button bushes

Went to see Scratch last night, as a compromise between Panic Room and Kissing Jessica Stein. I was not impressed – though the film brought up some fascinating issues surrounding the creation of a new genre, instead of exploring them with any depth the director just cut to another concert scene. To make matters worse, the soundtrack cuts came mostly from the middles of sets, where there’s lots of virtuosic scratching.

The overall effect was to give me a headache. And not just any headache, but a strange pseudo-hallucinogenic cerebral membrane pulsing condition. For the walk home and a good hour afterwards, everything seemed imbued with a very immediate kinesthetic potential – loose litter wanted to wave hello, fire hydrants were about to wiggle their fire hydrant booties, neatly clipped hedges had almost turned into buttons that would pop down with a satisfying pook if you whacked them with a giant plastic mallet. Evil buttons that would pop down with a satisfying pook if you whacked them with a giant plastic mallet. I could tell they hated me, and that’s why I wanted to kick them.

So in a fugue state I kept saying “I should eat a hamburger, cows always make me feel real when I eat them… whoa holy shit those lights are going to turn into bees!” and transformations of that and similar phrases. The whole thing was terribly distressing; I like to notice small details and imagine things about them but being forced to take comfort in a friendly sage bush is just ridiculous.

No, I didn’t use any psychoactive substances, unless you count the mood-enhancing herbal supplement I’ve been taking since the term started. Experiences like this are precisely why I don’t try such things; I’m fucked up to the edge of my comfort level without them. When I need a perceptual boost, it’s enough to just be around people taking hallucinogens, but that’s another story. I’m going to stop rambling and find some beef. I’m hungry.