Can I Play With Madness?

sometimes life really does feel like that episode Hunter s Thompson describes in his memoirs where he like. tried to shoot mescaline into his thigh or something but he got the vein and angle all wrong and a massive jet of blood came out of a very small hole in his leg, to the extent he was like. Okay okay no big deal, we just fucked the shot, it's chill, but it just Didn't Stop and he was low-key freaking out like oh boy I've really done it. now I'm bleeding to death. and he tried to stopper this random spout with a towel but it was going everywhere in the bathroom and he was really baffled, like he couldn't figure out why that had exactly happened cause that had definitely never happened before, but then he was like if I don't stop focusing on why it happened and start to calm down, I'll literally bleed to death right here and now. So he had to inject like some other drug to counteract the mescaline and possibly premote less blood circulation/thinning of the blood, and that started bleeding too and he was like ohhhhh fuuuuuck and then he stumbled into bed and waited for death but nothing happened apart from him waking up in the morning feeling horrible. Goes into the bathroom in his hotel. It has blood on the fuckin ceiling. He spends the rest of his life filing that away in his Times I Almost For Real Fucked It folder, which also involve him drinking enough coffee that his heart beat wasn't even registering on one of those stress meter machines they used to keep in malls in the 70s, and by that time a crowd had gathered around him to observe the living dead man. Like that's relatable to me cause I've done that, but like, socially, you know

putting ketchup on fries is too permanent for me … i have to dip . i control the sauce