“It’s not that ‘thought’ again, is it?” said Howard.
“No, now shush.”
That ‘thought’ that Howard brought up was what Karen liked to
call “the thought that thinks itself. A few times before, when
Karen has done whippets while stoned we noticed she would drift
away from the rest of us, her eyes would glaze over, and she would
look frightened. It turned out to be the dreaded ‘thought that
thinks itself’ and it would have Karen’s brain spinning, spinning
in on itself for hours at a time.
“Now,” said Karen. “This may only seem important because I’m
stoned, but I was thinking, you know how sometimes when you’re
alone, maybe, you’ll just kind of drift off. It’s not a daydream,
really. It’s more like a different way of thinking. You kind of
see the whole world as a large system. Or something. And
everything seems kind of small and pathetic.”
“Sounds like clinical depression,” said Howard.
“No, it never lasts very long. It’s a weird thing. It seems
like there’s a weird hum, or vibration associated with it. It
happens a lot when I’m reading. It reminds me of getting stoned,
but not really. It’s weird, it’s a kind of thought, a different
way of thinking–”
“I do know what you’re talking about,” I said. “It’s weird,
I’ve never actually heard anyone talk about it. Or read anything
about it. Which is odd, I guess. Wait. Lemme make sure we’re
talking about the same thing–It’s a thought, a kind of thought,
only there’s a very real physical sensation attached to it, a kind
of hum, or vibration. It seems like something very personal,
almost embarrassing to talk about, for some reason. Sort of like
being caught masturbating.”
“Unintentionally,” Karen added, and we all laughed. For
different reasons.
“All right, so now we know what you’re talking about, so what
do you make of it?”
“Well, what if it’s something important, something basic about
consciousness, or how language works.”
“An epiphenomenon of self-awareness,” said my brother. “A
side effect, if you will.”
His phrasing sounded so preposterous that I was forced to
refill the bong.
“Remember when all the pot was like this,” I said.
“Nope.”
“Uh uh.”
“Well it was. Way back there in those heady days of the early
’80’s.”
“What is it,” asked Karen. “Just more thc?”
“I think this stuff is laced with a little opium. Seems to be
a more physical high.”
Karen said, “It’s in my face, it’s in my chest, my *knees*.
My fucking *knees*. I tell you, my knees have never been stoned
before.”
Howard took another hit. He was completely blind.
“I think we’ve lost How,” said Karen, who pulled his head down
across her thigh. I think he was asleep before he landed.
“I’m afraid so,” I said.
“So anyway,” said Karen. “What I said, does it mean anything,
or does it just seem profound because I’m high.”
“I think you’re astonishing,” I said.
“Ooooh, say that again,” said Karen. “It gave me a chill.”
“I find you absolutely astonishing.”
“Oh God, there it goes again,” she said. “I think I better
put this one to bed.”
“I’m gonna throw in some French bread pizzas, want any?”
“Oh God yes. How long will that take?”
“In the toaster oven. . .Half hour.”
“There any cookies in there? For in the meantime?”
“Yeah, Pepperidge Farm Sausalitos. And we’ve still got all
that Haggen-Dasz strawberry–”
“Bingo.”
RICHH
–
