A Weekend at Turkeyfest – chapter 3

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In another life, in another time, I would probably have been some sort of mystic, knowledge seeker, medicine man, or witch doctor. I was born with a deep introspection into the human mind and soul; as well as that great un-qualify-able presence that surrounds every aspect of the reality we exist in.
Unfortunately “mystic” is not an employable, profitable moniker to have in today’s society. More often than not, these souls are pigeon-holed into two highly stereotyped categories: tree huggin’ granola and lentil eating hippy; or drug addled slovenly drunk paranoid dope fiend…
I was neither. And both. Did this mean I was some sort of hyper-intensified mystic. Or did it mean I was not a mystic at all; but rather a confused, drug addled, slovenly tree hugger who was drunk on dope of various chemical compositions who was hell-bent on picking at the scabs of every truth until nothing but the bare lies bled through.

I wonder if Jesus, Mahammud, or Buddha got fucked-up on malt liquor and white-cross’, pot and mushrooms, acid and ecstasy, cigarettes and more pot, and coffee, and more malt liquor, and then contemplated the overbearing and smothering sadness that blankets the people of this world; leaving nothing but antiquated relics of the incandescent souls that were once possessed within?

Yet another point worth pondering. Perhaps in another life, in another time…

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