The thing about our big sapiens brain is that it likes to feel woozy. Since time immemorial we’ve been inventing things to take us on a magic carpet ride to see Lucy’s sky diamonds. It comes with the territory. It’s part of the equation: consciousness = gettin fucked up.
But i’ve been thinkin… why are we so limiting in the experience. I wanna feel something different. I wanna feel weird in a different organ.
For instance, the stomach.
In Eastern cultures the belly plays a huge philosophical role. Zen or Siddhartha or somebody was always spouting off about the belly. Think about the last time you took a shot of straight vodka, and before the buzz kicked in – how did your belly feel? Wasn’t there a wonderful, warm sense of radiation emanating from your middle?
I’d definitely pay for a drug that had nothing to do with fucking up my brain, but only worked on my belly. Imagine sitting on your sunny deck right now, and you’ve popped a couple of “belly pills” and this awesome sense of tingly well-being was enveloping your guts.
Wouldn’t that be cool?
Or how about a drug that only worked on the bottoms of your feet? Can you imagine warm tingling setting your soles on fire? Like getting a foot massage from a hundred cat tongues?
I’d buy that.
Glaxo Pfizer Zeneca get crackin’! We’ll only have a two year window before the DEA frowns on our happy belly and throws us in the hoosegow with violent offenders who smoke nutmeg for a brain buzz – sheesh, that mind altering stuff is so yesterday.