I’m betwixt and between writing projects at the moment. ‘In A Right State’ has gone to my editor for copy-editing and I’m not going back to my 3rd novel, ‘Blindsided’, for a second draft until I’ve released In A Right State into the wilds of Amazon, iBookstore, et al.

Saying I’ve nothing to write isn’t technically true (it never is for a writer I don’t think) I’ve got to write the blurb for ‘In A Right State’ but that’s proving to be a right old headache so I’m procrastinating…here goes…

The final book I read last year was ‘The Doors Of Perception’ by Aldous Huxley which, although starting off quite good, descended into too much philosophising and not enough ‘I just want to see what you wrote off your face‘.

Then I remembered. I’ve written whilst off my face on acid. I hunted through my storage boxes and found the papers and here they are below. 8 pages of A4 taking you through the journey of up high and then coming down.

The evening started off as another night in Sunny Worthing. Some ‘strawberries’ acquired, we queued for the cinema to watch Terminator 2 – Judgement Day. By the time we got to the front, it was full and we couldn’t get in, which looking back on it, was a fortunate outcome as the ceiling of the entrance hall appeared to contain drifting sand and we could swear there was a hunchback bloke ahead of us. I soon lost my mate whilst waiting outside a pub, so ventured home into a bubble of music, ciggies and a cup of tea, but mainly to keep out the way of ‘other people’.

This is the story of ‘Judgement Day’.

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The above is a whole load of mixed up, circular thoughts from a high teenager. You’d never write anything worthwhile whilst high on anything probably. I need absolute sober clarity to write. I also think having sustainable writing habits is advisable. The odd pint of bitter is my only tipple nowadays (as my 18 year old self cringes).

The visual arts however, I think that’s another story. I’d love to see the notebook of an illustrator on a trip. Writers need editors and feedback from outside their own little bubble to help the words make sense so readers are able to paint a series of meaningful images in their minds to create a story. An artist can produce one snapshot of an image directly without having to succumb to the rules of grammar or the necessity of story.

Artists can express themselves directly onto paper, canvas or marble; writers have to hide behind characters. After all this time, maybe I’m not a terrible painter or illustrator, maybe I just need to hide behind the words of characters.

Only writers have nom de plumes.

Art is shadows. Writing is puppetry.

What conclusions you can draw from all this? Whilst ‘Don’t Do Drugs’ is probably obvious at this point, I can’t deny that LSD does open a door onto a perception I’ve never seen by any other means. Not doing it means you’ll never see it, but is seeing it worth it?

You’d get more ideas reading a newspaper everyday. You’d gain more insights reading the writings of philosophers and other thinkers. You’d glean more inspiration by going to galleries, museums and hospitals. You’d see more by listening more.

You don’t have to risk death or insanity to experience something meaningful but you do have to live.

Hasta la vista, sweetie chuck.

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