythm though. I was kind of on a roll last night and now I'm not feeling quite as inspired so it's going a little slow at the moment. Then again this is another case where you would really have to be here to appreciate the passage of time between each sentence. Well I've talked about the Matrix. I've talked about books. What else is there to talk about? Why, there's always the events of the past week. That's it! I'll talk about artichokes! Did you know that a medium sized artichoke has six grams of carbohydrates? And ten milligrams of folic acid? And two to four milligrams of riboflavin? Many people like to eat their artichokes with butter but some people like to eat them with mayonnaise. Apparently the artichoke was first developed in Sicily. There is mention of the plant in Greek and Roman literature as far back as 77 AD. The artichoke was introduced to England in about 1548 but it was not well received. I have no idea why. But that's neither here nor there. Tim arrived in Vancouver this week. We met at Grandview Park on Commercial on Tuesday. We walked around a bit, made our way to the house where he's staying. He returned a bus pass he had borrowed and we made our way back to the Drive. We stopped to talk with a fellow Tim had met. We smoked a joint and discussed the intricacies of marijuana cultivation and breeding. The conversation moved around, meandered, flowed, and altogether changed. Who should then make an appearance but Nathan strumming a mandolin. It was a while before the crowd dissolved and Tim and I went to find a beer and wine store. Not finding one we stopped for coffee instead. After absorbing some warmth we embarked on the walk back to the house. There we sat on the steps conversing with Paul and any of the other residents who happened to join us. Before I left, Tim and I made plans to meet the next day to explore Stanley Park.
And so we come to Wednesday. This was really the most interesting day of the past week. It started at noon to catch the bus to the Skytrain station. At Commercial Drive station I met with Tim and Meatloaf (no, not the Paradise by the Dashboard Light singer/Fight Club actor) and we continued on to Burrard station and along the marina to Stanley Park. We sat down outside the information kiosk while Meatloaf rolled a cigarette and Tim threw some soybeans for three crows and a rather large seagull. We hiked onward into the park along the seawall. Halfway in, we decided to turn west into the park towards Beaver Lake (though it's hardly a lake). Leaving the path, we walked a short ways into the brush to find a suitable spot to sit and smoke some of the salvia extract I had brought with me. We sat down at the base of one of the many large trees in the park and I filled the bowl of my pipe. I had been previously instructed to take in as much of the smoke as possible and hold it in as long as I could. I've never been particularly good at doing this with marijuana. I don't have the largest lung capacity anyway. I found the smoke to be not as harsh or uncomfortable on the lungs as a good sized bong hit, but there was so much of it that I had to exhale a couple of times in order to take in the whole bowl. I passed the pipe and bag of extract along and sat back to experience the effects. So what was it like? I'm not sure any description I could give would be very accurate. It did come on very fast as I was expecting. In one sense it felt like smoking an ounce of weed in one bowl and being completely floored by it. I don't remember what happened to my vision. It didn't go black or anything, I could still see. I wasn't hallucinating but somehow it was distorted. And I don't mean wavering or hazy, just different somehow. My body seemed to feel rigid and I sensed that I was tilting to my left but the sensation didn't last that long. I'm sure if I had tried to stand I wouldn't have been able to do it. Even afterward for a short time my coordination was off and I was stumbling a bit. My mental coordination seemed to undergo a similar effect. My mind was a bit hazy for a little while afterward. Within an hour I was completely back to baseline and no longer feeling any of the effects. Was it an enjoyable experience? Not exactly, not enjoyable per se. But then, most first time experiences with new drugs aren't. It was certainly a learning experience. I think a different setting would certainly be an improvement on a second attempt. Most people use s. divinorum in a quiet, comfortable, dimly lit room. Obviously my expectations will be different next time as well. So the lesson learned was to be in a more conducive environment and if possible make more efficient use of the smoke.
When we all felt like walking again we trekked on up the trail to Prospect Point to see the raccoons and the Japanese tourists. We saw the view, rested on a bench for a while and then started the return through the park before it got dark and cold. When we got back downtown we walked up Robson St. and eventually made our way back to the Skytrain station. Around 7:00 we went to eat at the Sikh Temple where they serve dinner Monday to Thursday. There was a curried something or other that was really fantastic. By 8:00 when we were leaving I was exhausted and I wanted to pick up my book from the library before it closed so I headed back to Port Moody. On the bus ride from the Skytrain station to the library some preppy suburban scumbags got on and sat across from me. Gap jeans wearing, baseball cap at a carefully contrived angle, upper middle class, hip hop wannabe mother fuckers. The kind of dumbass unenlightened fucks that might as well be pissing in the gene pool for all the good they do humanity. To demonstrate my point I'll give you an excerpt of their conversation (though it loses a bit of the effect when you can't actually hear the dumbfoundingly moronic voice that's saying it): "I'm just doing my thing, man. When I do what I do, if I'm being a cockblocker I don't mean to be a cockblocker." If I wasn't so astounded at how incredibly stupid this guy sounded I would have laughed my ass off. Before I got off the bus I was surprised when one of them pulled a bag of pot out of jacket to show the other. It wasn't done surreptitiously either. And this was at the front of a bus full of people. I mean, I know Vancouver is pretty relaxed on the whole marijuana issue, but this gave me a bit of a jolt as to how different things are here as opposed to Winnipeg. Not that I'm complaining...
Well that's about all I have for now. It certainly should be enough. Until the next one.

Tony "Sir, your dog looked like that before the hot wax" Hawkins

Fourth Words from B.C.

After reading some of the (much appreciated [and let me reassure you that the burning in hell fate that was to be wished on you is fully negated with only one email {though that should by no means stop you from sending more}]) replies it has occured to me that some (if not all) of you are under the impression that I am under the influence of some kind of chemicals while I write all these. I can see how this perception may have developed. I did state outright that I had indulged in the smoking of marijuana previous to the composition of the Second Words. And I did open the Third Words with a musing on some hallucinogenic plants. And I have had three gin and tonics and smoked a bowl of weed tonight. But the fact of the matter is: I wasn't high or drunk when I wrote the Third Words. What I hope to clarify with this is that I am not under the influence of chemicals when I write ALL of these. Neither will I specify further which ones are written when I AM under the influence of chemicals. Thus it will be a pleasant mystery for you to decide whether you think I was or was not when you read the writing. On a different but related topic, I have not yet partaken of any of the plants mentioned in my last email, though I did purchase one gram of 5x salvia divinorum extract. Unfortunately the house I'm living in operates under a braod scale no smoking rule. It's fine to possess the materials to be smoked but the actual combustion of these materials is relagated to the out-of-doors. This would not be so much of a problem were salvia divinorum extract not to possess such an explosively rapid onset time. Being my first time, I would obviously not want to risk going outside to smoke and then trying to get back to a suitable place to experience the effects. It could be disastrous if I was going down the stairs within the 20-60 seconds it takes to reach peak effects, which are powerful and can be temporarily disabling. I'm not terribly disappointed, however. I look forward to when the experience occurs but I will let the opportunity to do so present itself.
I'd like to take this opportunity to start a new paragraph. Not specifically for making the distinction between ideas but because I haven't done so yet and the last one was getting pretty long. One must make breaks somewhere. Now that I have started a new paragraph, I will use it to change the topic. Namely, what I have been doing lately (that is the original purpose of these emails after all). Of course I have continued to read books by the barrelful, but I will get to that momentarily. I've gone to see some more movies. Last Saturday I ventured in search of the nearest movie theater and found it to be a 25 minute walk from the house. It seems that here a 25 minute walk is not really that far. I certainly wouldn't have gone anywhere on foot in Winnipeg if it was going to take 25 minutes. I attribute this to the superiority of Winnipeg's transit system (Actually it may very well be that Winnipeg's transit system is vastly inferior to Vancouver's [I've only ridden the bus four times so far] but the fact that it worked with a much smaller area made it easier to get where you wanted to go faster). At any rate I found the theater and went to see The School of Rock. I'll admit that I really had no interest in seeing it until I found out it was directed by Richard Linklater and it still isn't the best movie I've ever seen, but it was entertaining and certainly much better than most family-friendly films. On Tuesday I returned to take advantage of the discounted fare to see Kill Bill again. On the walk I smoked half a joint and was considerably stoned thanks to high potency cannabis. The movie was again terrific and this time I was very aware of how great the soundtrack is. Keep in mind that the soundtrack includes more than the music. To kill (would that be considered a pun?) some time before the movie that night, I browsed around the nearby A&B Sound. There I decided to purchase copies of Radiohead's Kid A and Neutral Milk Hotel's In the Aeroplane Over the Sea. Further perusing of the merchandise carried my eye to a display of Saturday Night Live DVDs. I couldn't resist the call of The Best of Will Ferrell wearing a $16.99 price tag. Would have spent my money on these things if I hadn't been stoned? Probably not. Did I regret the decision the next day? No, not after seeing the Behind the Music on Blue Oyster Cult. And the "Turd Ferguson" Celebrity Jeopardy. And the Inside the Actor's Studio with Charles Nelson Riley. And Robert Goulet with his CD of rap covers. Oh, the hilarity! As for the third movie I saw, I will leave that till the end so that I can discuss it freely without worrying about spoiling it for anybody. Yes that means I'm going to be talking about The Matrix: Revolutions later, so be warned.
I'll move on now to what I have read. After Blood Music I moved on to The Art of Dreaming by Carlos Castaneda. I was inspired to investigate his writing after reading a Simpsons Encyclopedia. In the Halloween episode in which Homer turns the toaster into a time machine he is heard to remark, "Look at that. I'm the first non-Brazilian person to travel backwards through time." To which Peabody responds, "Correction Homer, you're the second." And I'm sure you all remember how the rest of it goes. The point is that the Brazilian person referred to is Carlos Castaneda. Consider this foreshadowing as I intend to talk about his writings at a later time. The next book I read was A Toltec Path by Ken Eagle Feather which was basically an overview of said writings. Finishing that I needed a change of subject so I read Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency by Douglas Adams. Not as good as his Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series, but certainly had its moments. I finished that a few hours ago now, and have since moved on to John Wyndham's Day of the Triffids. I've been informed that one of the books I requested through the inter-library loan has arrived, so I'll be starting on that shortly. It's quite tantalizing to think which one it might be. Will I soon be reading about entheogenic drugs or lucid dreaming? Either way it's certain to be good.
Now I'm not sure, but I think I may have gotten a little superfluous and long-winded in this email. Maybe the booze just made me talkative and I overlooked doing anything really creative with it. Be that as it may, I don't think I've been paralytically boring so I'm satisfied with the results. I'm going to wrap up this section right here. You can scroll down to read some thoughts on the new Matrix movie, or wait and read them another time. Until the next one.

Tony "Yeah, but is the cheese flavor really necessary?" Hawkins

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In my opinion Revolutions was no worse than Reloaded. I don't think it was really any better, either. I think the problem with both of them was the de-emphasis of the Matrix itself. In both movies much more time is spent in the "real" world. This is particularly true in Revolutions although they do make up for it by making the real world scenes a lot cooler. The reason this makes the second two movies inferior is that no matter how cool the real world is, it can't be cooler than what happens in the Matrix. Of course we can't discount the fact that after the first movie all the philosophical issues seemed forced. Revolutions did introduce an intriguing idea though. In the final battle between Agent Smith and Neo, Agent Smith asks him why he continues to fight when he's getting the shit kicked out of him. He asks him if it's for love or freedom or peace or blah blah blah in the villain-in-the-final-battle type way and Neo says, "Because I choose to." It seemed a little odd to me that Agent Smith didn't then ask him why he didn't choose not to, but the idea that they seem to be proposing is that the purpose of existence is the exercise of free will. Then again they didn't really show that human beings truly have free will to begin with. So basically they bring up an interesting point, but don't actually say anything about it. I'm not sure whether that's a good thing or a bad thing. In the end they wrap things up but they don't really resolve anything. I guess that's to leave the door open to more sequels. It'd be interesting to see what they do with any sequels now that Neo and Trinity are dead (and thus the reason for the spoiler space). I'll end by mentioning some things that have bothered me about the whole Matrix concept. It seems to be breaking the laws of thermodynamics. You can't get more energy out of a system than you put in. So where are these millions or billions of plugged in people getting the food energy to create the bioelectricity and body heat the machines are using? And since blocking out the sun would kill all the plants in the world, how is there still oxygen in the atmosphere? Well that's all. You can scroll back up and read my name again if it would give a better sense of conclusion.

Third Words from B.C.

Peyote, Banisteriopsis caapi, Salvia divinorum [which are] Plants, vessels [for] Mescaline, harmaline, salvinorin-A [which are] Mind altering, consciousness expanding chemicals. And all within easy reach. Ah, the joys of living Canada where one does not have to be a member of the American Indian Church to legally possess those little cacti which send the Being reeling into dimensions soft and scary as those shamanistic visionaries. The Spirit Within. Appropriate nomenclature, I'm sure. Take them in and what's within comes out. Flows through and through, ayahuasca brew. On Commercial Drive it sits. Perhaps ironic? But that's not all for the Drive is long. There's more to see and the night is young.

Greetings again, my friends and brethren. Have I much to say today? We shall see. I'd say I seek more quality than quantity. But saying that adds only more to the quantity and seems quite irrelevant (At this point I think to myself, "Quite so, but then should I not simply delete the superfluous sentences and be done with it?" {At this point it seems quite obvious that if I were to do that I would have to delete the parenthetical that I have just now added [and therefore the sub-parenthetical of which this very sentence is a sub-parenthetical], but as I am fond of parentheticals [as some of you may have already known ] I have decided that they will remain}). I would like to thank all the people who wrote back to me. Your words brought a smile to my lips and a warmth to my heart. To the people who did not write me back, I am disappointed. I can understand that some had just received their first mailing from me (and in the case of Brian that is true for this one) and perhaps haven't had the time or the inspiration to write anything yet. Fair enough but after this, if I don't hear from you, you can burn in hell. In order to avoid this I will assist you by providing you with subjects about which you can write to me. They will be phrased in the form of questions. It should be noted that the following people are exempt from this communication ultimatum: Jen Wasko, Darren Ridgely, Stephen Harfield, Brad Gillies, Tim Banman, and Tim Friesen. However, if these individuals would like to reply to questions I pose they are more than welcome and may indeed provide additional insight to which the others are not privy. That being said, here are the questions which I pose to you all (some more than others {although I am not making an Orwellian reference here I am aware of the similarity}):
How was your Halloween? Was there another doorstep jam?
Has anything interesting happened at work and/or school lately?
Does the karaoke tradition live on?
Read any good books/Seen any good movies?
What's the weather like in Winnipeg right now?
Getting any action lately?
*For Danny* How's Brandon? Still living there?
*For Alan* How's Subway? Still working there?
*For Keith* How's the herpes? Still itching down there?
*For Trevor* Would you say I have portrayed Vancouver accurately thus far? (I'll be describing Commercial Drive later on)
I'd say that should be enough to eliminate anyone's excuse that they couldn't think of anything to write. Note: other excuses may still be valid. On to better and brighter things. Such as dreams. Wonderful things, they are. Become very important to me, they have. They're the only way I can see you guys now. And I have seen many of you in my dreams since I've arrived here. I've even had one lucid dream this past week. I think I can correctly attribute it to the fact that I have resumed wearing my wrist watch. How is that, some of you may ask. It's quite simple really. With my watch beeping every hour I am given several reminders throughout the day to perform a reality check. This involves asking myself if I am in fact awake or dreaming and examining the readout on the watch. Then I look away and examine the watch again. The result (though it does not occur as often as I would like) is that I continue the habit of looking at my watch into my dreams. When it occurs the numbers fluctuate and give impossible times. I can therefore conclude that I am indeed dreaming and ultimate power is given me. In this recent dream after becoming lucid I gained telekinetic powers. I was able to throw a large cardboard box containing Al Pacino against a wall, and play a piano with my mind. In hopes of learning to have these dreams more consistently and frequently I have requested the book Lucid Dreaming by Stephen LaBerge from the local library. I've also requested True Hallucinations by Terrence McKenna and The Psychedelic Experience by Timothy Leary. Unfortunately inter-library loan requests are dishearteningly slow. Nonetheless, my reading appetites are being sated. After finishing my book on existentialism I decided to continue the theme by reading Samuel Beckett's famous play Waiting for Godot. I'm not sure I really "got" it. I suppose it would be better to see it performed. After that I decided against resuming Sartre as I'd had my fill of existentialists for a while. I wanted something a bit lighter so I turned to an old favorite, science fiction. I read The Man in the High Castle by Philip K. Dick, an alternate history set in 1962 wherein the Germans and Japanese have won World War II. After that came Neuromancer by William Gibson, the book that started the cyber-punk genre and introduced the word "cyberspace" into our modern language. Taking the advice of Harfield I then read Franz Kafka's short piece The Metamorphosis. I believe I understand Harfield's comparison of my writing to Kafka's now. If anyone else would like to, I'm sure Harfield would be more than willing to expound upon his observations. And finally, the book that holds my attention currently is Blood Music by Greg Bear. It's about a scientist who genetically engineers lymphocytes that are capable of rational thought and they sort of turn into a plague. But enough about books. I don't spend all my time inside reading. Just most of it. I did get out to see the Parade of Lost Souls. Every year on the Saturday before Halloween hundreds of people dress in elaborate costumes (and some not-so-elaborate costumes {and some no costumes}) and parade through the streets and back alleys around Grandview Park. Despite the enthusiasm of much of the crowd and the handmade grandiosity of the spectacle it was hard to enjoy it without a few stoned friends. The rest of my evening on the Drive was pleasant enough. It's rather like a larger more varied version of Osborne Village. Coffee shops, restaurants, antique stores. Grocers, pawn shops, travel agencies as well. One shop called Urban Empire was particularly interesting. Like a higher brow San Fransisco. A hipster kitsch and lesbian chic kind of vibe. Were it a wealthier neighborhood I would have said that vibe typified Commercial Drive. But perhaps I'm being too general.

I dare say that's all. Unless I'm forgetting. Too soon to tell, so I'll not be fretting. Adieu, adieu, until the next (of these hopefully entertaining texts).

Tony "I'm not putting that anywhere until you tell me what it is" Hawkins

Second Words from B.C.

Apologies to those who did not get the First Words as some addresses had not been added to the list on this account. Hopefully they are all there now. If I recall correctly it has been four days inclusive since my first (and last [don't be confused by the meanings {ie-final, or previous} of "last"]) update and of those four days the first was spent, from ten o'clock AM, wandering the streets of downtown Vancouver. I got out around the corner of Burrard and W Hastings Sts. and I walked west and south. I got some lunch and watched ships which was quite strange having come from the prairies. Tractors and combines are big, but they're hardly the lifeblood of international industry as these ships are. And I mean that blood metaphor quite completely. I don't mean to ignore the problems they represent, but it is fascinating to think about the scale of human activity. Afterwards I made my way to Granville. I was struck by the way the atmosphere of the street changes as you walk down it. From theatres and malls to porno shops and drug dealers. I was somewhat pleased with the latter (at first) because I found out later (but first:
I went to a movie
Intolerable Cruelty
Starring George Clooney
About divorce attoorneys

Then I went to see -luap-
At Spartacus Book Shop
I gave him a cop-

y
Of the Somaphore CD
We shot the breeze

Then I took another walk
This guy stopped me to talk

Asked if I had rollies or not
Told him I got
A lighter but not

The papers that he craved
I left them at my place
Asked if I had purcased any dime bags today

"As a matter of fact
It's in my backpack"

"Can I see?
It's just weed"

"Sure what the hell"
"I hate to tell

you but")

his stuff was shit. I mean it felt like a good weight for twenty dollars and it looked alright through the bag. But alas, poor Whoever-he-was. I knew him not and he ripped me off, the bastard. But this other guy takes me (in a roundabout way) to a place a few blocks down on E Hastings. He says it's a poker club. He says he shows this place to people from out of town looking for some decent pot. He says to ignore the other drug dealers on the street. He says not to show any interest. So he takes me up a flight of stairs through a door. There's another flight of stairs. He takes me to the top and shows me a lightswitch and a door. I give him thirty dollars and he tells me to wait at the bottom of the stairs. He turns on the lightswitch. A guy comes to the door. An exchange is made. He comes down the stairs and drops three grams of Blueberry into my bag. He says I can come back here now anytime and buy weed. He says I just have to go up the stairs and turn on the light. He says a guy will come to the door to sell you weed. He says it may be a minute or two if he's in the middle of a hand. I say,
"Thanks. See ya."
I walked around again for a while as Paul finished his shift at the book store. I went back there at six o'clock and finished The Age of Reason by Jean-Paul Sartre. We then left for the Youth Drop-In Center where Paul gets his free meals. We talked for a while longer and then I went to get the bus home. Having walked for six to eight hours on Vancouver's rolling streets I fairly lost the use of my legs as soon as I got into bed. The next day included an excursion to the grocery store, and one to the library to begin the process of getting a library card. Needing proof of address they will have to mail me an empty envelope which I can then bring back and redeem for the coveted card. Yesterday and Today were spent reading a book called Irrational Man by William Barrett. It's about existentialism. I just finished the sections on Kierkegaard and Nietzsche. Next are Heidegger and Sartre. When I finish that I plan to resume Sartre's Roads to Freedom trilogy with The Reprieve. That way I can send it back to Harfield and if he wants maybe I can lend him I can lend him the other two books as well cause I'm sure he'd appreciate that. My guess is I'll keep up this almost-nothing-but-read schedule for a while. Until I start getting low on funds. Then I'll have to get a job. I shudder. I cough. I check my watch. I have to go to the bathroom so why don't I wrap this up for now.
I hope you all enjoyed reading this. I hope the first half makes sense as I was pretty stoned when I was writing it. It's been about an hour and a half I think so I'm not quite so much so now. B.C. weed is pretty good though. Anyway, if you like what you read let me know. If you want me to write about anything in particular let me know. If you think you can convince me to come back let me know. Until the next one.

Tony "Is that all the peanut butter ya got?" Hawkins