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InvisibleModestMouse
IM WALKIN ON SUNSHINE
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Registered: 05/06/13
Posts: 19,227
Loc: Upstate
The Twelve People You Meet on the Couch * 32
    #19262034 - 12/11/13 07:04 PM (10 years, 2 months ago)

The Twelve People You Meet on the Couch




1. Joe Shmo
        By societies standards, Mr. Shmo is an indistinguishably normal ally of the couch shaman crew. He’s your grocer, your uncle, or perhaps your mailman. Joe can be found smoking pot on a Thursday, hammered that Friday, and reluctantly attending church on Sunday. He’s a pretty low maintenance guy, mostly because he doesn't take risks.
      As a kid, he was on a school athletic team, but only because his parents wouldn’t talk to him if he wasn’t. Joe never really excelled at anything, except for not standing out in any strange or recognizable way, which is almost an accomplishment in itself. Joe started smoking weed sometime in high school, his friends were doing it at a party and he jumped in. He didn’t think too much of it, and he never has, but he always partook if it was around. If Joe is in college he’s majoring in business, and likely dating a blonde haired chick with a cute dog. She either has no idea he gets loaded on the weekends, or pretends to have no idea he gets loaded on the weekends.
      Joe is a novelty tripper; he has always wanted to try psychedelics because they seem like a neat way to pass the time.  He doesn't know much about them, but he also doesn't fear diving in. He’ll probably cite inspiration from his older cousin’s stories of experimentation in college, or something, either way it’s nothing you haven’t heard before.
        When you trip with Joe, it’s important to keep either comedy central or a psychedelic visualizer on, because that’s probably what he’ll find himself wanting to watch. He’ll say things like “I’m tripping balls”, despite the fact that he’s clearly just fine. Having Joe trip with you is the same as tripping alone, except now you have someone to spit your drug-induced ramblings at. Unlike any other environment, Joe is a rare breed among the twelve people you meet on the couch. You keep him around because he orders pizza for everyone with his dad’s credit card, and you never have to pay him back.

2. Mr. Couch
      True to his name, Mr. Couch seems to have a magnet connecting his ass to the sofa. Mr. Couch doesn’t get out much, which is painfully evident by his serpentine complexion and the fact that he sweats when he walks. He has never weighed more than 150 pounds, and he’s never spent more than $5 on a meal. You can always find a leftover bag of McDonalds within his vicinity. He’s 6 ft. something and has about as much motivation as he does teeth.
        He doesn’t talk about his past much, and he talks even less about his future. He always has a few ten dollar bills in his wallet despite the fact that you’ll never catch him at an ATM. Mr. Couch goes to job interviews in a polo and khaki shorts, and lands the job because he has a friend on the inside. He wears a flat-brimmed hat with no visible brand of any sort on it, you're pretty sure he sleeps with it on. He drives the car his dad has been fixing since well before the birth of Christ, and there’s always a half-smoked joint in the ashtray.
      Mr. Couch smokes enough weed that he doesn’t need to talk about it all the time. It’s hard to imagine a time before he smoked, and he doesn't like to try. He carries a lighter everywhere, and sometimes lights his furniture on fire for a split second just for shits and giggles. Surprisingly, he tells amazing stories, even though you never see him out doing anything. You get the strange impression that his alternative hobby to smoking weed is bullshitting with whoever happens to be sitting next to him. Mr. Couch spends the night without asking (sometimes for multiple days in a row), which is fine by you because by the time he leaves in the morning your apartment is mildly hotboxed.
        Mr. Couch tends to get quiet when he trips. You can tell that he takes psychedelics with a strange seriousness, unlike his hairdo which is some mix between a year-old discount haircut and that time he accidentally lit his beard on fire. He get's philosophical, but only speaks about it when prompted by an uncomfortable silence. When shit heads south in the room, Mr. Couch is the first man everyone turns to. He is the MacGyver of bad trip solutions, despite never having had one himelf.

3. The Martyr
      The Martyr walks into the gas station and buy’s a scratch off hoping he’ll lose. His car is in pieces in the driveway, his Grandma just got diagnosed with cancer, and he doesn’t have money for next month’s rent. Those who don’t know The Martyr feel sad for him, but those who are acquainted with him know that his position in life is attributed mostly to his shitty attitude and self-esteem issues.
      The Martyr is a modern day minesweeper; he makes all the mistakes before you do so you don’t have to. He was raised religious, believes in evolution, and practices masturbation. The Martyr comes off as an optimistic pushover at best and a depressed two-face at worst. He makes poor decisions under the influence of drugs, and despite his doctor claiming otherwise, he believes he’s physically dependent on marijuana. He studies something, but not with very much attention or passion. He sees school and work as a lunch break from the daily grind of getting stoned.

      You don’t really remember how you met The Martyr, but he’s always been on pretty good terms with all of the other couch shamans. He never asks for money when he smokes you up, and he always has the best shit. The Martyr frequently confides in Mr. Couch for advice and counseling, with mixed results. He’s a reliable guy between 11 am and 3 pm, which is the brief period of time when he’s shuffling between classes or daydreaming, but at night he’s generally unreachable. He goes out on the weekends and hits on women who are out of his league, using pickup lines he found on the internet.
      The Martyr is not great to trip with; he mostly focuses on material things and trivial gossip. If he attempts to self-reflect or look inward it is typically met with bad vibes that are then projected around the couch and onto everyone else. The truth is, The Martyr has gotten the message but refuses to hang up the phone. While he should really avoid tripping and focus on getting his shit together, he has never given the plan serious consideration. The most redeemable quality about the Martyr is that he is strangely likeable once you get to know him. However, you’ll probably find yourself regretting the decision to include him in the group trip.

4. Susan Greene
      Did somebody say Starbucks? With all the warmth and energy of a cup of chai tea, Susan Greene is a welcomed addition to the order of The Couch. She’s elegant, irresistibly charming, and has a sweet tooth for drugs that only her closest friends know about.  Susan finds herself caught in a constant balancing act between being a health-conscious liberal, and exploring the fuck out of her body with drugs.
        Susan is the kind of girl you met through a friend, and immediately believed to be some sort of trick. Such a well-mannered, health-conscious woman surely doesn’t get stoned off her ass in her free time, does she? After about a day or two of smoking with her, you’ll feel bad you ever had your doubts. Simply put, Susan is good at being what she needs to be when she needs to be it.  When she smokes, she watches old stand-up acts of Cheech and Chong or Dave Chappelle while laughing like a child. Catch her sober, however, and she’s likely to be studying for a biochem exam while simultaneously talking to her mother on the phone and cooking a nice salmon and chives dish.
      Despite never going to the gym, Susan maintains a slim and healthy physique. You attribute this to genetics, but it’s probably tied to her field-mouse diet of leafy greens, string beans, and everything in between.  She always has money but never brags about it, and never overspends. Miss Greene doesn’t buy drugs; they fall into her lap. She keeps a cozy home, and everyone who comes over knows that they’re trading drugs for a warm meal and a soft chair. Naturally, all of the other couch shamans happily gravitate towards Susan’s hospitality.
      While she is great at being elegant and adaptable, there’s more to her than meets the eye. When she consumes alcohol, for instance, Susan engages in heavy gossip about anyone and everyone that comes to mind.  When tripping, she rapidly fluctuates between a tranquil soul and a harsh critic of all but herself. After some time of getting to know her, it becomes evident that Susan doesn’t really do drugs, the drugs do Susan. Regardless, she never means harm, and that banana bread now sitting on your plate more than makes up for the fact that she unknowingly insulted everyone in the room ten minutes prior.

5. Away Boy
    Away Boy sits down on the couch. He’s left a strange and unnecessarily large gap between himself and you. He takes out his phone and begins to pluck away at the screen out of instinct, as if he’s home in his room on a quiet Monday night. The only problem is that it’s not a quiet Monday night; it’s Friday and the rest of the room is engaged in happy, clumsy, conversation while Away Boy continues to distance himself from the situation.
    Trying to make conversation with this man is a challenge, and squeezing multiple sentences out of him is a feat worthy of a trophy. He listens to music that no one else understands, he’s dating a girl who doesn’t know his middle name, and people constantly forget he’s in the room. His mom stopped asking how his day was on his fifth birthday, and his dad had resigned before he was born. Alarmingly, none of this fazes Away Boy, for he maintains a perpetually stoned headspace; a soft cushion to rest against at the end of a long and empty day.
    The problem with Away Boy is that he can’t put himself in the moment, for he is too focused on his insecurities and potential problems of the future. He constantly finds himself on the outskirts of a social landscape, and you’ve been trying to bring him inside for months. After all, he is a modest and honest person, despite his social shortcomings.  You get a suspicion that he could really benefit from some MDMA, but have never voiced it. You know as well as he does that drugs are just a temporary patch to Away Boy’s problems, and what he needs is something more sustaining.
    Away Boy stands to profit from a life-changing trip, but he knows that will never happen. He simply can’t let it all go, so to speak. Instead of doing drugs with Away Boy, you should talk to him in a sober setting, get lunch with him, and get him to open up to you.  Who knows? Maybe one day someone will make it over that moat he has been digging around himself since he was born.

6. The Man Who Lost His Name
There he is on State street
Some half block ahead of your present position, or lack thereof
He’s relatively Mexican
In that he’s got more Mexican in him than other folks you see around

Standing there
Being poor
Smoking some manor of a rolled cigarette
Which contains more than a legal buzz

The ol’ 60/40 blend
PCP and pipe tobacco
Sloppily rolled together
In haste yet tired routine

The tobacco tells the real story here
the real punchline to the joke
PCP is the metaphor, old and misunderstood
But having more use than credited for

His outfit accommodates for several types of weather
While being positively suitable for none
He’s wearing a shirt that says “Bring your own acid”
You laugh at the thought and continue walking

Your parents taught you better than to talk to this figure
A million books without an ending sit in his library
Going somewhere with his feet and nowhere in his head
He’s on a mission to remember his name

Seemed to have escape him in that one acid trip
Back in '97
When the girls were still around
Lost along with everything else he used to posses

You won’t get to trip with him
But you’d like to
Perhaps behind a piece of bulletproof glass
And a dozen armed guards

You hope you see him on the way back
A perverse thought
Like hoping to drive past a car accident
Oh well

7. The Father
    He arrives. Mingles through the door with the Werewolves of London prancing behind him in some rendition of a single file line.  His hair is an asymmetric result of grease, time, and gravity; a strange yet familiar product of several years of drug use and calculated abandonment. A beard of sorts wraps around his chin, gray as they come. Much of his appearance, like his personality, comes as a thick haze. Almost as if all of the smoke he’s been flirting with for so many years has finally decided it’d like to spend the night. Being naturally interested in the odd and boisterous, you sense the spark here immediately, and walk over for a chat.
    It’s made clear halfway through your greeting: this man’s the real deal. Talking with him is something like putting your shoes on:  with almost zero precision (or sobriety) required you can achieve desired results quite promptly. He speaks fondly of the old days: the weed, the acid, that legendary line of cocaine off the dashboard of his old VW Microbus. This conversation is some sort of ritualistic baton pass that seems to take place whenever an elder and a young gun cross paths, and you’re eating it up. After all, The Father has done everything you could think of. It’s not even a matter of bragging, his demeanor tells as much of his story as that “professional enough” tattoo sloppily perched on the back of his neck next to the Dancing Bears.
    Turns out he’s an engineer of sorts, a real brain, who works for a government contractor across town. He can fix most problems you’ll encounter with whatever happens to be in his left pocket at the time, a handy dude to have around when the going gets tough and the tough get lost. He’s relatively responsible, in that his job demands it. It’s clear that this man can’t really afford to smoke weed and kick back regularly anymore, but he just can’t let go of the lifestyle. If you linger around long enough, you may be able to smell his last blunt on the fringe of his leather jacket. Pungent, but not off-putting. If The Father had a biography that would be it’s tagline.
    After discussing with him the revolution of recent technology and it’s effects on society, you decide it’s getting late. You down that last drink and he follows suit. He throws a solitary bill on the table for the bartender...

A two.

    The cocktease of tips. Enough to silence any possible complaints but certainly not a generosity by any stretch of the imagination.  As you make your way to the door, he shouts goodbye to somebody named “Big Ed” who returns the gesture from some unseen location. You start your goodbye and aim for your car when you’re met with the old “nah, follow me” nod. Expecting a joint and Pink Floyd, you hop into his car for a burn. You make yourself comfortable and get out your lighter upon realizing that without hesitation, he has pulled out a bag of crystal the size of your fist from underneath the drivers seat.

Meth. Fuck.

    You attempt to throw a curveball: “So how old did you say your kid was?”. A small distraction, you pray he doesn’t see this for what it is. You’ve never done meth, and that cherry isn’t one you planned on popping. “18 months… precious girl… wife’s watching her tonight”, he says as he crushes up a small shard. Your pitch fails and before you know it you’re feeling the come up of a quick and dirty stimulant. You stay for a story and a half about the 80’s and his small time touring with “The Dead”, and then hastily exchange a farewell as you tweak-walk your way to your car and shove home.
    The Father has impressed you, gotten you to try a drug you’d never have considered, and told you some kickass stories all in a short night’s encounter. “If only I could see what his day-to-day is like”, you ponder.
    Truly, what a fun little glimpse you would receive. Oh the interest you’d derive from seeing a strung out wife cleaning a baby’s diaper in the unkempt den that man calls home. The bags of garbage strewn across the front lawn. Those overdraft statements from two years ago sitting under a pile of newspapers on the kitchen table, the foreclosure notice on the front door. Water damage on the ceilings, empties in the shower, and that garbage bag full of take-out next to the child’s crib… All products of an addiction that has gone too far. Men like The Father are perhaps best met during that last call at the local watering hole. In this environment you can glimpse a piece of a beautiful picture before discovering the rest of it has faded into a murky blur.
    You conclude that two hours was enough; the healthy limit of engagement with a fellow like this. Just as your astonishment at The Father’s charisma has an expiration date, so too does his ability to dance that line between a managed habit and a reckless addiction. It’s only a matter of time now before the bill comes for that mortgage payment that’s now perched somewhere in his central nervous system.

8. Candice
      Once upon a time, in a nice suburban home there lived a sweet and beautiful girl. She liked horses, boys, and Sunday brunches after church. She was a daddy’s girl, and her mom’s pride and joy. You knew her quite well back then and even had a small thing with her for some time. Those were the golden days for beautiful, thin, charming Candice.
      Two years later she now sits, on the couch directly opposite you, wearing a tight tie-dye t-shirt and pajama pants. She’s doing a line and a half of coke off a dirty “TIME” magazine. Candice then follows the line with a quick torch-puff of her bowl and then offers it to the guy next to her. You realize that it only takes a small smoking session with Candice to get the gist of what she’s been up to.  If only you had known that.
      Nope. You caught up with Candice the hard way: A spontaneous hook-up that you will now spend years of hard drug use trying to forget. You went to her house expecting that trim and intelligent girl from two years prior and got handed something entirely different, like getting someone else’s meal at the drive through. Simply put: that heart tattoo on her left leg which used to be tiny and charming looked as if it were suddenly caught in the middle of a serious game of Tug of War.  There was no going back though, once you touch the cookie, it’s yours. If only you had kept your hand out of the jar.
      It turns out, Candice went through some sort of reverse metamorphosis. Through some combination of onset-schizophrenia and substance abuse, she was removed from her nursing program and had to leave college. She now works at Taco Bell (if you consider selling pot in the parking lot “work”), and spends most of her paycheck on gas and Robitussin. The poor woman is stuck under a rain-cloud: her last boyfriend ditched her when the scales tipped 170, her savings account recently bottomed out, and her mom sold her prized horses. Candice is now locked in a concerted effort to blunt her sad reality with hard liquor and synthetic pot on a nightly basis.  While Candice used to be a prude tease to many-a-boy, you realize things have changed in that department. She’s almost always down for sex, and usually gets a taker, but never finds that repeat customer she’s searching for. She’s the used car with a few-thousand too many miles on it.
      You pity the poor girl. So much promise, yet no hint of a delivery. Candice’s ship is sinking quickly, and you don’t know if she can really turn it around. The title “Damaged good’s” doesn't begin to do this story justice.

9. The Geek
      Coming in as the ninth member of this crooked group of couch dwellers is The Geek. With his quick wit, unimposing nature, and general reliability it’s hard not to like this fellow. You stumbled into meeting The Geek at some awkward place and time, and over the course of a few months became really good friends with him.  You now find yourself stop-light-stoned in his room, talking at length about space, more often than you’d care to admit.
      Despite The Geek’s sweet tooth for weed and booze, he maintains a respectable academic resume. He’s currently studying Neuro-something, and has a real passion for it. He once got baked and tried to talk to you about the concepts, while you happily pretended to understand.
      The Geek is an all-or-nothing sort of dude.  The man doesn’t simply do drugs, he fucking minors in them. If Alexander Shulgin had twelve disciples, this guy would be the first on the list. He’s part of that 1 percent of the population that knows LSD is the acronym for “lysergic acid diethylamide” and perhaps the only percent that cares.  In listening to him closely, you discover that his immense knowledge of all things psychoactive is simply the by-product of a serious internet addiction. Although his overly-scientific approach to drugs frightens the average pothead, you’ve come to appreciate it. After all, Reddit needs folks like this; Brave heroes, unafraid of engaging in that all too important discussion on the bio-availability of insufflated Methoxetamine HCL in humans.
      When he’s not doing drugs or in class, The Geek is engaging in one of his many other passions. He could be locked in his room tinkering with that audio/video system to get the setup just right. Perhaps he’s programming an AI for an old modified copy of DOOM, or tactically text-messaging that cute girl he met in clumsy haste the day prior. The Geek is just the right amount of awkward to get away with these sorts of endeavors without seeming any stranger than everyone already believes he is. He uses this “patently-odd” reputation to his advantage, and plays up his own quirky demeanor just for kicks.
      Despite what folks may say about him, The Geek is usually having a better time than the others. He, The Geek, is content in his self-constructed world of numbers and science and big ideas, and nothing can change that.

10. Paco

    Paco and you met at Electric Forest '12. You had the shits from the dozens of half assed campfire hotdogs you ate and he happened to be crack-walking through the bathrooms. Mid stim daze and desperate, Paco was in the market for free wallets and your back pocket was looking fat. As you turned to enter the overflowing Port-O-John, he snapped away from your pocket and into your face. To cover up being caught mid-lifted, Paco then proceeded to do what Paco knows best: shouting insults and then trying to sell overpriced cocaine.
    Now normally you would've waltzed on into the John without paying Paco a second cent worth of time, but a "normal" day it was not. At the time, you were still experiencing the nasal drip of a "killer dose" of molly carefully weighed out by some farsighted punk who'd lost his glasses. During this overdosed MDMA come-up, Paco was the perfect man for the job. After insulting you in broken English, he embarked on a speed-rant regarding some beef with his cousins boyfriend. Sounds appealling? It wasnt, but on MDMA you willingly transformed into a sort of temporary psychologist for the guy. You felt that it was a transcending moment of charity; to spend the following four hours talking to Paco about "family values" at his van/camp site and doing coke.
    By the end of the ordeal, when your serotonin receptors started running noticeably low on juice, you offered to buy some of the " great-fishcale-fire-china" coke he was selling as a way of parting from the situation. He then, offering the following words of wisdom, swiftly packed his van to drive away:
"Aye did I say coke meng? Thats ice, my goof. Hahahahahahahah!"
    Following that festival, you never ran into ol' Paco again. That number he gave you (to call about your stimmed-out "business plan")  turned out to be for some Citgo in Kansas. Chalking the encounter down as a "freak mistake", you realize you learned two things about life that day. That your heart can only beat so fast before something breaks, and that beaners sell meth as coke.

11. Ross

    Right about now this man is sitting in his garage smoking a sizeable blunt, and attempting to hammer out the chords of an obscure Zeppelin song.
His place is trashed, in all the right ways; old duplicate vinals of some of the best are nailed haphazardly to the wall, there's an array of well-used drums off to the side, and what appears to be Chewbacca's distant cousin sitting on a blown-out couch ripping a grav bong. The hairy fellow exhales the plume of smoke and shouts:
"Hey what do you think about the 8th of May?"

"That's Jess' birthday man, you know that. We are going out of town that weekend. We've gone over this, we gotta tell them no Howie"                                     

At this point, the wooly fellow, "Howie" gets up, walks over to the amp, and turns a few knobs.

"Listen to me for a second Ross."

"I'm listening howe, I've been listen..."

"Do you remember all that momentum we had last summer? The crowds, the busy weekends, Bernie's Cove..."

"I remember the Cove"

"Good times right?"

"Righ, they were great times Howe but..."

"BUT Sid hopped off, and we lost our touch for a little while. So what? It happens, Ross. We have Marco now, Marco is a kickass drummer man you know that..."                     

    Ross and Howie continue talking, but the picture is clear. Those times when Ross was playing with his friends Howie and Sid felt electric. Even in the smallest of venue's, the feeling that he was doing what he loved with his two best friends is hard to beat. Somewhere along the line, Sid lost sight of the plan and left the group for his girl. Now Ross can't seem to play like he once did, and he's not even sure he wants to. Ironically, he routinely finds himself in the position Sid once did. His relationship with Jess is routinely on the rocks as he struggles daily between the band and his woman of 6 years.

    Ross never went to college, and his JCPenney sales experience isnt exactly a hot resume seller. He never had a real plan, and instead relied on his musical momentum almost entirely. He had played the "parents garage/apartment" card for several years, and it was getting old. At the age of 26, he began to see his peers and friends take up the reigns of responsibility, while he remained stagnant. All he had to show for his years of jamming away in the garage was a band that was, at one point in time, full of potential. You cannot make a living on potential alone, though. He has to do something to get his life back on track, and he knows this.

    What Ross doesn't know, is that there are millions just like him. Chock full of good potential without the certainty or confidence to act on it. All sitting somewhere pondering if they themselves will ever "make it". Stuck somewhere between 1st gear and Neutral.
                                                               
After him and Howie are done talking, he picks up his guitar, and turns his amp back up.                                     
             
"Howe, are you feelin sharp?"

"Sharp enough" he mumbles as he ignites the bong once more.

"Good. Give Marco a call, lets try to get something going tonight. I'm going to talk to Jess... We'll sign on for the 8th. This conversation is going to suck ass. You fuckin owe me, man."

Howie grins a bit and then nods and springs up. Tobacco Bong Rip may soon make their return.

12. The Gambler

He may sell drugs, but seeing the transaction take place is about as likely as catching herpes from a nun. He's fast but cautious. With his ducks in a row, and all his chips in the pot, he's got a full house and a loaded gun. The only time he wakes up with bed head is when his lady stays the night, and he never seems to be asleep if someone needs to get a hold of him.

There's a pair of sunglasses seemingly stitched to his head, as you'll seldom see his eyes. You'd assume he's simply coked up, but there's never a crash nor coke to be found. His speed and confident decisiveness are derived from nothing more than the desire to live in the moment. He'll take a single puff of that blunt he rolled for everyone and then later stroll around the bay, casually making conversation with passerby. Anxiety extinguished and inhibitions long revoked, The Gambler is at ease in crowds, and always looking to meet others. It's in his blood, the drive to make as many connections as fate allows. These friendships and connections are only as good as the people behind them, and The Gambler knows this. You will only catch him hanging out with the right crowd at the right time; he spares no time for the fake. These seemingly natural gifts of charisma and good judgement got him in the game, and it's why he'll remain in it long after the others are barred.

The various drugs he occasionally ingests appear to be of more utility than necessity, and you've never seen him addicted to anything except for those damn Marb Reds he's always got hanging out of his mouth. He knows as well as you that drugs will push you off your high horse just as soon as they'll let you on it.

The Gambler is frequently on the move, but you're certain you'll keep in touch with him. Not because he sells you and your buddies good shit but because he's a real soul, someone to hold meaningful conversation with. Member of a dying breed - those with as much substance as they have style are in short supply and always have been.

Perhaps it's all luck, and his apparently overwhelming fortune and happiness in life has just emerged out of some statistical anomaly, or maybe, just maybe, he's no different than the rest of us who live for the day.


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Anyone got a lowpass filter in this biiiiash?


Edited by ModestMouse (08/10/15 12:34 PM)


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InvisibleSham87
mashAllah
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Registered: 05/16/11
Posts: 9,819
Re: The Twelve People You Meet on the Couch [Re: ModestMouse] * 1
    #19262064 - 12/11/13 07:08 PM (10 years, 2 months ago)

Introspection...nice.


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:mushroom2::sun::crazy2::leaf:




...once in a while you get shown the light in the strangest places if you look at it right...



:feelsgoatman:


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Invisiblememes
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Re: The Twelve People You Meet on the Couch [Re: ModestMouse] * 8
    #19262078 - 12/11/13 07:10 PM (10 years, 2 months ago)

This is fun.

I started one called "Silent Susan" and was going to create a persona of subexcellence, modest beauty and a difficult family upbringing.  She would turn into a chameleon, masking the habits and stylings of the man she's attached herself to at the moment.




I started writing it, but in order to create a truly convincing and quality narrative, i picked bits and pieces of various friend's lives and stitched them together into a quilt of mediocrity and shame.  then i felt bad about it so i deleted it and typed this instead. 

good thread :thumbup:


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InvisibleModestMouse
IM WALKIN ON SUNSHINE
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Posts: 19,227
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Re: The Twelve People You Meet on the Couch [Re: memes]
    #19262086 - 12/11/13 07:12 PM (10 years, 2 months ago)

:highfive:

By all means go for it. I'm going to try to write one of these every night until I have all 12 spots filled. I have a rough idea of the personalities but feel free to give it your own shot!

@Sham, You're partially correct. Actually I can relate to all of the characters I will write about, otherwise I wouldn't be able to attempt ti dissect them.


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Anyone got a lowpass filter in this biiiiash?


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OfflineDr. P. Silocybin
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Re: The Twelve People You Meet on the Couch [Re: ModestMouse]
    #19262090 - 12/11/13 07:12 PM (10 years, 2 months ago)

2?
edit: ah.. I see :popcorn:


Edited by Dr. P. Silocybin (12/11/13 07:20 PM)


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Invisiblememes
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Re: The Twelve People You Meet on the Couch [Re: ModestMouse]
    #19262097 - 12/11/13 07:14 PM (10 years, 2 months ago)

Quote:

ModestMouse said:
:highfive:

By all means go for it. I'm going to try to write one of these every night until I have all 12 spots filled. I have a rough idea of the personalities but feel free to give it your own shot!



lol none of that was implied in your original post.  i expected all 12 right there at first.  then saw it was something you were diong yourself, so if igured you were just starting a game like the "add a word to make a story" thread.  :smile:

i dont want to write one up.  i alreayd did.  it depressed me.  i look forward to your remaining 11!


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Re: The Twelve People You Meet on the Couch [Re: memes]
    #19262104 - 12/11/13 07:15 PM (10 years, 2 months ago)

I wanted to lead off in a blunt fashion.


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Re: The Twelve People You Meet on the Couch [Re: Dr. P. Silocybin]
    #19262105 - 12/11/13 07:15 PM (10 years, 2 months ago)

:popcorn:


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Re: The Twelve People You Meet on the Couch [Re: shLong]
    #19262127 - 12/11/13 07:20 PM (10 years, 2 months ago)

Very cool idea man.  As I read this thread title I tried thinking of the different types of people I have met on couches late at night these past few months. 

Interested to see what you come up with.


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Re: The Twelve People You Meet on the Couch [Re: ModestMouse]
    #19262154 - 12/11/13 07:26 PM (10 years, 2 months ago)

This'll be a fun read.

Nice idea. :thumbup:


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Re: The Twelve People You Meet on the Couch [Re: Into The Woods]
    #19262183 - 12/11/13 07:31 PM (10 years, 2 months ago)

I feel like there should probably be a "Sketchy Dealer" amongst the 12 apostles, but I'm not good at writing:thumbdown:


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Re: The Twelve People You Meet on the Couch [Re: lsms]
    #19262205 - 12/11/13 07:35 PM (10 years, 2 months ago)

I'll be keeping an eye on this thread. :smile:


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Re: The Twelve People You Meet on the Couch [Re: Hellogoodbyedeath]
    #19262224 - 12/11/13 07:37 PM (10 years, 2 months ago)

You guys inspired me to write up my second one (Mr. Couch). But I promise, the next one won't be posted until tomorrow.


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Re: The Twelve People You Meet on the Couch [Re: ModestMouse]
    #19262353 - 12/11/13 07:52 PM (10 years, 2 months ago)

Well recently we had an official couch reunion in Europe. We all flew in from Egypt & were going to sit o na couch for 30 hours. We sat on the couch for a long time & then got up and went to a new couch. We were deciding to move to a couch at the far end ofthe room. We knew this couch used to serve as a prized piece of furniture inside the opening parts of a museum. People have taken pictures of this couch & framed it on their doors so people can later on brag & say that they have sat on this couch before, as if there very sitting on the couch was in itself an accomplishment that had to be acknowledged. As if this couch was actually produced in China but you secretly thought it could have been made in Japan. You wanted it to be made in Japan but it was made in China, you couldn't acknowledge the fact that you bought it three years earlier did you old boy?


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Re: The Twelve People You Meet on the Couch [Re: drkkenny] * 2
    #19266467 - 12/12/13 03:41 PM (10 years, 2 months ago)

3. The Martyr
      The Martyr walks into the gas station and buy’s a scratch off hoping he’ll lose. His car is in pieces in the driveway, his Grandma just got diagnosed with cancer, and he doesn’t have money for next month’s rent. Those who don’t know The Martyr feel sad for him, but those who are acquainted with him know that his position in life is attributed mostly to his shitty attitude and self-esteem issues.
      The Martyr is a modern day minesweeper; he makes all the mistakes before you do so you don’t have to. He was raised religious, believes in evolution, and practices masturbation. The Martyr comes off as an optimistic pushover at best and a depressed two-face at worst. He makes poor decisions under the influence of drugs, and despite his doctor claiming otherwise, he believes he’s physically dependent on marijuana. He studies something, but not with very much attention or passion. He sees school and work as a lunch break from the daily grind of getting stoned.
      You don’t really remember how you met The Martyr, but he’s always been on pretty good terms with all of the other couch shamans. He never asks for money when he smokes you up, and he always has the best shit. The Martyr frequently confides in Mr. Couch for advice and counseling, with mixed results. He’s a reliable guy between 11 am and 3 pm, which is the brief period of time when he’s shuffling between classes or daydreaming, but at night he’s generally unreachable. He goes out on the weekends and hits on women who are out of his league, using pickup lines he found on the internet.
      The Martyr is not great to trip with; he mostly focuses on material things and trivial gossip. If he attempts to self-reflect or look inward it is typically met with bad vibes that are then projected around the couch and onto everyone else. The truth is, The Martyr has gotten the message but refuses to hang up the phone. While he should really avoid tripping and focus on getting his shit together, he has never given the plan serious consideration. The most redeemable quality about the Martyr is that he is strangely likeable once you get to know him. However, you’ll probably find yourself regretting the decision to include him in the group trip.


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Edited by ModestMouse (12/12/13 04:01 PM)


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Re: The Twelve People You Meet on the Couch [Re: ModestMouse]
    #19266509 - 12/12/13 03:51 PM (10 years, 2 months ago)

Subscribed.


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Re: The Twelve People You Meet on the Couch [Re: highc]
    #19266532 - 12/12/13 03:59 PM (10 years, 2 months ago)

:highfive:
Thanks friend


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Edited by ModestMouse (12/12/13 04:05 PM)


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Re: The Twelve People You Meet on the Couch [Re: ModestMouse] * 1
    #19266573 - 12/12/13 04:07 PM (10 years, 2 months ago)

having fun, keep it up :thumbup:


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Re: The Twelve People You Meet on the Couch [Re: ModestMouse]
    #19266857 - 12/12/13 05:20 PM (10 years, 2 months ago)

I like it!


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Re: The Twelve People You Meet on the Couch [Re: highc]
    #19266897 - 12/12/13 05:30 PM (10 years, 2 months ago)

Quote:

highc said:
Subscribed.




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