Get off the innertubes, shut it down and the teevee, too–though why you’d be watching, still, is a riddle–and go find a chair or a couch, some abnormal wonder of comfort produced by a society of luxury that is oh so fragile, and hunker. Just a temporary hunker. A hunk o’ hunker. Before you do, though, roll yourself three doobies, fat as your preference, and you can rip the matchbook cover off and make a dinky holder, or just slobber on it: do what you like.
You’ll need three doobies for In A Silent Way; it’s 38 minutes long and–for this relaxation technique to work–you must not stop smoking the doobies: I would advise lighting the second and third doobies from the dying roach of the previous doobie, but that only works with cigarettes made by a machine.
I must repeat: do not stop smoking the doobies.
And put on In A Silent Way. You’ve heard it before, or maybe you know every note, or perhaps you have no idea what I’m talking about: no matter. In A Silent Way doesn’t care, and neither do the doobies. It doesn’t need to be too loud, but it’s not the type of music you can play too loud; I don’t know if you could ever play In A Silent Way loud enough. Isn’t it ironic?
If you do it right, you’ll cry when the drums kick in at the end, but don’t panic: that’s supposed to happen.