Mad Ramblings on Electric Juice

In the Spring of '94, I sat in my little apartment in Tuscaloosa contemplating life. The electric juice was still coursing through my veins though most of the better effects had long since faded away hours before. I was in that twilight period when the feeling of total empathy for one's fellow man and a deep sense of melancholy married each other to create my strange mood.
It was sometime around three in the morning and I began to type on my brother word processor, (a true friend during my collegiate years). Strange thoughts ran through my head. Cobain had recently taken his life. The Graduate Assistant who taught my British Lit class had just had a miscarriage.
Tori Amos' Under The Pink was somewhat quietly playing in the background. The only lights that illuminated my little Alabama haven came from a couple of candles and the yellowish orange glow of the Brother screen that dimly reflected my face. Unlike now, the words simply flowed from me. Random thoughts and strange writings flowed from my finger tips and magically appeared on the screen. Eventually the writing climaxed and I sat there spent, reflecting on my work. During that time, the random Gods of a six disc Onkyo cd player changed Tori Amos to James; to Grant Lee Buffalo; to Peter Gabriel; to Blind Melon ; to Jude Cole and back to Tori Amos again.
As the Sun began to break through the nighttime cracks I crawled in my bed hoping that the rat poison had faded enough to let me get some sleep, the effects of the Electric Juice all but gone. Sleep came fitfully but thankfully. My dreams were non-existant as I had spent my REM time wrestling with a chemical only a short time before.

Taoist Surfers

In a perfect world we would all be Taoist surfers. This is far from a perfect world but imperfection creates a beauty all its own. Once again the Revolution of youth has failed and the ground lies fallow waiting for the next twenty something seed of rebellion to take. For a while, we had a sense of purpose. Teenage Angst was the battle cry but without direction our Revolution fell flat just like the Hippie Counterculture Revolution did before us. The difference, our Revolution was fueled in Apathy. The irony is that when our Revolution died we simply didn't give a fuck.