If I had a staff of even one person, or could tolerate a small amphetamine habit, or entertain the possibility of weekly blood transfusions, or had been married to Vera Nabokov, or had a housespouse of even minimal abilities, a literary life would be easier to bring about. (In my mind I see all your male readers rolling their eyes. But your female ones - what is that? Are they nodding in agreement? Are their fists in the air?)
The continuous narrative of existence is a lie. There is no continuous narrative, there are lit-up moments, and the rest is dark. When you look closely, the twenty-four hour day is framed into a moment; the still-life of the jerky amphetamine world. That woman-a pieta. Those men, rough angels with an unknown message. The children holding hands, spanning time. And in every still-life, there is a story, the story that tells you everything you need to know.
He was harassed, but still he spoke with authority. He was, in fact, characteristic of the best type of dominant male in the world at this time. He was fifty-five years old, tough, shrewd, unburdened by the complicated ethical ambiguities which puzzle intellectuals, and had long ago decided that the world was a mean son-of-a-bitch in which only the most cunning and ruthless can survive. He was also as kind as was possible for one holding that ultra-Darwinian philosophy; and he genuinely loved children and dogs, unless they were on the site of something that had to be bombed in the National Interest. He still retained some sense of humor, despite the burdens of his almost godly office, and, although he had been impotent with his wife for nearly ten years now, he generally achieved orgasm in the mouth of a skilled prostitute within 1.5 minutes. He took amphetamine pep pills to keep going on his grueling twenty-hour day, with the result that his vision of the world was somewhat skewed in a paranoid direction, and he took tranquilizers to keep from worrying too much, with the result that his detachment sometimes bordered on the schizophrenic; but most of the time his innate shrewdness gave him a fingernail grip on reality.
Robert Anton Wilson
We stood there for a minute or two, with John swaying gently against my arm. 'I'm feeling better, ' he announced. Then he looked up at the stars. 'Wow..' he intoned. 'Look at that! Isn't that amazing?". I followed his gaze. The stars did look good but they didn't look that good. It was very unlike John to be over the top in that way. I stared at him. He was wired-pin-sharp and quivering, resonating away like a human tuning fork. No sooner had John uttered his immortal words about the stars than George and Paul came bursting out on the roof. They had come tearing up from the studio as soon as they found out where we were. They knew why John was feeling unwell. Maybe everyone else did, too - everyone except for father-figure George Martin here! It was very simple. John was tripping on LSD. He had taken it by mistake, they said - he had meant to take an amphetamine tablet. That hardly made any difference, frankly; the fact was that John was only too likely to imagine he could fly, and launch himself off the low parapet that ran around the roof. They had been absolutely terrified that he might do so. I spoke to Paul about this night many years later, and he confirmed that he and George had been shaken rigid when they found out we were up on the roof. They knew John was having a what you might call a bad trip. John didn't go back to Weybridge that night; Paul took him home to his place, in nearby Cavendish Road. They were intensely close, remember, and Paul would do almost anything for John. So, once they were safe inside, Paul took a tablet of LSD for the first time, 'So I could get with John' as he put it- be with him in his misery and fear. What about that for friendship?
Mapenzi, kama ilivyo kwa vitu vyote hapa ulimwenguni, hayawezi kuwepo bila kujumuishwa na fizikia na kemia yake! Bila kemia hakuna mapenzi ya kudumu. Tamaa ya ngono kimsingi huanza pindi unapokutana na mtu. Tamaa hiyo huweza kukua na kuwa kitu kingine kadiri muda unavyokwenda lakini chanzo kinakuwepo toka siku ya kwanza mlipokutana. Kemikali inayosababisha tamaa ya ngono na hata kuikuza tamaa hiyo ni 'phenyl ethylamine' ('fino itholamine') au PEA ambayo ni kemikali ya mapenzi ndani ya ubongo. Husisimua watu na huongeza nguvu za kimwili (fizikia) na kihisia (kemia). Tamaa husababisha mtu azalishe PEA nyingi zaidi, kitu kinachosababisha kujisikia kizunguzungu (cha hisia za kimapenzi) na dalili zingine kama magoti kutetemeka, jasho kutoka viganjani na kutokutulia. Kemikali hii inapozalishwa kwa kiwango kikubwa, hutuma alamu ('signals') kutoka kwenye ubongo mpaka kwenye viungo vingine vya mwili na kutumika kama 'dopamine' au 'amphetamine' ambazo ni kemikali za ulevi ndani ya ubongo. Iwapo unajiuliza kwa nini wewe au mtu mwingine unavutiwa na mtu ambaye hamwendani kimapenzi, inaweza kuwa ni kwa sababu una kiwango kikubwa cha kemikali hizo kuliko mwenzako, kitu ambacho huzidi uwezo wa kutumia kichwa na kutoa maamuzi bora kulingana na akili ya kuzaliwa. Kwa jumla, mapenzi yote ya kweli uhitaji angalau kiwango kidogo cha PEA kwa wale wanaopendana. Cha msingi kukumbuka ni kwamba kemikali hizi huja kwa vituo, nikiwa simaanishi kwamba tamaa ya ngono hupotea pale mtu anapoelekea kwenye uhusiano wa kudumu. Lakini mambo hubadilika. Hatuwezi kuvumilia zile hisia kali kadiri tunavyozidi kusafiri kuelekea kwenye uhusiano wa kudumu na kwenye maisha ya pamoja yenye furaha. Katika uhusiano wenye afya hata hivyo matatizo hutokea hapa na pale. Chanzo cha Murphy na Debbie kupendana kilikuwa kemia zaidi kuliko fizikia. Kama hakuna kemia hakuna mapenzi.