The Daisy Chain (WIP)

Chapter 1: The art of mixing uppers and downers/Ephedrizote Revelation

"You stupid fucking assholes, dont you see what I've become?! What WE'VE become?! We are fucking GODS!"

Daisy seemed to be on a tear today. Granted, the comedown always was a crash landing, even for the sturdiest of drug stock. Yet, she always seemed to take it all in a wispy graceful stride. (Much better than i could ever do, to be honest.) So naturally it came as a shock to the system to see her go full on tropey "Bond Villian" on all the doctors and officers in the room, but it also came as a pleasant surprise. Looking at the next bed over and seeing your 'soul... mate... thing?' (At least the term i could come up with, excusing the diabetes inducing goopyness of it. Less of a 'bonded couple for life' thing and more the 'stumblefucked into interdimensional visions and astral projecting together' type. Now that i'm thinking about it, in a way, we really were god. So I really couldn't blame her for her actions, as grossly distasteful as it was.) handcuffed to a gurney but also going total apeshit kinda makes you forget about your own handcuffs and disintegrated kidneys.

"You have no idea what you've brought upon yourself! Your gods cower in fear of us! They shun you for your vital mistake!"

See, we may have went a little overboard. It starts with the energy shot. One of those little plastic bottles you find at gas stations and grocery store check-outs. The kind stuffed with taurine, guarana, enough caffeine to tweak you the fuck out. But it can't be just any one. There's a special brand. Atwa brand. The secret ingredient is the ephedrizote. On its own it acts like a mental stabilizer and stimulant combined. Kick your ass with the pure 'only made in the finest Atwa labs' energy, then help your brain cope with it. Take advantage of it. All well and good if you wanna secular project your ass to the wendys down the street, but for that real astral shit, you need the second step. A nasal decongestant called 'Celebib'. Three guesses who manufactures the shit. First two don't count. Celebib contains a compund called 'Demoural' which acts as a sort of neural inhibitor, blocking signals of discomfort to the brain while releasing a small boost of endorphines for those really bad 'fuck you' colds. Much like the energy shot, on its own its just some harmless little bit of over the counter joy, but mixed together in a very specific way with very specific measurements and... well, you wouldn't believe me even if i told you...

See, back before the Atwa invasion, we used to line Ephedrizote for the kicks. You could only find the stuff with a script for hyper ADHD or Autism or something and if you were lucky enough to know the right connection who knew the right doctor who knew the right company you could get your hands on some pure superhero origin story shit right in the palm of your hand, albeit temporary. This stuff turned you into goddamn Lex Luthor, or the dude from 'Wanted'. The first 3 minutes after the drop you feel absolutely nothing. Normal thoughts, normal feelings, normal everything. Or at least whats normal for you. Then it all starts with a question. A particularly unassuming question just to fleetingly keep the brain occupied.

'What was the name of the red Telletubbie again?'

Just some dumb shit like that. Nothing anybody would really think twice about. Little do you know, your brain just opened a floodgate of minute analyzation that just compounds.

'Wait, why do I care about that again?'

'Why do i keep thinking the word again so much? Again. A gain. You gain and you get another gain. You get again.'

To the chalkboard mind it just seems like the ramblings of a madman or a homeless drunkard. And in a way, it kinda is, but its never whats being said thats important. It's the inner workings behind it. The man behind the small word carved curtain. Thats where the real lies. I've always figured it important to remember that.

While you sit there and try and reverse engineer the english language, your brain is pumping on overdrive. Like a ferrari busting turbo on that sweet, sweet, nitrus ephedroxide. All your body is doing is trying to keep the steering wheel from veering off the fucking cliff and into the goddamn ocean. Neurons firing and counter firing as your brain catches up to the true speed of time, and your motor functions sadly chug along a mile behind. Then, like the final note of a madman's symphony, everything just stops. You made it. You have achieved total equilibrium between your body, mind, soul and damn near time itself. You check the clock, its been almost ten minutes on the dot from the drop. You muse on the timing of it all, just the pure goodness of things falling perfectly into place. Almost as if it was all meant to be. You realize that time is nothing more than what we make it to be. (Of course it's such a time worn way of thought it comes across as hacky, and even the target of after drop jokes and ribbing, but pretty much every concept becomes obsolete over time, and it doesn't make it any less true.) You feel every part of your being slowly click into place. Slowly synchronize with reality itself.  You wouldn't know it at the time, or for many ever, but you realize that everything has already happened. It's all a matter of how fast you perceive it. How quickly you can process and understand. Because much like your body on the come up, our brains spend their entire lives trying to chase and catch that end. Our whole lives, every possibility, every outcome, happens faster than any unit of measurement could withstand. Our brain spends our whole lives processing and making decisions leading us down another not only predetermined path but a path that has been completely laid out and accounted for a path that in time one could possible learn to contort could learn to will it towards the way-

And then the fall begins. Compare coming out of 9/10ths of the drugs running these streets to waking up from sleep with a nice melody, soft warm light, the smell of homecooked breakfast. The Come Out from pure Ephedrizote is like waking up to an airhorn anthem blowing directly into your ears, while a large persian man stands over your head and slaps your face with his cock. The tendrils of sobriety are harsh and unforgiving, and when they grab you to pull you back, everything is gone in an instant. Same old you, same old life, same old neurons firing in the same old patterns. And people who've never tried it wonder why the ADHD/Autistic suicide rate skyrocketed in the past 3 years. Nobody blames the scientists, just the doctors.

But see, that's only half of the collective whole. One side of the golden coin. It's easy to take for granted what you have without giving a second thought to what you don't understand. But, it becomes a much more intimidating thing to see the otherside (as insightful as it may be). The things you don't want to look at, but ultimately have just as much if not more effect on the outcome than even you do. The underside to balance it all out, and sometimes the best way to keep everything in check is to start from the beginning.