Looking in the mirror
It's a weird thing. I like to look at my pores. I'm not too keen on my looks in general, but I do enjoy to scan across my face and examine bumps and anomalies -- wild hairs, etc. I'm removed from it, like a satellite in low orbit over a blackhead planet.
When I was more of a drinker, a smoker, a tab dropper, I'd spend what seemed like hours staring at my own pupils dance, occasionally dipping my forehead to transfer my chemically driven body heat to the cool of the mirror. Psychedelics and mirrors is a hell ride of course, but sometimes I found it to be a ball full of jollies.
It had a Bloody Mary thrill to it. There was this shivery nag that because you've given yourself over to psychotropics, you might see something completely batshit eyeball exploding insane. I never did actually. Just oscillating pupils and Sea of Tranquility-sized pores. The only pleasure I had the one miserable time I dropped X (many, many years ago), was riding the Sunday morning 7 am train and watching my face stretch and warp in the window in time to the metronomic splatter of the track below.
The most sublime pleasure Vaclav Havel enjoyed in the years he spent waiting in a Czechoslovakian cell was staring at himself in the mirror while he smoked. I would have been right there with him.
When I was more of a drinker, a smoker, a tab dropper, I'd spend what seemed like hours staring at my own pupils dance, occasionally dipping my forehead to transfer my chemically driven body heat to the cool of the mirror. Psychedelics and mirrors is a hell ride of course, but sometimes I found it to be a ball full of jollies.
It had a Bloody Mary thrill to it. There was this shivery nag that because you've given yourself over to psychotropics, you might see something completely batshit eyeball exploding insane. I never did actually. Just oscillating pupils and Sea of Tranquility-sized pores. The only pleasure I had the one miserable time I dropped X (many, many years ago), was riding the Sunday morning 7 am train and watching my face stretch and warp in the window in time to the metronomic splatter of the track below.
The most sublime pleasure Vaclav Havel enjoyed in the years he spent waiting in a Czechoslovakian cell was staring at himself in the mirror while he smoked. I would have been right there with him.
Labels: Greg's Life As Nincompoop
posted by Greg Mills at 10:15 PM
1 Comments:
I look hideous in photographs yet when drunk and at home alone (yeah, I know) I take dozens of pics of myself after staring in the mirror because "I look sooooo pretty" of course, in the harsh light of day, they all get deleted due to their ridiculousness and I promise myself that I will never do it again. (but I always do.)
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