On Ho-Jo, Time Travel and the Caffeine Bridge

It has long been rumored that there are methods inherent to this, the material carapace serving as host to the greater universal dilation, which, if discovered and enacted, might lay upon the discoverer wrote access to the secret succor that drives all things.

Many have tried many things. Some – physical configurations, others – religion and zealous incantation. There are those who have made fellowship with nature with hope to crack its mystical shell; there are those who have sought this enlightenment in meditation, personal betterment or psychotropic stimulus.

All of them were wrong. Each attempt, in turn, was futile. Until now, that is.

You see, I’ve done it. Yes, me. I have pierced the weirding veil of our constriction and am willing to share its sweet secrets with you. The methodology, arrived at by simple accident, is disarming in its simplicity. I will describe it for you in easily consumed bullet points below:

• Acquire a few Howard Jones tracks. It doesn’t matter which, any will do. I find those in which he is wailing uncontrollably and making a devastating mess of his first and only language, while not proven any more successful in jack-punching a hole into the fabric of space time, are at the very least more interesting than those in which he is complaining about his mother or his bisexuality or his hair.
• Find a reliable source of way too much caffeine. Doesn’t matter which. Coffee snobs, tea kiddies, middle-aged business folk and dork nozzles have equal access.
• Combine these ingredients with vigor and the kind of aggression usually reserved for shaking babies.

Listen, I have shit you in the past. I have done so with the intention of plying some sort of artistic license in an attempt to entertain. I have done so liberally, in fact. Remember the Meine Drive? The Spork Shiv? Much in the same way the cake is, in unadulterated fact, a lie, so too are these things.

This, however – this striking discovery which allows one to dance on the edge of the physical constance of the universe – is so totally true it isn’t even funny; at this point I’m not even close to shitting you.

Look, I can travel through time, ok? Like Marty McFly. I can travel through fucking time. Remember Jacob’s Ladder? It’s like that only I’m not an über liberal cougar banger, not in the Vietnam war and not, in point of fact, dead. Remember Tom Cruise from Vanilla Sky? It’s absolutely nothing like that. Are you getting me? Have you gotten it? Get?

I know you aren’t going to try it. I met you once; you looked at me like I was a weirdo and I think you were right at the time but look at me now. I’m traveling through time. I know you’ll just brush this off and go on about your day, never even once traveling through any sort of time. I’m telling you that this power is at your finger tips.

Ho-Jo + Caffeine = Time Travel. It doesn’t get any simpler than this.

Dude, I just wrote this. I’m writing it again because I’m now at a point in time in which I hadn’t written it yet. I got here by traveling. In time. Time travelling.

Time travel. Seriously. Do it, it’s for kids.