Tag: drugs

She Said, I Know What Its Like To Be Dead, (J. Lennon)

On By Terrapin - The JourneyIn Uncategorized2 Comments

sammy

There and back
J.T. Hilltop

Of all the people to hear about God and life after death Samuel Brooks was not the most likely conveyor of truth. Sam wasn’t an especially religious man, went to church on Easter and Christmas, did good deeds, but never really prayed or sang hymns or anything like that. What made Sam’s story worth hearing was the fact, or at least the fact as he tells it, that he literally died and came back to life. Then again, he does claim his death and return was the result of a heroin overdose so it should be taken with a grain of salt. Perhaps some tequila and lime as well since his story was being told to me at Driftwood Pub in Cow Harbor New York. But to the best of my questionable recollection here’s what transpired.
It should be said first an foremost that Cow Harbor was the Mayberry of the Northeast, a tiny little beach town full of clammers, fisherman, and escapees from the metro Manhattan madness. Anytown USA, it was a beach oriented community on Long Islands northern coastline. From the boredom of the chowder many of us suburban misfits turned to drugs to take us away from a mundane life in a small community. In our day marijuana was a must have while the slightly more hardcore of us experimented with hallucinogens, diet pills, and Quaaludes. The really hardcore bored rural drones dabbled in snorting cocaine and heroin. It freed us of the mediocre and transported us to a level of suburban legend the likes of James Dean in Hollywood. Of course once one dabbles in something as powerful as coke and dope you become a mere half step away from the stereotype portrayed in public service anti-drug movies the schools force feed the huddled masses of suburban youth. The true legends emerged as the rebellious main-liners who inject the poisonous powders directly into their veins. Sam was one of those rebel legends.
I was back in town after leaving some eight years ago to visit the grave of my beloved deceased Mom. While in my old hometown I always stop off at The Driftwood as it’s one of the more comforting hang outs from my metaphoric stomping grounds. A place where the jukebox now played fond memories and the pool table stored folklore of all nigh revelry. Just walking through the door of Driftwoods imparted the warmth of a treasured and magical time. The comfort of a mug of beer transported me even further to an easier if not so innocent time. To make the trip even more appreciable who is sitting at a table in the corner but my old schoolmate Sammy Brooks, one of the once revered icons of a town as defined by drug use. Sammy was known for his numerous battles with addictions and stories of suburban legend most of us were glad we avoided retrospectively, but misguidedly glamorized in the days of our asinine self absorbed down with the system youth. Sam was a heroin addict turned methadone reliant ex user who if had no major contributions to society at least held down a job. Truth be told the stigma of addiction aside he was a really nice guy who just got caught up in his attempt to be the coolest of the cool but instead ended up selling his soul for some temporary recognition. I knew him since kindergarten, and while not best friends we were never enemies, not even for a petty moment.
“Yo Sammy my man, how the fuck ya dewin? Must be like seven years at least brother.” Sam looked up from his drink staring at me puzzled, “JT? That you JT? Hey you look good Bro, still got your pony tail, eh? Glad to see that, too many short hairs around these days. Jeeze shit man what brings you back to this hellhole of a town?” I was honestly surprised he remembered me let alone that I had left town some time ago. I grabbed a beer, sat down and we began to catch up. We had a great time reminiscing the old days but once we got around to the reason for my visit Sam got weirded out. “JT, I know death is hard when its your Mom and shit, but I’ve been there, and there are things about dying you don’t want to know.” He couldn’t have been more wrong, I’m a sponge for information as it relates to the mysterious unknown. There was no way I wasn’t going to ask him what he meant. “Whadda ya mean Sammy? What do you know about death man?” After some prodding Sam relented. “I died from an overdose in the city but for some reason I came back.” Afraid he was gonna go off on some God reached his hand out and took me back story I attempted to change the subject until he asked me if I wanted to hear about what its like to be dead. Of course I did.
“Buy me a club soda Bro, I’ll tell you the whole deal but don’t get mad when I tell you there ain’t no god just a big nothing after you die. I know everyone wants to believe in bright lights, hugs, getting back together with gone family members and shit that’s pure bullshit man, its nothing like that.” I walked up to the bar to get us each a drink. Always one to play the devils advocate this particular time I was in unfamiliar territory lobbying on the side of religion but just to stir it up I asked, “How do you know it wasn’t like God or some angel or something that came an brought you back?” Sam got this real serious look on his face, “Look man, you can believe whatever you want, but if god or the angels or whatever wanted me to live why would they have let me get so strung out on drugs in the first place. Listen to how it went down and judge for yourself man but for me I’m sure there ain’t no super power saving people and shit. Don’t be counting on no help from above because there just ain’t nothing there. You’re on your own Bro.” It wasn’t anger registered on his face but contemplative reality as he launched into his tale.
“I was on the lower east side looking to cop some dope and coke. I was into speed balls back then dude, you know mixing dope with coke in the same shot. The best dope on the streets was Mr. T. which I’d been doing all week. Really good shit man, one bag was enough but two bags sent you out of fucking town. There was some killer coke a few blocks away called double D and I heard it was perfect for balling. I had me some extra cash so I got a bundle (ten bags) of Mr. T then went over to cop some double D. I got four bags and headed out to my little studio apartment to do a few speedballs. I near about ran home with the shit so I could get off good an quick like. It was a really bad time for me Bro, Stella left me, I was gonna get fired soon because I was fucking up a lot, life just totally sucked, ya know? I needed to escape so I take out my spoon, empty three bags of Mr. T into it and add a few drops of water. I cooked that mother fucker up then added a bag and a half of double D, sucked that shit through the cotton ball up into my syringe. I tapped the fucker making sure it was ready to take me away. No prob finding a vein man, I’m a pro at hitting veins.” He rolled up his sleeve to show me the red track marks on his arm as if it were some kind of red badge of courage and not the scratched silhouette of a life once struggling in turmoil. We both took big sips of our drinks as he continued, “I stuck that spike right into my arm and drew back. I see a small patch of blood so I know I got a good hit on the vein so I start booting ya know, hitting slow back an forth a few times then BAM! The whole shot right in to my blood system. I could feel the “C” running up my arm right towards my head when hit me in like two seconds Bro. Like the shit flew right up into my brain and started filling it up with fizzy blood or something then a nice even buzzing settled in between my ears. I was flying bro, like on top of the world flying. It was so awesome it forced a huge smile to creep across my face. I was thinking man this is the fucking best thing in the world for like fifteen seconds, every part of my body buzzing easy before the god damn “H” kicks in. First this warm feeling creeps up my backbone, across my shoulders then into my head, like a warm puddle of happiness soothing as all hell man. My entire being was vibrating nice and smooth and then wham! I sprung up of the bed flying backward and passed out with the needle still in my arm. Next I feel nothing. I mean like fucking nothing bro, like sleeping sound like without any dreaming. I musta hit my head on the wall of something because like I said I was feeling nothing ya know, like I didn’t exist no more. No bright light calling me, no fucking angel singing to me, not even a dream or anything. I wake up like four hours later with this like dried out puke all over my mouth, down my cheek and some big puddle of puke on the bed. I got this slamming mother fucking headache man, like none I never had before. I mean I hear people say they had a splitting headache before man but I swear to god this really felt like it was splitting my brain into pieces. So my head is like throbbing hard, painful as hell but I’m still like groggy, ya know disoriented and shit. Took me five minutes to remember where I was and what I was doing. Something happened to my neck and I can’t hardly move like my shoulders are sprained or something. I look down on the floor see the needle laying there all innocent like. Musta flown outta my arm or whatever cause the rest of the baggies of dope and coke are on the floor too. That’s when it really hit me man, I died and come back for whatever reason. The hit on my head musta made me puke and if I didn’t toss my cookies I woulda been done for bro, I wouldn’t be here telling ya this, Ida been another New York City police blotter statistic. Couldn’t move, just laid in bed for hours thinking about how I just died and come back. Being dead just feels like nothing at all. No lights, no meeting the maker, no life flashing before my eyes, just empty. That’s when I realize there ain’t nothing at all after death man, its just the end, total dark and void. Knowing I lucked out I swore I would stop using, maybe go to NA, ya know, Narcotics Anonymous to help get straight. No more poison in my blood ,man.”
I took in the story and considered how easily this could have been my story. I looked him in the face, “You clean now Buddy, you completely straight?” Sammy peered up from his dark memory, “Oh I’m dosing legally on methadone but as far as street drugs I’m clean. I had to do it on my own cause like NA relies on praising god and shit, and now I know there ain’t no god. Counselor sent me over to another group of former addicts that don’t believe either. We lean on each other and do just like the other Anonymous groups but no meetings with all the thanking and praising shit. Been straight for almost two years now.”
We finished chatting and reminiscing not brining up the addiction again. We had a great judgment free reunion complete with one more beer for me and a game of pool for old times. Neither of us were anywhere near as good as we were in years gone by or maybe we weren’t ever as good as we thought back in the day but either way we had a great time.
One thing Sam said really resonated and if anything that’s what I’d want you to take away from this tale of addiction. There are many reasons people end up addicted to substances and judging them isn’t productive. It doesn’t matter how or why someone goes down that road, that road becomes very dark very fast and its nearly impossible to find your way back without some really good people to shine the flashlight ahead of you instead of in your eyes to make you confess. Sam’s parents gave up on him because they didn’t know what to do but his brother never gave up and neither did his good friends. So between them and the other warriors of addiction he has a good support system which enables him to stay clean. As far as god existing I reckon that’s a personal decision and frankly I really don’t care what your belief is because your believing or not believing has nothing to do with how I perceive you as a person. Like Dr. King once said judge a person by the content of his character, and let me tell you Sam is one helluva character. A real good character……Peace

TM, Exploring Life Philosophy With Drug Enhanced Acupunture, episode 10

On By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

forest

Previously on TM:

–That close JT, but it not movie, it reality. We live in three dimension but there are many dimensions, all stacked up against each other. Like movies at video store, ownry you cannot choose which movie you watch.
–No time to waste, gotta pick out my best clothes and get cleaned up, I’m going on a date that is about to change my plot.

Follow Or Fall Behind
J. T. Hilltpop

To say the plot of my destiny changed because of Shay is an understatement. We have been together three nights in a row and tonight she wants me to come over and watch a movie because she needs to get up early tomorrow but still wants to see me. And man oh man do I want to see her, she’s on my mind like 24/7. I think about her at work, during lunch, in the shower, …well you get it, all the friggen time. And when she calls me Justin I melt, it sounds so incredible. Who would have thought a chance meeting on the street, with me being a clumsy oaf, could end up a serious relationship overnight? Not me, that’s for sure, but I remain convinced this is more than just a chance meeting. Call it Karma, or Kismet, or fate but the fact that her name is Shay, I met her a few hours after the most enlightening experience in my life so far, and that our chemistry was instantaneous and quite similar to what I feel for my whatever it is for Ambrosina from my “trip” is not random coincidence. Like Kha says, sometimes the universe jut conspires in our favor and balances everything out for us. But I need to remember she isn’t Ambrosina, she’s Shay and the depth of my Transcendental Medication adventures should probably remain secret going to the grave with me. I not only want to make love to Shay I want to be with her and some weird convoluted story of a mystery lover, paradise island, and hallucinations the doc calls reality may scare her off. I’ve been afraid to rush it, I don’t want Shay thinking I’m like a vulture boyfriend just looking for a quick jump in the waterfall pool but tonight felt like it may just be the right time. Tonight is the night I will literally knock her socks off. Or at least take them off.
After spending over an hour attempting to get every hair in place, remove all possible body odors, and actually ironing my shirt I was ready. I had stopped off and purchased a nice Chateneuf Du Pape burgundy and a wheel of Camembert which I found out was her favorite cheese. When she let me in my anticipation gene kicked in and the nervousness ensued. “Oh wow, nice choice there Justin, come on in and make yourself comfortable, I’ll open the wine to let it breathe. I picked out a movie, hope you like it.” I made my way to the couch and looked at the movie she chose. The Notebook! Shit! What exactly does that mean? Romantic? Sexy? Sexy romantic? She either wants to make love or wants to wait until we’re totally ready. WTH? Shay walked into the room and removed all my insane frantic uncertainties. She walked straight over to me and just about threw her mouth over mine as our tongues collided on the oral dancefloor jumping into saliva tango overdrive. In less than a second we were wrapped in each others arms clawing desperately in a passionate embrace. “Justin baby, I was gonna wait till after the movie but I think we better go make love right now!”
The two of us ran towards her bedroom taking off our clothes as we did and by the time I got to her bed she was completely naked and my pants were around my ankles prohibiting me from walking and forcing me to hop. As I bounced clumsily to her bed Shay put both hands on my under shorts an ripped them off. Together we flew onto her bed groping and clutching each others bodies. I remembered the lessons Ambrosina had taught me and immediately applied the experience into pleasing Shay by paying total attention to her sexual needs first. At first she resisted by grabbing my solid erection and stroking it gently but surrendered once I positioned myself between her thighs. Shay had completely surrendered to my touch trusting me to take her on a ride to ecstasy and I dove in head first. Literally. Well figuratively too, I put all my focus on satisfying her completely. We had both surrendered to each other and accepted responsibility for each others complete enjoyment, a perfect unison of sexual pleasure. I had learned my love lesson well and applied it to the one woman who has rocked the shit out of my world. We never watched the movie nor drank the wine, we stayed in the bed until morning.
Over the course of the night, in between the lovemaking sessions, Shay rested her head on my chest in such a way that we were totally unaware that life was going on all around us. I breached the subject of Dr. Kha and the clinic because I knew this relationship was headed somewhere that secrets like that shouldn’t be kept. Shay had heard of the clinic and was a little concerned, it has a reputation of being a little “out there” and many people thought it to be cultish in nature. I assured her it wasn’t anything like that but I know she was a tad uneasy about it. I was due back in the clinic in four days and a much ass I wanted things nice an smooth with me and Shay I didn’t want to end my journey yet. Thankfully Shay understood, or at least said she did so it was set. I was at her apartment every night before my clinic night and promised her I would call her in the morning.
As soon as I arrived Kha knew I was stressed, “Come on JT, come inside room, I see you trouble today my son, maybe best we no use tank.” I followed him into a small room with nothing but impossible geometric figures on the wall, as though it had been decorated by the great MC Escher. There was nothing in the room itself save a small table with four chairs around it, “Sit my son, I prace needles while you have hot cup tea and we talk. Today put needles in paste of Lophophora root from Chihuahuan Desert in Mexico, little stronger than last session but no need tank, ownry music and tea.” A soft melodic tune was seeping from the speakers that sounded like traditional Spanish Flamenco slowed way down. Shondra came in with a steaming cup of what I assume was tea, “Here you are Mr. Hilltop, Coahuila Tea with lime, it’s a special brew used by the Huichol Indians. Its so delicious its all I drink anymore.” She smiled warmly as she placed the steaming mug in front of me. The comfort of steaming tea and soft music put me at ease. Dr. Kha rolled his “tool” cart behind me, “Today feel slight burn but no worry JT, just drink tea and relax. So tell me son, what have you been up to?” He began placing the needles in my back around my shoulders and neck and as promised it burned slightly. “Well Doc, I met a nice woman and we’ve been spending a lot of time together. We talked about you and the clinic a bit.” I expected apprehension but he was calm as a cucumber, “Oh that very good, sound serious if you tell about your medication here. Tell me JT, does this girlfriend approve of you come here?” Here it comes, “Well I have to admit Shay was a little bit concerned, but I explained to her I was just looking for a profound philosophical answers and how it relaxes me completely. Of course I said nothing of my trips.” Kha had finished placing the last of the needles in my back and sat across from me, “Her name Shay? That interesting no? You know no such thing as coincidence in universe balance, eh?” This wasn’t the first time I put it together, Shea and Shay, and he was asking rhetorically, “Let me ask you something JT, when first you come here you ask why something instead of nothing correct?” I merely nodded because my eyelids were getting heavy an my lip were refusing to join in any conversations, “So you think maybe universe come from nothing yes? First was nothing then whether believe in god say let be light or big bang explosion create universe it must come from something right? How god become god or how atoms become bounce around to make explosion? But what not know is universe not first universe.” I continued nodding getting more and more sleepy by the second, “ Truth is my son, universe result not so much of big bang as loud pop. Universe squeeze through giant of black hole from other universe then expand like balloon because it equal and opposite reaction to black hole. It full of other smaller black holes and every black hole in universe will create new mini universe within a universe we call galaxy. That why so many galaxies, alternate dimensions, alternate realities. And law of physics in our solar system not same everywhere. Think about earth my boy, everyone walk same because law of physics allow very low resistance, gravity hold us down but if people need walk under ocean law of physics different. Cannot walk normal walk much slower and against much more resistance. Running underwater impossible for us but many creatures move around ocean very fast. Creature that live in sea must adapt to environment. Same in alternate dimensions and other galaxies, what seem normal right now perhaps completely different in other dimension, but you shall see that when you get to one. Today you will travel to meet Castomar. He will teach you dimensions and four truth, then next session I take you to god as I promise. But remember this my son, not everything what seem all time, if……
I must have trailed off and fallen asleep because I was awoken by the warmth and crackling sound of a small campfire. I was sitting cross legged somewhere outside, surrounded by a forest only Walt Disneys people could create. The crackling fire was in front of me, Dr. Kha across, Shea on the right, and an unkempt large hirsute man on my left. I shook my head in an attempt to iron out all the wrinkles in my mind. Shea noticed I was awake, “Well good morning old friend, how are you?” Shea was genuinely happy to see me and I him, I stood up and we embraced in mutual admiration of each other.
Kha’s voice broke the reunion, “No time for pleasantry JT, time for you to hike into Forest to see truths. This Castomar, he shall be your teacher.” I put my hand out to shake but he just stared at me and spoke in a deep firm voice “First things first boy, I’m not Kha and I’m not Shea. I’m not here to baby-sit you I’m here to teach you so when I talk you just shut up and listen. If I say to go somewhere you go, no questions. I move fast and I have a lot to show you in a small amount of time, if you can’t keep up I’ll leave your ass out there to be dinner to the wolves. Got it?!” My head was spinning a bit and he wasn’t waiting for me to regain my composure. Kha nodded for me to go. Shea shook my hand and said “Good luck buddy, you better get going. Don’t let that fool scare you, he’s a great friend and one of the best teachers you could hope for. But he does have a gruff style so you better hurry up. Just don’t piss him off and you’ll be fine.” I embraced Shea biding him a fond farewell as the voice of this tall thin nature man Castomar called out, “Hope your not afraid of snakes kid.” I followed Castomar into the forest with great trepidation. I hope its not warranted.
Shea called Castomar gruff. To call him gruff was an understatement. Dr. Kha warned me he was tough but this dude was all of six foot six and maybe two hundred and fifty pounds of pure muscle. Even his cheeks looked like they worked out. He wore a sort of long animal cloth robe tied with woven hemp rope. Combat fatigues and engineer boots. His head was covered with a green bandana with stringy brown hair hanging unkempt across his shoulders. It appeared as though it was allergic to shampoo. A strong stern face with a full beard that had gray streaks in it. If you told me he was Moses transported to a southern gun collector convention I wouldn‘t have doubted you for a second. But Grizzly Adams Castomar was my guide and not only that, in this ominous looking forest I would most likely fail to survive a day by myself. The thicket was dense, the tree’s full and humongous, and the ground was littered with dead leaves. I had to ask, “Um, Castomar, where exactly are we going?” He didn’t answer or look back, just kept forging a path through the shrubs until we cam to a huge flat rock. Castomar sat down and motioned to me. “Sit own kiddo, time for a water break. Don’t rink too much or too fast.” He pointed to a large mountain, “Up there is where we are going. That’s our campsite. It’s in a different dimension so the hike up there may seem strange. Here, drink some water.” His words had a sort of rhythmic accompaniment, like the scratching of ten gourds which got progressively louder. I accepted the canteen an listened noticing the ground moving around the rock, the dead leaves in constant motion. He was very tough looking, serious dark eyes but I detected an underlying compassion in his voice, he was talking tough not to scare me but to make me aware of danger. “You will hear strange noises and feel a few chills on the way. Pay no attention to the noises, nothing will harm you in the woods if your with Castomar. The chills you feel will be the passing through dimensions so at times your legs my feel heavy, or unbelievably light. Just keep forging forward, if you fall back you could end up stuck in a different dimension for a long time. Once we get to our cabin We’ll have some tea, find our learning spot an then I will explain the four truths. Right now we need to leave because the snakes are all gathering sensing prey” Snakes? Why does it have to be snakes? I kept my Iniana Jones joke to myelf but the next scene was like the one in the tomb. That rhythmic scratching was comin from hundreds of rattlesnakes which were also what the moving earth was. There were snake everywhere I looked, all sticking their fork ass tongues at me!
“This way boy, follow me quickly and I mean quickly!” We moved forward in double time now following an actual path not a forged by Castomar path. Not twenty feet into it I felt the fit chill he mentioned. I lost my equilibrium for a second, as if dizzy from spinning around. I walked behind Castomar as best I could but something kept pulling me to the right. Then I saw the most amazing thing I have ever seen in my life, A giant hawk, the size of what I would guess a Pterodactyl would have been. First I let out a piercing shriek then this giant hawk thing let out a better shriek that almost knocked me over as it flew right at us talons extended and this huge blue beak wide open. Now it happened really fast so I can’t say for sure but I swear the beak had sharp vampire like teeth but its really unimportant because Castomar actually punched this giant bird of prey in the head and sent it spinning around in mid air. I expected to see feathers flying everywhere but instead of feathers it was some kin of long thin iridescent scales flying as this crazed animal cried out in intense pain. So intense was the cry I felt it tremble down my spine. I followed behind Castomar as he picked up speed. Behind me I could hear what must have been a few dozen more of those giant vultures shrieking and honking. As I approached a large tree fallen across our path Castomar yelled “Jump” to which I did. I floated through the air like Mike Jordan in slow motion traveling over thirty feet before landing softly. I tried to step but couldn’t as Castomar took my hand, “Just jump JT, only jump. You won’t be able to walk in this dimension.
I jumped and hopped motivating easily over great distance literally floating on air. My last hop found me face down in the in a mud. “Sorry JT, I forgot to tell you we were entering another dimension, but this is the last now its just a three mile hike up the mountain from here an its relatively normal.” I got up from the mud expecting to be dripping in wet cold earth but it was like sand on my face and fell away easily. “Man I gotta tell Mr. Castomar, this dimension crossing is some crazy shit. Are you sure its over?” For the first time I heard him laugh, a deep guttural laugh that caused me to instantly forget all I though about him and smile back. “JT, that’s the worst of it I promise. Well for now anyway, the trip back may be rough but we are in a much safer environment. Safe but still have to get to the cabin before the suns go down.” I looked up in the sky and instead of one big bright sun there was four small less bright suns across the sky. I didn’t want Castomar to hear so I mumbled to myself, “Jesus shit this is the weirdest god damn trip I’ve ever been on. And its only started.

TBC

In My Arms

On By Terrapin - The JourneyIn Uncategorized7 Comments

once

Once I held you in my arms

You gave me such a rush

Filled with blood of happiness

With just one simple push

Once I held you in my arms

And let you come inside

Hope replaced my agony

Made misery subside

Then you held me much too tight

Imprisoned my every thought

Made me see you every day

The heartaches that you brought

How you got under my skin

Clutched tightly to my heart

Threatened you would never leave

Swore You’d never part

Then I broke free of the strangling grasp

Discarded all your charms

But memories here are scratched in red

From when I held you in my arms

I know for some of you it’s hard to understand why, but if you can imagine pains so totally encompassing someone feels compelled to sell a piece of their life for a modicum of relief you may begin to understand why many people turn to addiction in an attempt to validate their existence. Please don’t condemn them, too many close to me have lost to their addictions, and every last one of them was a beautiful but tortured soul. To all those who are falling, those who fell ,and for the few who have defeated addiction I dedicate this to you. PEACE

Kaleidoscope Joe and His Amazing Psychedelic Jean Jacket (Act I)

On By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

joe K

(Dedicated to Deadheads and music lovers around the world)

In the attics of my life
Full of cloudy dreams; unreal
Full of tastes no tongue can know
And lights no eye can see
When there was no ear to hear
You sang to me

-Attics of my life- Robert Hunter/Grateful Dead

The storyteller never tells you what to think, merely observes and reports the facts as he or she observes the world around them. Every once in awhile if a storyteller is extremely lucky they are afforded insight into stories that predate paper and shed light on mystical ancient occurrences, like looking through a kaleidoscope into a scattered view of history. This storyteller had the great fortune, or misfortune as some may call it, to have worn the coat of past truths and peered into a life that has so long ago finished its tale, and attempt to formulate them into a narrative in such a way as to enlighten the listener. The day I put on the psychedelic Jean Jacket I viewed the tale of Kaleidoscope Joe, son of Jacob the Ganja man from Canaan. My duty is to shed a light on that which I saw and allow you make of this tale what you will. No need to pay me off in silver, I offer this up as a storyteller, a humble servant of the universe. Let me just say this though, if ever you find yourself in the position to don the jacket an open mind and little weed of wisdom will make the journey much more colorful and far easier to understand.
How I came across this magic jean jacket is not a special story, just a bit of luck while clearing out the attic of an old acquaintance that recently passed over to the next realm. In a small cabinet marked “Peyote Pinechest” was an assortment of smoking aids and implements designed for inhaling intoxicating fumes of various mind enrichment products. Folded neatly at the bottom was a jean jacket of rainbow dayglo pigments, a “coat of many colors.” A rather unexciting and mundane find although steeped in fond memories of the days Kevin and I ruled the world. But then I tried it on. From the moment it covered my shoulders I knew I had inadvertently stumbled on to something unique, not only in look, but in attribute. You see, anyone who wears this visionary jacket begins to see past truths, ancient occurrences that have long been forgotten and stored away in the attics of the mind. This is the storytellers account of just such a leap of faith.

Act I
The Music Never Stopped

All I know is something like a bird
within her sang
All I know she sang a little while
and then flew on
-Robert Hunter-

As I opened the peyote pinechest it made an unusual sound, a sound that seemed to have been waiting forever to escape its pinewood confines. The sound was followed by an aroma, one not altogether unfamiliar. It wasn’t a musty mothballesque aroma nor a musty mold laced scent one might expect, but rather a sweet woodsy smell, reminiscent of an excursion of mine back in ‘73 to Jamaica. I was in Ochos Rios when I met a Rastafarian, Herbie. Herbie had long ago thrown away his comb so he sported long matted locks of hair almost to his waist which he called dreadlocks. He looked to be all of 25 years of age though his eyes betrayed a life long and hard, an old man with the eyes of the world. He sized me up, a white American youth with very long hair and a semi full beard. “Welcome my friend, I am a Rasta, cool like you Mon. My name is Herbie, man of the Herb, please come into my hut.” I would later learn that the early Rastafarians fancied themselves the equivalent of American Hippies, a generation of rebels who took a stand against government and borrowed the term “cool“ as a bonding statement. The hotel I was staying at had warned me about dangerous Rasta’s and scams in town designed to have Americans incarcerated. Bunny, the banjo player at the hotel explained to me that in Jamaica they believe all Americans are rich, and some corrupt cops set up buy and busts with phony Rasta’s expecting the young Americans to call home and send money to avoid jail from illegal possession of Ganja. I ignored the warnings because Herbie was cool. Like me. Once inside the hut my ignored fears disappeared completely because my instincts were correct. For a change. Inside Herbie’s hut a small boom box rumbled out some obscure reggae tunes. An Ethiopian flag was hanging on one canvas wall and posters of Bob Marley and Haile Selassie scattered on the others. An assortment of pipes and rolling machines in a makeshift bookcase was propped up on the back wall. Sitting on top of the bookshelf under a knitted cloth of red green and yellow stood a small Buddha statue with a trail of smoke emanating form its head. Inside the statue was not incense, but fresh Jamaican ganja that actually smelled of sweetness. It was that aroma this chest invoked and that’s where my vision begins.
I breathed in as if I could get a hit of that sweet smelling ganja as I examined the contents of Kevin’s peyote Pinechest. A spectacular looking jacket reached up and grabbed me by the eye. I vaguely remembered my best friend Kevin wearing it back in our youth. It was a Lee Rider jean jacket his girlfriend Bonnie had customized for him. Bonnie was a Native American young woman with an exotic air about her. Her long straight hair was so dark black it earned her the nickname Onyx. Onyx came from somewhere in Arizona part of a Yaqui Indian tribe who were known for their spiritual pipe smoking out of body practices. It was rumored they often used hallucinogenic herbs and roots of cacti in their rituals which explained the peyote pinechest. Onyx was skilled in various art forms having air brushed a number of vans in town but her local claim to fame was art of silk-screening. She had a fine business making extraordinary psychedelic looking tee shirts of rock bands but she silk-screened Kevin’s jacket for him special as a birthday present. It was magnificent, bright color in an intricate design that that would make peter Max jealous. I tried it on which put me in a trance.
There I was back in Herbies hut, Herbie rolling a stick of ganja in paper coated with oil essence of hashish. We shared the joint which was even tastier than the smell from Buddha’s head when a very old man entered the scene . The old man looked as though he walked out from the Old Testament, dressed in tattered rags and sandals and sporting a long scraggly grey beard and long thin white hair to his waist. He motioned to me come over which I did. In his hand he held a three foot long pipe made of human bone he was filling with something. He lit it, took a long inhale and passed it to me. “I am Joseph, from Carlisle in the land of The Canaanites, perhaps you know me better as Kaleidoscope Joe.” I took a long hit from the pipe, it seemed like it took all my breath to get the tiniest hit of smoke all the way from the bowl to my lungs. I shook my head to let him know I had no clue who he was. He handed me an old photo of a very sad looking man perhaps from the Middle East staring at a strikingly beautiful woman. “Well then, finish this bowl of ganja, I’ll tell you a story.”

Lady With A Fan
His name is August West, and he was in love with that lady there, Pearly Baker, the lady with the fan. Unfortunately Old August had a pension for wine, but not just any wine, his homemade power burgundy. Pearly was beautiful, a wonderful woman an August loved her true, in fact I was in love with her too. You see, August there is my brother, and Pearly Baker came between us forcing us to choose. August, drunk though he was, had a fierce determination and wasn’t afraid of anything. Pearly pitted us against each other with a challenge. “Which of you to gain me tell will risk uncertain pains of hell?” She tossed the fan into a pit of vipers, “The first to retrieve my fan from these snakes shall have me in every way you wish.” I sensed Pearly enjoyed the power of having us fight to be the one to bed her. I weighed my options, will having my way with Pearly justify what I would need to o to my brother? Even if I could beat August what kind of a wife would Pearly be? I doubted that challenges would ever stop, her desire to challenge too great but August wasted no time at all. He pushed me aside, reached into the pit of vipers risking venomous snake bites grabbing and offering up her fan as proof of his devotion. The old man paused looking at me. “You saw it didn’t you? You didn’t hear my tale you experienced it right? It’s okay, I know, this pipe is filled with wisdom which has entered your soul. You will see things you probably should not see many years from now. We will meet again my friend, when you are ready.” The man left so I turned to Herbie, “So Mon, you lika my ganga? Twenty bucks for you because your cool like me Mon.” I handed Herbie the twenty dollar bill and he gave me an ounce of preamo weed. He had been doing something with a razor on the table, I asked, “Did you know that old dude Herbie?” He smiled, “No Mon, no old man was here. But many strange ting happen in my hut, have a taste of dis before you leave Mom, make sure you come back.” Hernbie handed me a mirror with two long line of a whitish yellow powder and a short straw. I sniffed the coke an walke3d back out to the street. What Herbie had for sale was so good I knew I would be back tomorrow for more. As I walked down the street I heard someone say, “Strategy was his strength and not disaster.” Kevin would never believe me if I didn’t bring some back.

With that I found myself back up in the attic all by myself remembering how I smuggled ganga and cocaine back for Kevin in a container of baby powder . Apparently I was sweating and had removed the psychedelic jean jacket snapping me from the trance. I folded the jacket and put it aside trying to remember if that ol man was a real memory or a hallucination from the peyote pinechest as I explored the other treasures inside its confines . Kevin had stored quite an assortment of smoking utensils, a few chamber pipes, a meerschaum pipe, a cob pipe, a half dozen bongs, two hookahs, and at the very bottom of the chest was his prized chillum. The chillum was a ceramic straight conical pipe which you hold between your fingers in a fisted hand and smoke through the thumb an index finger essentially making your fist a bowl of smoke. We both loved that pipe, it was so unusual. Reminiscing I lit up the chillum to smoke any remnants from resonated bowl. I thought back to when he first bought the chillum, as usual in those days Kev and I were together. We had set out on a mission to Woodstock NY to get a tattoo at the Shooting Star Tattoo Parlor. The owner/artist, Country Paul, had gone to the original concert and never left town. Along with his artwork of potential tattoo’s he had a showcase in his shop filled with various pieces of crystal and a few small pipes. Kevin spotted the chillum right away and had to have it. It had an Indian Hindu inspired design, a very cool looking concentric design of geometric shapes Country called it a Chakra, or wheel. Of course Kevin had that design tattooed on his bicep while I viewed some of Country‘s other works he had on the “wall of choice.” Being in a dark period of my life I was drawn to a picture Country Paul called The Redeemer and the clay. It wasn’t like Christ the redeemer it was an old man with long hair and a long beard in a long red robe walking with a cane with a human skull on top. He was pulling an old wooden wagon filled with clumps of clay. It looked so cool I had it tattooed on the inside of my forearm. Those were the days, when we believed ourselves indestructible. As I smoked whatever remnants I could scrape from the chillum I stared at my tattoo. As I exhaled the old smoke I realized the redeemer pulling the wagon was the same man I had seen, or maybe not seen in Herbies hut so long ago.

What shall we say, shall we call it by a name
As well to count the angels dancing on a pin
Water bright as the sky from which it came
And the name is on the earth that takes it in
We will not speak but stand inside the rain
And listen to the thunder shout
I am, I am, I am, I am
-John Perry Barlow/Grateful Dead-
The Wind And Rain
Jacob was a good man, a successful man living in a place called Canaan. A farmer who plowed the fields in which he grew the sweet mind bending tobaccos which afforded him a fine home for his wife and family. Jacob was happily married to his second wife Rachael and an outstanding role model to his twelve boys. His first wife Leah was Rachael’s older sister and the mother of eleven of the boys. Jacob and Rachael had only one son together, Joseph, who was shown special favor by his father. While the other boys worked the fields that supplied Sativa and opium for the royals of the Orient with their father, Joseph stayed behind to help his Mom. Joseph was an amazing cook who had a natural talent for making hashish cupcakes. “You must knead the hash in softened butter first before adding it to the batter. That’s what makes them so special” He often entertained himself by spending hours looking through a cylinder of changing colors and shapes. This earned him the nickname Kaleidoscope Joe, and the jealous wrath of his siblings who simply called him Clyde.
“Why are we out here busting our asses while that little priss Clyde lounges in the kitchen staring through that stupid cylinder of his?” “That wimpy Clyde never worked a day in his life.” The grumbling never ceased. As always Jacob stood up for his favorite son, “Come on guys quit complaining, we have fields to tend to afore all that’s left is the wind and rain. Joseph is the best cook ever and his cupcakes are to die for. You guys all enjoy the food so he works the kitchen while you work the fields. Now lets finish up here, there’s a barn dance Friday and I understand the woodcutters daughter will be there. They all turned to look across the field to the riverbank where the woodcutters daughter often knelt down at to gather water. A beautiful woman with dark skin, as brown as the bank. It’s said she knows secrets the water has told her. She wasn’t there today, only the sun sparkling off the reeds into the sea. Jacobs son August was especially smitten with her. “Oh man, she has the sweetest voice, her song is the latch on the door to my heart. I live to follow her as she walks the path to the river shore come the morning sun.” The other boys began chuckling as Jacob shook his son from his daydream, “Okay poet, enough of that talk we have fields to plow. The work of day measures far more than the planting and growing alone. We must let it grow.” August was still dreamy, “For the time I shall break ground to reap bushels of cannabis and poppy meal, but Friday I shall dance with my lady in circular motion, just me and Pearly.” Jacob laughed, “Right now you can dance in the furrowed field my son, you only reap that which you sow. Tread lightly with your lady friend, if you plant ice your gonna harvest wind my son”

Did you ever waken to the sound
Of street cats makin’ love
And guess from their cries
You were listenin’ to a fight?
Well, you know…
Hate’s just the last thing they’re thinkin’ of.
They’re only trying to make it through the night.
-John Perry Barlow/Grateful Dead

Excitement had been building all week so when Friday finally arrived the air was ripe with anticipation. Jacobs twelve boys would be out on the prowl and the ladies in town stood no chance. As usual it would be refusal and then surrender, the boys eager to sow their wild oats. Jacob was concerned for his son Joseph because Joe didn’t posses the strength and experience of his older brothers so before they left Jacob presented him with a special coat, a coat of many colors. Now Joseph would no doubt be the sharpest dressed man at the dance and have a much needed edge. While Kaleidoscope Joe was overjoyed, his brothers were angry and grew ever more envious of how Joe was shown so much favor from their father. Joe was oblivious to his brothers envy and openly admired his good looks in the mirror. “I can’t believe how great this coat looks, I am gonna get me a fine woman tonight, a woman I can cook for.” August sneered, “You just hang around Loose Lucy little brother, save the real women for men who know what to do with them. And stay far away from Pearly, she’s mine tonight.” Joseph teased, “I don’t see no ring or no name on her brother, but I’m not interested in hr anyway.”
At the dance Joseph was strutting like egotistic peacock flashing his baby blue eyes and full on smile at all the ladies which only added fuel the burning flames of jealousy which crackled within the boys. Especially August. When Joseph began flirting with Pearly Baker the mule shit hit the fan. Livid and pumped with jealousy August rounded up all the brothers and formed a cabal outside the barn. “Guys we just can’t have this anymore. Something needs to be done about Clyde and it has to be tonight. Even after I stuck my hand in a pit of vipers he flirts with the girl of my dreams. I have a plan to get rid of Clyde forever” They were all in agreement, each hating their little brother for differing reasons. August continued, “There this guy Jack Straw who smuggles slaves over to Egypt and not only will he take Clyde away, he’ll give us s few bottles of whiskey on top of it. We can dip that hideous colored coat Dad gave him and coat it with goat blood. Then We’ll tell Pops he was killed at the point of a knife. We can rid ourselves of that nuisance and get on with our lives. We can share the women and we can share the wine.”
So it was, Kaleidoscope Joe was smuggled out as a slave, the boys telling Jacob his favorite son had been jumped for his ring, kaleidoscope, four bucks and change outside of Delilah Jones brothel. Jacob cried for nights wishing it weren’t true but he had the coat of many colors all covered in blood. The next thing this story teller saw was Joseph dragging a cart of clay. I realized I was no longer looking at my tattoo and the chillum was gone. I shook my head back an forth with great force in an attempt to regain some reality when I heard a voice from the past. “JT that coat looks beautiful on you, you should keep it. I have no doubt Kevin would want you to.” I knew that voice instantly. Smiling I turned, “Onyx, my god how are you? How long has it been? You look fantastic.” That’s when I realized I was once again wearing the jacket Onyx had fashioned special for Kevin. I removed it and found myself drenched in sweat. I folded it up, “No Onyx, you made it for him you should have it. I’m not even sure why I had it on.” To my dismay I was alone in the attic, no Onyx, no Jamaican Rastafarian, no Joseph from the old testament. I took the coat flung it over my shoulder. Time to get a drink.

Behind The Music, Stoned-henge Stock , 420 BC

On By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

hhh

Woodstock is considered to be the first ever mass gathering of a rock an roll concert although many, myself included would argue it began at The Monterey Pop Festival during the summer of love. But recent discoveries by archeologist show that we are all wrong, the true first weekend of peace love and music was put on by the Pagans in the UK at a place called Stone-henge in 420 BC. Before Alan Freed the rebellious music wasn’t called rock and roll, it was called stone and stumble and it was a big part of their counter culture. Take this recently found papyrus music sheet with song lyric scribed by Lady Joni of Mitchell for the popular Pagan harmonizing genius’s Crossbow, Whiskystills, and Nash-hash:
Stonehengestock
I came upon a child in the fields
Whilst walking along the path
I enquired “where dost thou walk to”
And this is what he told me
I walk along to Maximus Yasgurwoods farm
To join in a stone and stumble band
Set our camp along the henge
To seteth thy soul free
(Chorus)
Thou art starburst
Thou art goldstone
And we got to plant ourselves back in our garden

By the time we got to Stonehenge
We were a couple thousand strong
And everywhere was song and celebration
And I dreamed I saw a sun god
Riding shotgun in the sky
And we all turned into whippoorwills
Above the nation
(Chorus)

This relic was found with other ancient artifacts including a lute believed to be owned by Jimi Henbicks which he played with his teeth during a searing rendition of “Castles Made Of Sandstone”, and a clown nose belonging to Wavy-Ravey. The discoveries hve led scientists to believe that Stoned-henge was originally built as a stage for Stone and Stumble bands across the UK back in the day. WAY back in the day, 420BC, The Flintstone years, 10 million strong…. and growing. The Stoners Age when Bedrockpalooza and Occupy Rock Quarry were popular. Archeologists now believe that the Stonehenge ruins are all that’s left of an enormous soundstage which played to thousands of young partying Pagans, some who danced naked and took to frolicking openly, many while under the influence of barleycorn weed, a popular and tasty intoxicant when smoked. That weekend celebration of love, life, sex, drugs and stumble and stone music changed their world forever. Well actually it changed it only until the brutal Roman soldiers invaded the lands of the Pagans forcing them into chains of Roman rule but that’s another documentary. Before that devastating event the only event anyone spoke of was the three days of Love, Peace, and Music (and rain) on Maximus Yasgurwoods sheep farm known as Stoned-henge Stock.

Stoned-henge Stock was the brainstorm of childhood friends Ian Kellerlay and Declan Mc Intyre of Brea Scarra Off the coast of Scotland. They had the incredible insight to create a venue that could unite all the various pagan music styling’s of the UK. With top acts like the blues singer Janus, Canned Campfire, Dublin Bay Dirtwater Revival, Countryside Joe McDougal and the 12 fishermen, Bronze Zeppelin, The Ungracious Dead, Jefferson Chariot, The Immobile Stones, and The Salisbury Hill Stompers, nine music scenes in all would be represented. Each of the nine music scenes were represented by a giant stone indicative of its region to “represent“!

It’s believed the festival lasted three days and nights showcasing some 30 Stone and Stumble acts to almost 40,000 jubilant attendees. The crowd was so large the New English Chariot Thru-way was closed. Lotta freaks man! Tremendous efforts were made to feed the crowds, nearly 500 pounds of haggis was prepared for crowd consumption. Breakfast in bed for 40 thousand! Two children were born, a number of rug burns and other sex related casualties occurred, and one person died but all in all the festival was considered a life changing success. Or disaster, depending which news media you paid attention to. This is Behind The Music, the truth behind Stoned-henge Stock 420BC, The two part series presented by our sponsor, “Be My Bud“, the leaders in the legal marijuana industry. “We grow em so you can roll em.” So set your DVR for the upcoming mini series. Watch hundreds of pagans drinking, smoking, and flipping out on pebble peyote, get the inside story from some of the acts, and find out what happened to this sheep farming community when the music stopped.

Transcendental Medication V..(Out of the black, and into the blue)

On By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

altered

Previously on Transcendental Medication :
The smile on my face was so enormous my jawbone ached and my eyes were nearly closed. Ambrosina began gently shaking my shoulder apparently ready to go one more time but I was spent. I looked up saying, ”Sorry babe I just could….oh, Dr. Kha, its you! ” God damn its confusing slipping in an out of realities here! Dr, Kha stood over me with a smirk, “I see you make visit to paradise JT

Tomorrow put you in sensory depravation tank with special punctures dipped in mixture of essences from Belladonna, Angel Trumpet, and Nutmeg Paste. Essence free mind and allow to see without eyes. Transcendental medication. Ownry then JT will you see truth, opposite universe, and maybe even understand nothing. Get some rest my boy, tomorrow is day you meet God face to face.”

Out Of The Black And Into The Blue

Meet God face to face! Well this is gonna be pretty interesting considering I can’t remember having ever believed in God. Oh there was a time, but only because it was what my Mom told me to believe and I trusted her implicitly. Why would she lie about God? But around age six or seven my best friend and his family died in a house fire two days after his birthday party. Mom told me my friend was up in heaven now where he’ll be safe. I asked why God wanted the family an why he made their house go on fire and all she could tell me was that God had a plan and we shouldn’t question him, but I wasn’t buying that bullshit. I started having my doubts about this God character and his so called plan so I made up ways for him to prove himself to me. Instead of “now I lay me down to sleep” I engaged in conversations with God. Only they weren’t dialogues, they were monologues, night after night. I only asked for small signs, not giant challenges, no plagues or forty day storms. Something simple like make my covers fall off or leave a scratch on the wall. I never asked him to beat up my older brother or return my best friend and his family back to life or anything profound, just you know like leave a light on, move a book or something. But night after night, no signs, no answers. Mom took me to church on Sundays and even at that young age I could see it was filled with hypocrites singing and praying. Old man Martin who was perpetually drunk in his backyard all dressed up in suit and tie singing, hands folded. Old lady Brown kneeling on the pew. In whispers the adults called her a Jezebel. I didn’t know what that meant at the time but by the way the adults showed distain I knew it wasn’t a good thing. Years later I learned kneeling was a common occurrence for her but apparently if it was on the pews on Sundays that made everything okay. By the time I turned eleven I was already a full fledged atheist but I continued my religious schooling to appease Mom. I was even so fascinated or maybe hopeful I studied other religions as I got older. I learned more about God by more names than I thought possible and became more sure than ever that God doesn’t exist. At least not the God I’d been taught. And now after all that I’m meeting God face to face tomorrow! At least according to Dr. Khandra.
I was nervously excited as I entered the THC clinic. A nurse led me down into the basement and laid me down on a cot that was chained to a sort of crane with chains and pulleys. Like a harsh torture hammock. I looked up with a quick glimpse believing the nurse to be Ambrosina. She smiled at me, winked saying, “Later JT. I’ll see you later.” Before I could even answer Kha came in with a small silver table filled with needles and a bowl of syrupy liquid. “Must be excited JT, yes? First I dip pricks in essence, place them at precise point and then close you in tank. No incense, no music today, ownry serenity. When ready we let you free from tank and journey begin. Relax and enjoy enlightenment my son.” I laid there motionless, a combination of anxiety and excitement as Kha placed the dripping needles about my body. This time the needles were warm and wet. Six on my forehead, two in each ear, two in my neck, and at least a dozen in each leg. I could feel the essences making they’re way into my blood and it warmed my veins. Instantly relaxed the anxiety faded away leaving only a smile. I felt comfort with the feeling because it wasn’t foreign, it was like the old days just before the LSD kicked in. I was about to start tripping like I had in my drug experimentation days and it warmed my soul.
It took a while to get used to the absence of sound or sight. Total darkness with no sound at all, feeling a bit claustrophobic I was anxious, confined, and alone. I thought perhaps this is a big waste of time. I was angry I was allowing this to happen to me, if there was a way I could get out. I called to Kha a number of times but he didn’t respond. I was alone, first angry now depressed. Total darkness. Alone with nothing but an irritating voice in my head insisting I was missing some major point about nothingness. My head was swirling with thoughts or maybe dreams of all sorts of shit, memories from way long ago, places I have been to, totally random things. I think I had some very bizarre dreams I’m not sure what’s a dream or what is a thought? From surreal to harsh reality it was one episode after another. The dream or thoughts seemed to float, moving as though filled with helium, the further they went away the calmer I got. After about…wait, that’s odd. I have no idea how long it’s been. I have no idea what time it was or how long I’d even been alone here in the dark. Had I fallen asleep? Has time stopped for me? As I pondered claustrophobia and panic subsided, sliding into acceptance. Everything is serene, calm, and quiet. Existence is not as special or amazing as I thought. Oh I’ll give you the complexity of being a living breathing thing is quite extraordinary, what with networks of communication inside me traveling at mind bending speed, blood, oxygen, even the way I need to eat and void unnecessary remnants from food is amazing. And evolution, well what is evolution other than strategy of survival? But the FACT that I or anything exists here, right here right now on this seemingly huge planet is so remarkably insignificant when I think about it in Universal terms.
Super Nova’s, Black Holes, Quasars, and galaxies, those are amazing. Time and space being curved or the possibility of alternate universes, that’s amazing. I’m nothing, just a teeny weenie blip of nothingness in time and space. I giggled as I watched that thought float away when I thought I heard a voice. “Now you are understanding nothing JT, ready to see alternate reality.” It was Kha’s voice but how? Must be a camera or some sort of electronic monitoring he used. “No use camera, no use device JT, ownry listen to you.” Wait! What did he say? Listening to me? But I’m not talking I’m only thinking. “Not thinking JT, talking. Not words or out loud but still talking. And we hear you. You are ready to come out now.”
The pulley’s lifted the makeshift cot upwards as the top opened brining me not into an office but in a clearing in a mountain wilderness blistering with life and color. Oh my God the color were o deep an rich, so real. I was inside a crayola colored landscape beside a stream. Dr, Kha was there along with two other strangers. “Come sit down with us JT, we share herb of life… You come to me asking why there is something instead of nothing, yes? I ask you now, why cannot be something and nothing?” I asked him who the two men were and he told me they would lead me to God after I finished my lessons. He handed me a long pipe which I took readily inhaling almost instantly. The smoke had a minty smoke flavor and was not in the smallest way irritating. I held it in like it was pot until it exploded inside my head. Actually exploed. My head must have grown ten inches. Images where fractured as if they were photos layered on top of each other and superimposed. I tried to stand up but instead floated, or better hovered effortlessly as the three men laughed. “I don’t see what’s so funny, everything is out of focus. Motion, Time, sound, even life is out of focus.” The men continued laughing until Kha pointed to me, “Seem you forget pants JT. You come ownry in underwear. You are right everything out of focus. That how world really is. You see on quantum level now, you move with quantum motion and see with quantum eyes. You think unreal but exact opposite. Everything around you in constant motion JT, but your non quantum eyes cannot perceive. That why most people can never see God. I believe if most people really were able to see God they be scared, not elated. You see realities now JT, in your normal world nothing really what it seem to be. You are going on journey most people cannot handle, that what Transcendental Medication do my son, it open your mind and eyes to realities clouded by limitation of human perceptions. Dreams are real perceptions JT, ownry seem too abstract to you to be real. You not have pants on because it dream that haunt you as child. That’s from the drugs. The medication will help you confront many uncomfortable dreams you have had but also some very good dreams. And dreams you have not had yet. A new era of perceptions waits for you JT, you were chosen for this journey. Your two guides are messengers of God and I am your handler. The three of us will lead you on journey of everything , something, nothing, and true God after you visit Ambrosina for lesson on desire and power. Go to her, she waits for you and you must first understand yourself before you can know nothing.” Kha smiled at me like a teacher, or a father maybe, “Take your boat.” I looked at the stream which had my little row boat from my previous visit tied to a tree. “Just get in boat JT, and follow river. You will know when to…. get off…Ha ha ha. Then when you come back we discuss your perceptions” What an odd sense of humor, an old man like Kha using a sexual double entendre about “getting off” I thought to myself as I got in the boat. Dr. Kha untied the rowboat setting me free, “Not as old as you think, but much older as well JT.” I heard all three men laughing as the boat headed to wherever the current took it. How the fuck could he hear my thoughts? I’d better be careful what I think.
The ride didn’t take very long because I could see a woman in the distance waiting on shore. I wished the boat over to her and it went of its own accord. When I got out I was back in the island paradise where Ambrosina had so totally controlled and dominated me bringing me to the most incredible orgasm of my life. I exited the boat with profound anticipation and walked up to the woman waiting. I knew I was looking at Ambrosina but she appeared so different. Her hair tied in a ponytail wearing very little make up. She was dressed casual yet somehow stern. A beige corduroy button down dress with matching skirt. In place of the sexy shoes were low heeled casual loafers. Sensible shoes! She appeared demure and intimidated as she walked up to me, placed her mouth right at my ear an whispered, “If you want me you have to take me tonight. You have to want me bad enough to force me.” As she walked away I watched her ass bounce lightly back and forth giving me a semi erection. Despite the changes I wanted her in the worst way. The lust built up inside my loins and I knew I would do whatever I had to in order to make love to Ambrosina again. But how to start, I’ve never forced anyone before, that’s rape! Ambrosina turned around looked at me with her incredible sensuous eyes. I glanced down at her lips as she mouthed, “I’m ready JT, come take me. I’m here to service you.” I knew I had the power to ravage her and it felt invigorating. My semi erection began growing.
TBC

In The Shadow Of The Moon…. Remembering The Dead

On By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

boys

In Loving Memory Of My First Grateful Dead Concert
J.T. Hilltop

Lets not get too technical here, maybe I should call it the potential memory of my first Grateful Dead concert because it was after all over 40 years ago, and I was perceptually challenged in a profound way during that era from the fumes of heated cannabis plants and the ingestion of an array of mind altering substances. But its worth a stumble down memory lane just the same so here to the best of my recollection is my most sincere if somewhat warped and faded reflection. This is my account of the surreal experience of the very first of many Grateful Dead shows.

My best bud Kevin and I went to A&S to the Ticketron booth and chipped in to purchase one general admission ticket to see the Grateful Dead at the Nassau Coliseum on Long Island. Even though it was only $6.50 at the time to us that was a lot of money. Over twelve lunch periods of not eating to stash the fifty cents from Mom. Sounds like no big deal but let me tell you not eating lunch when you’re in high school while studying the effects of smoking biodegradable sativa plants resulting in a case of perpetual munchies is quite a sacrifice. Besides that, we needed whatever money we could store away to buy some good pot and maybe a hit or two of something for enhancement. We were planning to weed and speed throughout the concert.

With only one ticket it was time for us to become resourceful and put our high school education to some good use. We took our one ticket to the school library where they had a copy machine which was free for students. Using our deductive reasoning we hatched a plan to copy the back and front of our one ticket. We then took the two pages to art class where we carefully cut the ticket front and back using what looked like an ancient hand guillotine or torture device from the dark ages for a very precise cut. Two sides of this cloned ticket were duco-cemented together. Using the blue and yellow colored pencils we colored in the bogus ticket to make an exact replica. Now we each had a ticket and could use the cash we saved for some buzz.

Neither of us could drive at night because we only had Jr. operators licenses so on the evening of the show we had to hitch a ride to the Coliseum. I was well seasoned at traveling BMT (By My Thumb) and while I wasn’t quite as prolific as say Sissy Hankshaw I usually fared very well at copping rides. It was a different era and hitch hiking was pretty common. Our first ride came quick but was with an off duty cop which sent shivers of paranoia down our spines. He turned out to be really cool and just lectured us a little on behavior of teens, littering, (or was it loitering?) and mundane teen crap. The second ride took a bit longer than we hoped in snagging but it was a lucky hit. We caught a ride with a van load of Deadheads that brought us all the way to the Coliseum laughing and smoking pot the whole ride. Kevin had brought a dime chunk of Blond Lebanese hash and a pipe but he kept that in his pocket. I had a two finger baggie of Hawaiian Gold weed from which I rolled two fat doobies to share with our hosts. By the time we got to the parking lot we all were pretty buzzed, and that’s when Kevin handed me the surprise hit of blotter acid. We were primed and ready to rock and within an hour we would begin tripping. Thanking our ride we split and surfed the lot in search of any friends that may be at the show so we could share our get high.

Having found no one we smoked a bowl or two of Kevin’s hash and went inside, moving quickly so the attendant had no time to inspect our tickets. Once inside it was time to find a place as close to the stage as possible to hear The New Riders Of The Purple Sage. We didn’t work too hard on positioning yet because that struggle would come later when the Dead played. We lit our weed and our hash sharing it with all around us an got lots to smoke from them in return. N.R.P.S. played a great set and Jerry came on playing steel guitar for a few tunes. It was pretty awesome but that’s not what we came for. As their set came close to its end the LSD began its magic by transporting us to another planet both visually and mentally. When the set finally came to its close we were tripping proper and had some time to kill.

We went out to the corridors around the arena to do some people watching which is normally cool, but has a heightened sense of uber coolness at a Dead show. A group of totally tripped out people were doing a trippers version of interpretive dance, making strange gestures that if done anywhere else most assuredly would have gained them admission to the loony bin. People everywhere with unusually huge smiles stuck on their faces talking, sharing one type of get high or another. Whippets, bongs, chamber pipes, chillums, joints, one or two 12 inch joints rolled in an Esmeralda papers, pills, tabs, or chemical laced paper being put in mouths and swallowed. Conversations involving what the boys would play or what they played the evening before at The Fillmore abounded. A communal sense of intense excitement as we all became as one, one group of collective conscientiousness anticipating the start of the real show, what we all came for. After a half hour of watching and chatting with strangers, and some even stranger strangers, it was time to find our spiritual spot inside.

After fifteen minutes of strategic jostling, finding holes in the crowd and slipping in a shoulder or a leg to fill in a void and get closer to the stage we had our sweet spot. Just about center a bit to the right about 20 head lengths from the stage, great cosmic vibe and situated in between the massive speaker system. We staked claim to our territory by lighting some hash and proceeded to engage in copious amounts of smoking and toking, sharing it with all in our magic circle of Dead fans. As the lights dimmed drum beats broke through the crowd buzz and some guitar riffs filtered through the speakers. We were stoked now and the acid was in full flight. The universe was perfectly balance in that arena and everyone inside knew. The music began and it was a collective aura of Zen emanating from the crowd, nary a soul left unstoked nor untoked. I’m not gonna try and bullshit you about remembering the set list, so for the sake of my memorial account I will allow a collage of concerts speak to me as I generalize.

I was very fortunate to have caught the Dead while Pigpen was still with us and right at the onset he stole the show working us into a frenzy. The sound had a raw country edge to it with an accent of blues, Pigpen making his harmonica cry in emotional distress. The arena was dark with rolling flashes or colored lights, red, blue, yellow, purple all splattered about randomly reaching out into the crowds and moving around in huge oval patterns. The lights changed around us making our minds eyes congeal into a spin art of vision. Beach balls, balloons, Frisbees all hovered or soared overhead before moving on in some sort of cosmic endless search. The speaker system was blaring loud yet precise, I could hear and sense every note from every instrument. By the third or fourth song the mood had taken a slight turn as China Cat Sunflower began. Or maybe it was St. Stephan, either way the very moment Jerry hit the first notes my entire essence was sucked into another world. Of course the acid heightened my senses and I was tripping pretty heavy at that moment but Jerry’s guitar work infiltrated my soul and took over my body. Nothing else in the world existed, nothing but this magic pied pipers guitar solo. Jerry’s strings took on life, began breathing and pulsing, inter-twining its spiritually mesmerizing complexities with my hemoglobin and the music flowed freely through my circulatory being, now a part of my DNA leaving me feeling nothing short of ecstatic. Each note etched deeper and deeper into my soul and filled me with a sense of belonging, of completion as I became a small part of a living breathing concert with The Grateful Dead being the heart, pumping us life. I bobbed and writhed to the music along with thousands of other jubilant fans. I looked at Kevin and he was in his zone, oblivious to anything else, and a quick look around revealed a vast array of transfixed smiling faces all finding their very own space in time. The concert had been elevated from just another rock show to the ultimate rock concert.

They played about two hours and I never knew if we were in the middle of one song or at the end of another, and that was because they played songs within songs flowing back and forth as if in parallel dimensions. I can’t be 100% sure but I believe the last tune they played was the hippie anthem “Dancing In The Streets” with their own twist on it. They left the stage with everyone still pumped up an buzzed half out of our minds. The collective culture that pervaded took over our minds and our instincts kicked in as the entire crowd clapped, roared, whistled, and screamed begging for more more more!!!!! The level of our collective accolades escalated quickly to an almost ear shattering level, when the band returned. The screams of pure and genuine gratitude rumbled through my inner ears tickling the hammer and anvil, pounding on my eardrums, and trickling melodically down into my Eustachian tube forcing a good feeling over my soul and once again the band brought the music to life.

That was the first time I had ever heard the song “Morning Dew” and it was a gift of galactic proportions. What I found out later was the tune is about a post apocalyptic walk in the aftermath of rapture and the boys created the most haunting and mesmerizing sound I have ever encountered. It oozed apocalypse before I knew what the tune was about, again Jerry’s strings grabbing me and lifting me to another plane, an audio astral projection of the third, fourth, and fifth kind. It was followed up with a few more tunes as the band treated us to a lengthy encore fittingly ending with “And We Bid You Good-Night” It was an experience that even the most eloquent and descriptive words could barely hint at. One of the unifying chants of Deadheads is “There Is Nothing Like A Grateful Dead Concert” words to live by and I have chanted those words over and over ever since. I couldn’t possibly tell you which Dead show was my favorite but I can tell you this, after years and years of concert going when asked what my favorite show ever was I reply it’s a Grateful Dead concert, which one I’m not sure but definitely The Dead. I’m not an elitist, I love many other bands and artists, and many memorable shows including Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, The Who, Rolling Stones, and Neil Young, to name a few. I even took my son to some LollaPalooza Tours and a Warped Tour and I have always loved rock and roll and always will. I don’t get to nearly the amount of rock concerts I used to, but I go to as many as I can. Memorable recent shows include the Beach Boys reunion, Waters “The Wall” tour, an Phil Lesh an Friends, but in the end, as anyone who was lucky enough to have been to one Dead concert can attest, “There is nothing like a Grateful Dead concert”…..Peace

da boyz

No Angel Born In Hell

On By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

medium

I was MIA for two years and now I’m back in town to see Miles my best friend and riding partner. We di everything together, even went together to Port Jeff Harley Davidson to get our bikes. I got the Sportster shovelhead in black, miles went for a customized candy apple red with flames. Miles was a bit showy but that’s one of the things I loved so much about him. In high school we were both considered a little odd, flaunting our uniqueness’s, but Miles took his to the extreme. Long before any of us knew what glam rock was he had a long shag haircut and wore iridescent tight jeans, sparkled socks’ with platform shoes while I stayed loyal to concert tee’s, bell bottoms, and my red, white, and blue “moratorium” sneakers. They called us the big freak and the bigger freak but we always had the best weed so they seldom called us that to our faces. The power of supply and demand was in our favor.

We were both also first on line to experiment with any new drug and to stretch the boundaries of sensible abuse of the drugs. So it wasn’t much of a surprise that when I came back to town it was in part to detox. Nor would anyone be shocked that it was Miles I turned to. I had left town 2 years ago and moved into the big city where I fell into the clutches of addiction. Not much of a surprise there either but bottom line is I wanted to detox and Miles was the only one I could turn to. What was a surprise was when he answered the door. Full red beard and long red locks obscuring a hardened face and wearing a Pagan Motorcycle cut off jean jacket. Mild Miles. Crazyman Miles. I can’t see for Miles and Miles cuz I’m so stoned Miles. The hippie peace loving non confrontational Miles I left behind was now in a violent motorcycle group.

The second we saw each other we embraced like long separated lovers. Two peas getting back in the pod, Frick mending ways with Frac, peanut butter reuniting with jelly. Best pals from kindergarten till after high school together again.It was a magic moment shared by two outcasts that had each gone out in search of themselves. I became a city bohemian starving artist writer, a potential Salvatore Dali with a typewriter and a thesaurus holding down cooking job to make ends meet. That and to feed an addiction. And now Miles a what? A kickass biker dude? “Holy shit Bro, long time man, you look great. Full beard, long hair and a..A Pagan MC jacket. Wow, I mean like jeez bro you look…well you look kinda mean. You hooked up with the Pagans?” Miles grinned his infectious grin. A grin that grabbed your smile muscles and forced them upward. His grin was so intoxicating women would get woozy and he would get lucky with jut a smile. As always I fell prey to it as well. “Yea bro, me, a fucking biker right?? Who’da thunk Miles Martin would be a badass biker with the Pagans. I bet most of our friends figured me for a burnt out junkie loser or some shit, hahaha.”… Ouch, that stung. I forced my smile muscles not to participate in his enchanting grin game and looked down at the ground slightly embarrassed. When I sniffled he figured it out instantly, “Oh hey JT, sorry man, I…I” He stepped back and rolled up my sleeve. “Oh shit Bro not you? What about our pact? What happened?”

I began to sheepishly explain how I just got caught up in it, using a partially true excuse of researching the sub cultures of the city to write my stories an catching a habit researching street survivors in The lower East Side. That was how it began but it was me that fucked up and chose to keep going back for more not for research, but for relief. “That’s part of why I’m here man, I’m sick and I need help. I want to kick Bro, I want out but I ain’t got no one to turn to. My family disowned me, don’t even wanna hear my name, my girlfriend moved back to Kansas just to get away from me, and everyone else I know is either too strung out or too stoned to give a shit.” Miles got it, he knew instantly what to do. I knew he wouldn’t judge me or turn his back on me or tell me to get lost, he was a true brother. “Come on in man, have a brew. Let me make a few calls. First we’ll get you right and then we’ll get you clean.” he sat me down, tossed me a PBR, and disappeared. I guzzled the beer listening to ZZ Top, sniffling all the while as the physical aspect of my sickness from addiction became more noticeable. Five minutes later Miles returned, “Come on JT my brother, I’m gonna get you a dose of methadone for tonight and then we’ll go to a Pagan safe house to clean up. We‘ll take my cage.”

Miles cage, what bikers call their cars, was a cheap sedan of some type, I never really noticed. He drove about fifteen minutes to a bar in Amityville called “Blue T”. I could tell Blue T was a biker bar the second we pulled up because I saw rows of incredible scoots lined up in front. Mostly tricked out Hogs, a few Indians, a pair of Triumphs, and one Norton all shining and gleaming. It was a beautiful sight and I started to understand why Miles hooked up. He told me to wait as he went into The Blue T, returning after two minutes with a dude that scared the shit out of me with just a glance. He was about six four an maybe 275 pounds dressed in all black. His big oval face was obscured by a huge stringy jet black beard that went below his tee shirt neckline. His hair was just as coal black but long and greasy and sorely in need of a brush. Or at least some shampoo. In the middle of that hirsute framed face were two mean and angry giant beady eyes set way back in his head. They appeared to be stuck in pissed off mode and I feared his grimace was surgically implanted. As he got closer it became apparent that personal hygiene was not a priority. A reddened worn face with acne that betrayed he was much younger than he appeared. I wondered if he had ever had a moment in his life when he wasn’t angry. He looked directly at me with incredible distain, “This the asshole Red?” Miles stepped up, “yea JuJu, this is my buddy man, he’s cool. Give him a break Bro, he’s sick right now. Just do me this favor dude an I’ll owe you.” I shivered and let out another sniffle as an exclamation point. “Fuck this asshole Redbeard. Look, I’ll give him half my take home but stop with this punk ass I’m sick bullshit. You think you’re the first dipshit to use the spike?” He was looking at me now an I tried to sound halfway normal, “No man, no, I dig it, you’re right man, I just want this shit to stop man.” He shot me a look that may actually be able to kill and passed me a vial, “Drink half, but just fucking half asshole, this is my take home.” I obliged, thanking him enthusiastically for his generosity. The methadone clinics are only open Monday to Friday so on Fridays reformed junkies in the program get take home doses to get them through. Giving up half your take home was no small favor, he really did me a huge favor, or rather for Redbeard. I passed the remainder back putting out my hand to shake, but he just glared, turned, and walked back into the bar. I looked at Mile and thanked him then asked “Reddbeard” His grin returned triumphantly and he merely ssaid, “long story.”

Miles slapped my shoulder, “c’mon, lets go puff a joint then we’ll have a few brews. My sponsors gonna pick us up in an hour to bring us to a safe house.” We went out back to puff a joint. By the time we finished the methadone was just beginning to kick in and for the first time all day I felt good. We went inside sat on stools at the bar of Blue T to have some beer an catch up. It was a frightening experience just looking around. I was afraid to look at the chicks for pissing off one of these dudes. They were all big burly badasses virtually all dressed in black, “I’m sorry man, I gotta know. How the fuck did you end up with the Pagans?” Miles guzzled his beer straight own, wiped his thick red beard splattering a mix of spit and beer off his mustache into my lap and began his story.

“After you left I had no one to run with. Patrick went off to college and Sam got married and sold his bike. Rest of the assholes from town gave me nuthin but shit so I said fuck it and started hanging alone. I was chilling at Gunderstocks in Northport. and this dude come up tells me about a party out in Amityville. Dude looked cool and I was alone so of course I say fuck yea, and turns out it’s a Pagan club party. Booze and chicks everywhere man, I thought I was in biker heaven bro. So I talk to my new friend and he tells me if I want to get in with the Pagans I gotta do my time. If they like ya they let ya become a hanger on. Then if your lucky a member will sponsor you an you go through all kinds of bullshit I can‘t talk about here. Dude says he’s been a hanger on for two months now. That night I got so fucked up, had so much fun, and on top of it got laid by two biker chicks at once. I’m telling ya JT, the fucking best ever”

“So I became a hanger on, went to all their parties, carried the kegs, picked up grain alcohol and weed for them, cleaned up after, shit like that. Whatever they wanted they just yell ’Yo citzen, get me a joint, or bring me a beer, whatever. Three months go by, I’m hanging around all the time, getting laid like every day trying to impress a member to sponsor me. One morning its like seven AM, everybody’s tanked and tired and this member says to me, ‘Yo Citizen, make us some breakfast’ So here’s my big chance ya know, cooking like you an me always done working at Moonriders. So I whipped them up a great breakfast, made them hash brown potatoes, sausage and bacon, eggs with parmesan, and everyone’s like holy shit fucking citizen can cook. Next thing I’m cooking all the time and they start calling me Chef Boy Ar Dee. That’s cool because it beats the shit out of lugging and cleaning and gets me noticed. Two more months of that when the dude what originally asked me to make breakfasts asks if I want him to be my sponsor. Well hell fucking yea I want a sponsor, that’s why I’m there, so he sponsors me.”

Just then another biker came up and whispered something to Miles. Miles looks up at him says “Cool, thanks,” and the dude leaves. “Okay JT, finish your brew buddy, we leave in ten. When we get to the safe house. I’ll finish my tale then an you’re gonna tell me how the fuck you ended up with that shit in your veins.” I picked up my beer and began guzzling when I hear a commotion to my left. A dude was sitting on a stool next to me minding his business sipping a beer when a biker wearing his Pagan colors pushes his head into the bar, “I asked you what you said about my bike mother fucker!” The dude was confused. He rubbed the area on his head that had just been introduced to the bar counter answering, “What? Hey man, I didn’t say nothing about nothing man, I’m just drinking a beer.” The Pagan grabbed him by the shoulder, “You calling me a fucking liar asshole?” and lowered a hard right hook to the dudes forehead. It was right in front of my face, I saw the skin cave inward on hiss forehead then reverberate back in place all red. After another punch to his chin he lost his balance and fell to the floor. I was in shock but it was like no one else noticed as the dude jumped up fists flying. They bumped my stool spilling half my beer all over me as they engaged in hand to hand combat, splattering blood around from someone’s nose. They brawled valiantly the sound of thuds and cracks as they pummeled each others faces and heads until the barstool dude had nothing left and just collapsed. Shaken up I looked at Miles and said, “Dude, I’m sorry. I know this is your gig but I can’t handle this, I gotta split man.” Miles stood up, “No worries buddy, were leaving now anyway. We’re gonna get you straight.” He through a twenty on the bar and led me out. I stayed very close so they knew I was with him.
Next episode, Kicking It In The Safe House

Monarch Of The Univers (episode II)

On By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

butter

Previously on Monarch Of The Universe: I thought I was alone but to my surprise I received an answer. “Maybe I can help.” I looked about the room, no one here but me. Oh Jesus now I’m hearing hallucinations. I walked over to the stereo thinking it may have come from the speakers. Nothing. I laid down and tried meditating when a butterfly fluttered in front of me and landed on my chest. I stared in confusion when out of nowhere it began to talk to me. That is to say it communicated to me, it didn’t actually move its lips and speak, it communicated in an unspoken language it called the language of the cosmos.

THE SCREAM OF THE BUTTERFLY
Skeptical? God damn right I was skeptical! I was sure this was more five hit of barrel acid hallucinating but this butterfly went on communicating and explained to me that she is speaking to me in a language of time, a language that can be found hidden in every living things DNA if one knows where to look. The communication DNA she called it, even predates the dinosaurs having been mixed into the primordial soup which became life on earth. The language of the cosmos was etched deep into Mother Earths DNA so every splice of living organisms contains the secret language. Okay, sounds like too much acid, I get it, but my butterfly friend assured me that this communication exists in every galaxy, in every universe shared by all living organisms on planets everywhere. She went on to explain how the DNA code is misinterpreted or misunderstood most of the time and thereby disregarded. Life is so pre-occupied with survival strategies and procreation it no longer hears it, and because my mind is so wide open from the unusual amount of LSD I took I’m able to listen. “Just don’t let clouds get in the way” she told me, “clouds refract the real truths.” She assured me that would make sense to me someday, when the Monarch of the universe rises again.” The communication was a kind of swirling current, like a vast ever flowing ocean current and right now I am in a rip tide so to speak. Or so to communicate to be more literal. She fluttered in front of me a danced about in the air until I understood the movements of her butterfly dance was the communication.
Through her graceful movements she imparted an “enlightening” of its transformation of life into my mind with nary a word. Unspoken yet as clear as any story I’d ever heard read aloud. The story was nothing I had imagined a butterflies life to be. They break out of their eggs as teeny wormlike creatures and have an unyielding hunger for milkweed leaves. With no legs, just a some suction cups and a voracious appetite they hang around eating these leaves all day. They have very soft bodies and are loaded with protein so they’re a favorite snack for larger predators. Being so low on the food chain, and moving in such a slow and odd looking way they are a target of bullying by other insects being called names and getting teased. They have strange bodies and they look like what bully insects describe as “fat worms with bad toupees“, or “grub worms going through puberty on steroids“, or just “hairy slugs.” They make fun of the way they hunch up to move calling them crawling baby camel dicks. The ridicule they receive from other insects is brutal and non stop. After a life of being tortured bullied and teased relentlessly they form warm cocoons where they can hide their shame.
Once inside this cocoon they begin to cry and because of the acidic composition of the milkweed leaves in their diets their tears become corrosive and dissolve their worm parts into a gooey liquid like substance. That’s when the magic happens, when a life of misery and shame is transformed into a beautiful free creature that is the envy of the avian world. As the cocoon cools down the substance takes the form of an insect with six legs, a thin yet strong body, and rolled up shoulders which contain no blood. Once outside they pump blood into their shoulders making them puff up with pride forming regal and beautiful wings. The wing are magnificent allowing the little creatures to soar up into the skies. Before they take flight they hide three secrets they learned in their former lives in the dust of the cocoon. Once the secrets are safely stowed away they loudly let out the scream of the butterfly announcing to the world that the Monarch has risen.
I was more than fascinated by the butterfly’s story and I was absorbed completely by its visual language. I understood its tale as though it had been inside my head forever. She spread her wings, circled the room three times before landing back on my chest. Majestic in every sense. Next she stretched out her wings and revealed a bright golden diamond on brown gossamer wings. I had no more images of Olive cheating on Popeye with Wimpy, no more inner warrior winking at me from the mirror, and no more mysterious music sneaking out of my stereo. Just me and the butterfly. The butterfly communicated soothingly assuring me we would meet again but for now I need just remember our communication, remember where the three truths were hidden.

Now I know that seems like just another of my bizarre hallucinations and truth is so did I, but a startling event that transpired cemented the reality of me hearing the scream of the butterfly. My best friend Ken came over bragging to me that he just got some blue cheer LSD and was planning on tripping this week. I had told him about my intense accidental trip, omitting the butterfly part, so he understood that for the time being I wasn’t gonna trip at all. I told him to enjoy but just do one hit at a time and he smiled a big huge shit eating Cheshire cat grin. “JT my man, I got something for you too. I know you don’t want no acid yet but my connection offered my some special pre-rolled joints for five bucks apiece. He called em ‘Cocoon Dust’ and said they are intense and kind of spiritual so I got six, all I could afford. Three for me and three for you good dude.” I was stunned, literally stunned and needed to make sure I heard him, “Cocoon dust? Did you say cocoon dust?” I felt paralyzed but he went on, “Yea dude, its supposed to be the best smoke high you can get, like not angel or green weed, its not like its PCP man, its something like more spiritual or something, kinda like smoking mescaline or peyote. Some Indian tribe in Mexico scrapes cocoon dust and mixes it with ground cactus root and rolls them up. I got you the three, you want em or not dude?” Cocoon dust, holy fucking shit man. I never told him about the cocoon dust and the three secrets and now he is offering me three joints of something called cocoon dust. One for each secret? I could still barely move but was enthusiastic. “Are you fucking kidding me dude? Of course I want them, you’re the friggen best friend ever bro.” He handed them to me and I placed them behind the foil of my Marlboro cigarette box. “When you wanna smoke them man?” Ken shook his head, “No man dude says ya gotta puff each one yourself, its not a sharing kind of joint. What I’m sayin’ is you don’t have to wait for me he says it’s a personal high. Its not the kind of joint you puff and pass, it burns real quick and you only get like three or four hits before it gone and you got take all the hits. Supposed to hit it super fast or something. Funny shit huh? Instead of chugging beers we be chugging a joint made from cactus and butterflies.
TBC

The Monarch Of The Universe

On By Terrapin - The JourneyIn UncategorizedLeave a comment

mon of uni

Another never again moment. I’ve had way too many of them, late nights hugging the toilet bowl somehow empting more contents from my stomach than went in. How many times was I thinking I may have just thrown up my liver or pancreas? How may times have I said never again? Well at least this time I’m saying never again not because I’m puking up my internal organs from mixing every alcohol I could get my lips around. Nope not this time, this particular never again moment is because my hallucinations are over the top. Never again will JT take five hits of barrel acid, a favorite tripping substance for LSD users like myself. One is sufficient for a fantastic trip because barrel acid is pretty powerful, two is pushing it a bit closer to the edge and not normally recommended. Taking three hits is unusual and dangerously close to going over that edge but its not unheard of. But five?! That’s just fucking insane man, something that even the most seasoned tripper stacked with frequent flying miles wouldn’t do that on purpose. To be honest clinical insanity was what I feared most.
So how is it that I am laying in bed in a room I share with my brother tripping like McMurtreys cast of loonies in the cuckoos nest? Because in a moment of sheer marijuana driven panic I made an ill advised choice. My Mom came back unexpectedly and I had five hits of premium trip-worthy barrel acid on the table. I was looking longingly at my freshly acquired controlled substance contemplating who I would abuse them with when I heard the door open. In a rush of paranoia I grabbed all five and shoved them quickly in my mouth. Not in my pocket where they would have been safely stowed from sight but in my mouth! I heard her threatening heels clanking closer as she approached the kitchen and I did the only thing I could think of. I swallowed. Mom came in and glared at me, “What are you doing here in the kitchen? What are you up to now young man?” As I swallowed the tabs I nervously responded, “What do you mean up to? I ain’t doing nothing.” Mom believed that parenting was a responsibility in which she was obliged to constantly belittle me and correct my English. She was relentless at making me feel like shit, “You aren’t doing anything JT, and don’t lie to me I can tell when you’re up to something, you look like the cat that swallowed the canary.” I had recently smoked a joint blowing the smoke out my window and I almost chuckled thinking about Tweedy Pie and Sylvester but I needed to keep it together and switch the focus, “Okay, okay I’m not doing anything mother, just looking for a snack. Why are you back so early anyway?” she stared at me in an all too familiar way, deadpan suspicion “Yea well I forgot something and your dad is outside waiting. But if you don’t want to tell me what’s going on maybe I should just stay home.” Jesus Christ no! Just the thought of that made me shiver perceptibly. Time to use my ultimate teen weapon, the disdainful you never trust me sarcasm, “Yea sure Mom, I’m planning an mass murder, I was just in here choosing which of your knives will make the cleanest stab! Why is it you always think I‘m up to something? You never trust me.” I knew I sold it. Mom shook her head in mock disgust and started towards the door, “One of these days JT you’re gonna say something you’ll regret and someone will take you serious. For gods sake grow up. You stay out of trouble and we’ll see about lifting your grounding tomorrow. Go clean your room and then we can talk about trust!” As she walked out the door I sneered while under my breath I spoke bravely, “Yea fucking right, my groundation! What a fucking joke!”
I was pissed off because most everyone else I know is at the Civic Center at the Jethro Tull concert and I’m stuck here because I missed and assignment in social studies. Social Studies, another joke! Anyway this acid is gonna start coming on in a while so I need to prepare. Time to head up into my sanctuary away from this screwed up world. Up to my bedroom which I share with my older brother who just won’t move out so I can have it to myself. 22years old and still living home the damn loser. Not me man as soon as I turn eighteen I’m outta this shithole of a house. Fuck it, at least I will be tripping my brains out tonight. Little did I know how close to literal that would become.

The cid was kicking in so I got settled in. What to do? First things first. I lit some patchouli incense and turned on my blacklight to make my psychedelic posters burst with colors and movement. I pranced over to my cheap stereo to choose an album. Being in a Jimi mood I put on Bold As Love, side A. It starts off with a funny UFO spoof then quickly kicks into a typical Jimi Hendrix guitar explosion. The album was awesome and premium tripping material. I laid back on my bed and began seeing some very strange visions. The ceiling was normally blank but because of the LSD I perceived it to be full of images, most of which were moving like a film strips. Popeye strangling Brutus, Road Runner and Wile E. Coyote running in circles like a dog chasing its tail, and that sort of thing. High def hallucinations. After watching these assorted hallucinations awhile I had to keep reminding myself that they weren’t real. Then I focused on one in particular, Wimpy humping Olive Oyl and he was pumping away to the music. Popeye, Brutus, and an array of cartoon character I don’t remember were all watching and cheering them on. Olive was panting and moaning her skinny and boney legs way up in the air, and Wimpy had lost some weight and was unbelievably in time with the music, thrusting along with the chords. Other characters were clapping, Olive was screaming “Ohhhh Popppppeye!!!“ and Wimpy kept saying “I’ll gladly pay you Tuesday for a good fucking today” still pumping as if dancing. I laughed out loud until I realized something strange. Not that the scene wasn’t already strange enough but this was scary strange. The music Wimpy was humping to was not the album I put on. As a matter of fact it was music I never heard of before, filled with really weird electronic sounds. I jumped up, the hallucinations disappeared and I ran to my stereo. The album was over and I had no clue how long ago it ended.
I shook my head trying to get straight and flip the album over. I stood to reassure myself, “Its just a trip JT, you’re tripping and everything’s okay. Only a trip, it’s the acid, none of this is real.” Feeling only slightly better I headed back to my bed but someone stopped the album. When I looked over it started again, then happened once more. I was certain my asshole brother had come home, knew I was tripping and thought it would be funny to goof on me. “hey cut it out man, that’s not funny!” No response. I looked around. No sign of Robert, no one anywhere, but the music was now playing normal. I turned to get back to my bed when one of my posters, an American Indian chief with tie dye colors all around him began moving. He was breathing and flexing his muscles, holding up a tomahawk. “Holy fuck! This isn’t fucking real man, it can’t be.”
The full force of the five hits of acid were hitting me now. I slinked back into bed and closed my eyes tight but they kept popping open. I had to keep reminding myself I was tripping so I wouldn’t flip out. Can’t sleep, no one to talk to, I gotta see myself through this. But right now I have to take a pee. Off to the bathroom. One of the things about tripping is it intensifies every feeling, whether its making love like never before, hearing music that pulls at your soul, or even pissing. Even better than that pee held in during a long road trip waiting for the next rest top. But there is another oddity when tripping, when you see am image of yourself and its distorted you need to focus and look away before you begin to freak out thinking its how you really look. As I turned from the toilet bowl I was confronted with a full length mirror that had a most frightening and imposing figure staring back at me.
Everything seemed to come to a halt, even time itself. I was staring at a foreboding image of myself painted like a warrior of some sort complete with a bizarre war paint. Split directly down the center of my face and body was a line, on the right side everything yellow except two stripes of dark brown war paint on my forehead angling upwards, a semi circle around my eye, and two more stripes on my cheek in a downward angle. My left side was a dark brown yang to the bright yellow yin. I must say I looked fierce. I stared for a few seconds trying to intellectualize the event and put it into perspective but my perspective had gone out for a walk in the woods and I wasn’t sure it would ever return. The war paint began breathing, or pulsating and changing colors. War paint of dark brown, bright yellow, and dayglo orange were spinning around my face. My cheeks were drooping, my nose twisted and my forehead protruded immensely. I was hideous, a worse image than finding a face full of pimples the day of a date. I issued a long drawn out “Ohhhh My God” and forced myself away from the image. Like I was a Piccaso portrait escaping from a Salvador Dali landscape Nothing was real, I had never come close to hallucinating this hard. I trembled and forced myself to head back to my sanctuary feeling like I was stepping on feathered mattresses repeating “that wasn’t you. That wasn’t you” as my Mantra.
“Shit man, I gotta get a hold of myself here and start enjoying this again. Where the fuck is Popeye and shit?” I thought I was alone but to my surprise I received an answer. “maybe I can help.” I looked about the room, no one here, only me. Oh Jesus now I’m hearing hallucinations. I walked over to the stereo thinking it may have come from the speakers. Nothing. I laid down and tried meditating when a butterfly fluttered in front of me and landed on my chest. I stared in confusion when out of nowhere it began to talk to me. That is to say it communicated to me, it didn’t actually move its lips and speak. It communicated in an unspoken language it called the language of the cosmos.
TBC