I recently heard a friend talkiing about a brilliant art creation they made while high, only to look at it in the sober light of day and realize that it was a piece of crap. It brought up another memory for me. Once, when I was stoned, many years ago, I saw my toothbrush as if it were a magical, enchanted object. It was funny, engaging, so brilliant and alive. We had a great communication. I stared at it and laughed so much.. How had I failed to notice the wondrous magic of this toothbrush as, day after day, I held it, used it, and never saw what a friend and companion it could be? The next day I rushed to the bathroom to see my new friend, but it had become its former self – my toothbrush, nothing more!
Picture by Robert Hendricks, photojournalist
2 comments:
Toothbrush, huh? I remember being totally fascinated/entertained by the veins on the back of my hand. Aged 15. Tripping off my face. Experiences I am glad to have known. Pleased to recall. Equally pleased to have safely in the distant past.
I am always reminded of these lines by Ginsberg in Howl:
"...who scribbled all night rocking and rolling over lofty incantations which in the yellow morning were stanzas of gibberish..."
whenever I find the transcendent toothbrush returned to its mundane existence by morning.
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