Tag: drugs

Has Anyone Seen My Tab Of LSD? Dad? OMFG!!

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A Trip Around The Yard

Alan was feeling a little bit guilty about violating his son‘s trust. He respected Ian’s right to privacy but his suspicions were so deep he felt he had to infringe. He didn’t want his son smoking that evil devils weed or worse. As a devout Jesuit he was responsible to raise his son to be a follower of The Society of Christ and if he found Ian straying he could use that to send his son into a Jesuit school, maybe even go to Loyola someday. His wife Sadie was catholic and had opted not to upset the forbidden apple cart by converting and as long as Ian was swathed in the blanket of Jesus they could compromise. The compromise was a typical agreement between husband and wife in the 50‘s, Sadie agreed not to cut Alan off forcing Alan to agree to just about anything. In truth that was the single bone of contention between them, Sadie insisted on Ian remaining a “Good catholic” and not a Jesuit so Alan gave in “for now“. That was the one and only time she aired dissidence.
All Alan needed to convince her being a Jesuit would be in Ian’s best interests was to catch him in a sin. He was relatively certain his son was smoking pot and he wanted to find some evidence of wrongdoing that would give him the upper hand and release the vaginal wrench Sadie clenched on his desires. Alan was the man of the house and as such he should in theory have final say in major decisions, but in practice he opted for bedroom bliss over being boss on this one. He looked over his shoulder nervously and began opening the desk drawer as silently as possible. After rifling through the entire desk he was disappointed to not find any evidence but relieved his son seemed to be keeping his head on his shoulders. He wasn’t thinking about anything in particular when he placed the life saver in his mouth, it was more of a reflex. He had no way of knowing he had just unwittingly ingested a tasty tab of Orange Sunshine LSD. In fact it would be almost an hour until he even began to feel any effect, much too long of a time lapse to connect the two together even if he had suspected something. The rest of the covert search also turned up nothing so he left his son’s room and went to his secret haven, his escape room to relax before mowing the lawn. He locked the door behind him and sat down in his lounge chair at his sacred sanctuary.
It had always seemed funny to Ian that his Dad spent so much money on a Cadillac but turned the room meant to keep that expensive car into a fortress of escape with no room for the car. A small fridge filled with beers, a lounger, a small TV and radio all surrounded by his tools. But that’s where you could find Alan whenever the stresses of suburban life got to him. He called it his palace. Alan needed to relax because he always stressed out at the thought of performing his most despised suburban chore. Lawn maintenance. People here in Hamilton New Jersey were judged harshly by the state of their lawns. A well kept lawn was the ultimate status in town and would make the homeowner a well respected man about town, but an unkempt lawn was a ticket to the lowest rung of suburban development and a surefire way to have yourself snubbed and ostracized.
But the yard had to be manicured and Alan dutifully mowed and trimmed his sacred acre of green pride with an unusual joviality which at times made him actually laugh to no one in particular. When Alan finished his dreaded chore he smiled having found it mildly amusing and uncharacteristically pleasant. When he performed the finishing touch of edging it was oddly funny for some reason. He had also done some very deep thinking while tackling this normally mundane chore and surprised himself having come up with some new concepts and theories about life. His life to be exact. He put away his lawnmower and edger and then sat back in his recliner to close his eyes and consider the implications of his newly gained perspective. Besides it was a hot one out there today and he was tired so a cold beer and a short nap would fit his bill. As he laid back and relaxed a sense of serenity settled across his body and mind. Alan was meditating without even realizing. After fifteen minutes his cheek muscles began to move involuntarily forcing a rather large smile onto his face. His eyes were closed yet bustling with activity as they entered the rapid eye movement state even though he was far away from sleeping. He found himself inexplicably listening closely to all the sounds around him, the leaves gently tickling the ground a they danced acros the cement floor, the wings of some kind of bug flapping melodically, a cricket scratching a tune on its hind legs. Sounds that were always around but never noticed, at least not is such a grand way. Alan was smiling and humming and the visions in his minds eye were churning up childhood memories. Cartoon characters. He saw Popeye and Olive Oyl, Mighty Mouse, Huckleberry Hound, Top Cat, and many more cherished cartoon characters all involved in some bizarre collective cartoon specifically portrayed for his entertainment. As if he had taken hallucinogens before he rolled with it not for a second letting the images upset or confuse him. He was smiling a huge involuntary smile and he knew it. He felt it! He felt the muscles of his cheeks pulling upwards pressing up against his eye sockets, the corners of his mouth contract inwardly, and his jaw line stretch halfway around his head. He chuckled to himself understanding he was rising to a new conscientiousness.
For quite a while Alan merely sat back and enjoyed his trip as he contemplated his life and what it was all about. His smile began to desert him as he realized what a rut he’d found himself in. “What the hell am I doing? The same thing day in and day out, go to work, come home, have dinner, watch TV, and go to bed. What am I doing this all for?” He continued feeling morose and sorry for himself for living what others had convinced themselves was “The American Dream”. But what the hell kind of dream is this drudgery of existence? Why was he just going through the motions, why wasn’t he an international spy, or an astronaut or something exciting? Anything more exciting than a carbon copy of every other shit middle class robot in town. His mood was taking a dangerous turn from comedy to tragedy in mere seconds.
Alan clasped his head between his hands attempting to squeeze the bad thoughts from his mind. Bugs seemed to be buzzing around e3verywhere but one bug in particular was just outside his ear and singing a song to him. Not a song he recognized, more nonsense singing in a weird bug voice like “eyy ya ya dadada dadeedadee, dadada…..get outta my ear!” Wait, was the bug trying to tell him some profound truth? Could this be where he finds true meaning? Alan contemplated intensely what message this omen bug was showing him when he laughed out loud, “Get out of my ear? Hahaha, did some bug just fly in my ear and say get out of my ear?” He laughed some more, not startled or confused but back in a state of control, of understanding, as though tripping on LSD was his true calling and not some foreign experience impossible to understand. He opened his eyes and continued talking to himself, “Holy shit, I feel so strange. I’m not sure what in the Hell is going on but I think I like it. I feel like I‘m in some bizarre 3D movie or one of those optical illusion pictures” The bug continued to sing the same song over and over in his ear and much to his delight he was neither concerned nor puzzled, he was comfortable with it. Suddenly startled Alan thought he saw movement from the corner of his eye as he jumped up from his chair.
“Is someone here? Come on now I know someone else is here, I can hear you and I know you’re in here. Who is it?” Alan was still chuckling lightly but beginning to feel uneasy. The bug stopped singing and in a much deeper and human voice it said to him, “Its me Alan, Franco. You remember me don‘t you? Saint Francis from the days back at the room. I sure as hell remember you, all of you. You guys all laughed and called me Franco. Then you did those things to me, those horrible things. I can still feel the pain.” Alan sat back down now suddenly frightened and uncertain of what was happening. An old buried memory he was unaware of was being stirred up and settling in his head. He was remembering, the room, the lights, the loud noises, and….and “Franco? This can’t be, it wasn’t real. But maybe it was. Oh my God, I remember now Franco. They told us no one would get hurt, we never meant to”….. A knock on the door sent a shiver of paranoia erasing the memory and replacing it with profound worry. “Dad? Its me, Ian. Can I come in? I think we nee to talk.”

You Say You Want A Revelation, Well Ya Know (another sick bastard bible selection)

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part one

The last one picked is the one no one really wants on the team and Revelations was the last one picked for the Bible. Coincidence? Maybe, or maybe Revelations was too fat, too slow, or too uncoordinated or no one liked it. Maybe it jut flat out sucked! Of course there’s only one way to find out. Investigation. So here it comes the Christian Scripture Investigators. The CSI team is here to find the DNA and other forensic tidbits hidden in the scriptures. Maybe even trace elements like epithelia’s, fingerprints, or secret documents to uncover the truth behind the book of all things. This episode we will investigate the truth behind the final frontier of the bible, revelations.
The main players in this tale of apocalyptic reckoning are somewhat questionable. Written by John of Pathos where he was known as the pathological prophet of Pathos. The story as he tells it includes the four headless horsemen of Sleepy Hollow, the Liar of Judah, angels, trumpeters, the beast, a dragon, a false prophet, an arched angel, and of course no bible story would be complete without a whore, this one straight outta Babylon.
The book of revelations is somewhat difficult to tell because its told in some unusual circumstances. The story was revealed to this tripped out dude John, who was locked up in prison in Pathos on a drug related beef. He was a prolific writer who had already had a number of stories published in the New Testament. A few under the epistle category, and a gospel song called Psalm 43 (The P has the right to remain silent). Many religious scholars say it was actually 3 different Johns but if I get into bible discrepancies I’ll never get to this investigation. The truth as he told it to me goes like this. One evening while studying in the prison library John had a visitor. A woman who looked alarming similar to Mary Magdalene though she denies it three times. This visitor had placed a very powerful tab or two of LSD (legal at that time) in her mouth and transferred it to Johns mouth in a disgusting public display of spit swapping French kisses. A face sucking tongue tangoing, snog toggle, The ultimate French kiss whose true purpose was to exchange the hallucinogenic treat. When John got back to his cell, and after his bulge subsided (Really don’t drop the soap now!!) he was visited and told a story by god. I had a similar reverse episode once, after ingesting a chemical mind tickler I learned that god took some acid and saw me! Another day.
So during his intense peeking (I think that’s what people on acid trips call it when the trip hit’s a crescendo), that was when god suddenly said to John, “Dude, you wanna hear about the future of mankind?” Stupid question, of course he did. He was tripping after all. So this story was how John best remembered the telling some 18 hours after the acid wore off. That’s some powerful shit there! This is the book of Reservations. Reverberation. Revolution. ….Sorry, The Book of Revelations!
Here it is in his very own paraphrased words as he told it to me one day back in the late 60’s:
“So Mary and I kissed and I could feel two tabs of something on her tongue. Yea I know she said it wasn’t her but she just didn’t want to end up on the front page of the Abraham Inquirer. An let me tell you the J-man was one lucky Jew she was one helluva kisser. Anyway She tells me to swallow, something you don’t normally wanna hear in prison, so I swallows the tab. Then she tells me I just took two tabs of Blue Cheer acid. Man I was stoked. I smiled all the way back to my cell knowing what was coming. I got to my cell and laid down on my stone cot. After about a half hour I hear this voice. I sit up an look around but there ain’t no one there. So I lays back down when the voice comes back, this time calling me by name. So I shout who’s that, who’s there? And the voice says ‘Its me John, God.’ Now I’m thinking it must be the acid kickin’ in right? I mean the voice was like soft and almost girly. Not the powerful deep voice you’d think God would have but he insists. ‘Really John, its me God’ Then he steps out from the shadows and sure enough it is God. Amazing how much Jesus looked like him. Spittin’ image. What else could I do? I sez, whats up God?”
“He walks through the bars, I mean right through, like they wasn’t even there. Then he sez, ‘John, I want to tell you a story. I want you to write it down and make sure everyone reads it.’ I sez to him, you mean like a bestseller or something? To which he replies, ‘yea, something like that. But first try and get the story into the bible, because this is the story of the beginning and the end.’ Now I’m really thinking the acid is slamming the insides of my brain but I figger I should like play along and sez yea yea sure Mr. Almighty, whatever you sez.”
“When I first created everything I had seven arch angels to watch over heaven and protect it. Six of these arches were cool, but one arch angel was just a real pain in the ba-donk-a-donk. Has to do everything his way and refused to follow my directions. Finally one day I caught him in bed with Gabriel’s teenage daughter and that was the last straw. I tossed his ass out and straight down to earth along with one third of the questionable residents of heaven. He went down to earth with them and they formed a gang calling themselves the Crypts. He goes to the garden of Eden and begins recruiting humans for his gang. So I had Gabriel, a very trusted angel form a gang up here because I knew there would someday be a major showdown. He formed the Bloods of my blood, after my sons prophecy. We call them the Bloods for short, and it created a rivalry that would be the mother of all rivalries. Positive vs. Negative, Life vs. Death, Good vs. Evil, Bloods vs. Crypts. One day we would have our gang lords get together for an epic showdown. This showdown will be called The Rapture.”
“Now I’m still tripping but I’m starting to think maybe this shit is real so I keep scraping away on my stones getting down his words so I could one day write the book for him. Being an ancient journalist of course I had questions, so I asks him to explain to me how this Rapture thing is gonna go down. Then something happens that may sound like a fairy tale or a hallucination. He floats up to the ceiling an sez come on up John it will be easier if I show you”
Now I’m flipping ya know? I’m like how the fuck am I supposed to get up there, but before I even thought about a strategy I was lifted off my feet and floating right next to him. Honest to god, from Gods mouth to my ear he whispers, ‘Watch this. These guys can really stir it up’ A light went on and I swear to you it looked like a giant flat screen TV in HD. The images seemed so real. There was a stage with seven musicians. Al Hirt,Loius Armstrong,Wynton Marsalas, Miles Davis,Chuck Mangione,Maynard Fererson, and Dizzy Gillespie. Not just ordinary musicians each stood with a trumpet in their hands. The seven Trumpeters. They jammed for about an hour and that’s when the real show started!”

The Needle And The Damage Done

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damage

I couldn’t help but fixate on my conversation, or maybe slurversation with Artie last night and the China white heroin. Horse, the big H, dope. Heroin took the starring role in most of the PSA movies we were force-fed in high school as the ultimate villain. The Damien of drugs that was where all roads end and would surely be the death of us all. What worried me mot was that it didn’t worry me at all. My life was slinking along the gutter and rapidly evolving into rotted sewage. Carrie cheated on me and my best Ken is gone giving credence to my “JT is a jinx” theory. Everyone I care about either moves, dies, or gets pushed away by me as I wallow in my self loathing. No doubt just more of my self full-filling prophecy of dying a lonely young man. Just everything in my life sucks right now so what do I have to lose? It was like the angel and devil on each shoulder, one whispering “fuck it JT, just go for it” while the other was telling me to stop and think. What do you have to lose? You can handle it, you can handle any drug. The devil was much more convincing and eventually even the angel agreed I should go for it. The downward spiral was set in motion.
I gave Art a call hoping he remembered me even being there last night. “Here there little man, what’s on yer mind?” I took a breath and proceeded cautiously because drug users have built in paranoia and are always worried about cops listening in on phone. “Ah, I was like thinking about what we talked about last night, ya know, that uh, Chinese thing ya know? Well I think I’d like to try it.” There was a short pause before he understood my idiotic cryptic message. “Oh yea, of course little man, I can hook it up, come over tonight and we can get high. I’m partying with Penny and Pam man that’ll be perfect.” I bubbled with an extra air of excitement.
Penny and Pam, the twins, partying with me and Artie? Jesus shit that was unbelievable. Penny and Pam were identical twins, both with long straight black hair and high cheekbones. Either on could pas for Cher with a body to match. Such long legs an such a high tiny waist. Definitely out of my league but drugs are a fantastic equalizer. It was amazing to see them together, they not only looked the same but sounded exactly alike too. They even finished each others sentences. They were two years older so I would need to put on some extra charm. There was a rumor that Pam had a birthmark just above the hair line of her groin and if I had the chance to find out for sure my life would be back on track. Or was it penny that had the mark? Either way, if I had a chance to be with either of them I would be all over it. I would just need to dance the fine line between experimenting with dope and being a full fledged junkie. This could make me a social outcast or an instant legend depending how it goes! I took extra care in blow drying my hair that evening as if it would matter.
When I finally got to Arties I was nervous. The twins were already there and one of them winked at me. They loved to play with peoples heads and pretend to be each other so I have no clue which one winked but it was exciting either way. Artie handed me a glass of vodka while I pulled out a joint, lit it and passed it around. “Hey little man, go put on a record.” I wish he hadn’t call me little man at that point but on the other hand it showed a special connection between me and Artie which enhanced my coolness status. But pressure was on, which album? I chose a Santana album, Abraxas which would set a great mood and took note that Artie had the “Eat A Peach” album by the Allman Brothers. With any luck that will come in handy later because it had a tune called “Mountain Jam” which was an entire side and was the best tune ever to make love too. Gotta remain optimistic, I need a good vibe.
We laughed and partied for forty five minutes during which it seemed like Artie was deciding which twin he wanted to be with, because it was almost a given he had his choice. He’s ultra cool and the man with drugs so he gets special considerations from most everyone, especially the ladies. “Well my little dumplings, I think the time has come. Lets get high.” They both visibly perked up and began getting prepared. Obviously they’d done this before. “ladies this is JT’s first flight so lets help him out here.” They both smiled huge smiles at me and I was ready. One of them grabbed my arm as Artie began pouring some powder into a spoon and lit a candle.” Roll up your sleeve JT honey an lets have a look at your veins.” She inspected my arm, “Cool Artie, he’s got some big veins here, this one should be easy. I’m gonna tie him off.” Artie acknowledged as Penny or Pam looked at me slyly, “You want me to hit you Hon? I never gave anyone their first before.” I gulped a bit harder than I wanted to hoping she didn’t sense my apprehension. “Sure, I’d really like that but which one are you? I mean like for my record.” They both laughed lightly, “Dose it matter? I’m Pam and that’s Penny but we both answer to either so you choose.” She tied an old necktie around my bicep and tightened it then looked at my forearm and slapped it. “Okay, Pam sounds good, their both sexy names.” I felt like an asshole as they both giggled but Pam looked me straight in the eye, “Listen JT, I’m getting your veins to come up and then I’ll choose one. I’m gonna put the spike in your arm and show you how its done. Next time your gonna want hit yourself.” She smiled and instead of thinking about what was happening I found myself thinking about how pretty she is. Artie had put the spoon with the powder and a little water over the candle flame until it boiled lightly, “I’m cooking it up now JT. Soon as it boils I’m gonna draw the liquid up into the syringe. The spike. Pam’s gonna stick you, then pull back to make sure she hit a vein. When you see a touch of red in the spike it means she’s in and then she’ll pull back slightly then push and pull back and forth slowly. Its called booting. Once you start hitting yourself you decide how much you like to boot but for now Pam will choose. In about ten seconds you’ll feel the most intense high you’ve ever fucking had man so just sit back and enjoy it. Don’t try to talk, just dig on it little Bro.” He ripped off a small piece of a unused cigarette filter, put it in the liquid and drew in the liquid, handing the spike to Pam.
“Ready babe?” Pam snapped a finger at the syringe an pushed up until a tiny spurt of water shot out. “I’m making sure there’s no air in the needle, you don’t want air shooting into your heart. As soon as I get a vein I’m gonna release the tie and start booting.” Pam grabbed my arm and studied it locating the perfect spot then she injected the needle. I did my best not to shake. I wasn’t actually scared but I was nervous not knowing what to expect. Pam smiled at me, “here we go baby, enjoy.” I saw her pull back on the plunger, a dab of red liquid mixed in with the dope infused water as she undid the tie around my bicep. She plunged about half of the liquid into my arm and that’s when I took off.
I watched the plunger as Pam went in and out with it about six times, the last time plunging it all the way and then removing the spike. Immediately a warm sensation traveled across my shoulders into my back. I smiled involuntarily and all I could manage to make come out of my mouth was a long airy “Whoooaaaa!” In an instant every ugly, sad, and shitty thing in the world disappeared. Not one thing mattered. Nothing! A faint buzz sound filled my ears blocking everything else out and making me want to just smile. I never felt so good in my entire life and it felt like minutes before I remembered where I was. The first thing I saw was Pam smiling warmly holding my hand. “How ya feeling JT? You okay?” It was spoken in an even easy tone and Jesus shit I was beyond okay. I looked back at her, smiled, and softly and slowly said, “Holy shit Pam, that, thats incredible. I think my head is numb.” Pam laughed then reached her face over and kissed me tenderly on the cheek, “Its my turn baby, you wanna watch? Watching is sexy as hell” I just shook my head unable to form any rational sentences and rocked slowly back and forth. I looked on as she prepared her own batch of China white. Penny and Artie were gone and I assumed shooting up somewhere else. Everything was beautiful, every minute negative anything from the world was gone entirely. Nothing existed but me, Pam, the highest feeling ever, and China white.
There’s something special about getting someone high for their first time JT. Now your gonna share my high with me.” She dumped a packet of heroin into the spoon and filled an eyedropper with water. Pam had a remarkable sparkle in her eye when she gazed at me and said, “I think this is sexy. Watch what I do and maybe next time you can hit me. Pam instructed me on the proper way to use heroin as she got her hit set up. “I’m ready. I have great veins so I don’t even tie off, I hit a vein every time” She smiled and I thought it was the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. It took everything I had not to blurt that thought out loud and look like a dork. I just smiled back as she rubbed her arm where she was gonna inject. I was still numb, and don’t know how else to describe the feeling. I have never felt so good. In mere seconds I had been transported from a loser seeking asylum in drugs to King of the world with a beautiful woman sharing my moment. I watched as Pam skillfully hit a vein and pulled back revealing the swish of blood, then began booting the dope into her arm smiling the whole time. She put down the spike and looked my way. Her eyes rolled back in her head and her lips parted sensuously allowing a long drawn out “ohhhh” to fill the air with an almost pornographic feel. We began making out and everything after that became somewhat foggy.
I woke up naked with my body wrapped around Pam’s. I didn’t even remember falling asleep but I do remember having the best sex of my life and how for one night every aspect of my life was beautiful. I didn’t want to go back to reality, I just wanted to stay high forever. It never dawned on me what a destructive omen that was because last night was the single most awesome night of my life. We had partied a few hours, smoked more weed and hit each other up one more time before we made it to the floor and made passionate love while listening to “Eat A Peach” I had an opportunity to inspect Pam’s naked body and no birthmark but I had no plan of sharing that bit of trivia with anyone. She began to stir and then woke up. “Hey babe, how was your first flight?” I wasn’t sure how to answer, everything happened so fast I was afraid I was falling in love again but this was much to soon. I was beginning to worry that I fell in love with any female that acknowledged my existence so I didn’t want to sound over enthusiastic “Holy Jesus shit Pam it was amazing.” I was about to blubber “And you were the most amazing chick I‘ve ever known” but Pam interjected, “Well its best we don’t mention this to anyone, I don’t want my boyfriend to find out.” Two shots of heroin followed by a shot of reality. A sure sign of danger ahead.

Shit My Dad Says (When He Trips On My Acid)

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Alan didn’t say a word. He opened the refrigerator, grabbed a can of beer, popped the top and walked out the door in silence. He got in his Volvo and sped off without ever looking back once. Somehow I knew he wouldn’t be coming back but I ran to the door hoping I was wrong as he pulled away. Sadie looked up from the sink, the sink that held her prisoner for the last eighteen years every evening after dinner. “What’s the matter Honey?” It was as though she hadn’t even noticed, “Where’d Dad go?” Sadie had a puzzled look on her face which gave way to a Stepford wife smile, “Oh he’s probably gone out to get some beer or cigarettes. I so wish he would quit smoking.” She looked up at the ceiling as if it was where life’s answers hid. Mom was clueless and I didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth.
Alan wasn’t going out for beer or for cigarettes. He was just going out, probably not certain himself what he was in search of. One thing I was certain of is my Mom and Dad would not be living the American Dream anymore. That dream began to crumple three days ago when he went out to mow the lawn. That’s when this whole sorry situation began. I know this because when I got back to my room I could tell Dad had been snooping and missing from my desk was the hit of LSD on a life saver. Holy savior on a stick Alan was getting fucked up!
Frantic at first I thought I had been busted by my old man but when I went outside to confront him about it I could tell. My dad is tripping on my Orange Sunshine. I studied his face as he alternated between laughing at the lawn and scowling at it then looking around confused. “Oh fuck, the lawn is communicating to my old man.” That’s when I knew it was all over.
The rest of the night was surreal. He couldn’t possibly have known what was going on and the shit spinning in his head had to be freaking him the fuck out! Nothing good would come of this. That was some powerful LSD and it was gonna take my fathers brain out and rearrange in ways he’ll never understand. He’ll see things that make no sense, and make sense of things he never noticed before. I wasn’t sure if I should just watch and enjoy or intervene somehow. Either way profound changes were in store for sure. I’ve heard many a story of people that flipped out and ended up in hospitals or bunt out for life because they were giving LSD without their knowledge. This didn’t seem to be the case here, Alan was digging it. He probably thought the grass clippings were messages from God and now his life has some obscure esoteric purpose. Tonight he is acting on whatever he believes those messages meant.

Sleepless In New York (You Had Me At Gunpoint)

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What’s a nice gun like you doing in a place like this?
A writer is often called upon to take a memory that they’d prefer to leave full of cobwebs hidden away in the memory attic and bring it back to life for retelling. I’m told its therapeutic but truthfully I fear it may be the proverbial camel breaking straw that may release my inner serial killer. Maybe that’s harsh, more the harmless psychopath that dwells locked in the caverns of my id. But for the sake of art I will lurch head first into the darker depths of my era of depression an relive this horror in words. No, not THE depression, I’m not THAT old, my depression, the confused, self medicating years of my youth spent in the absence of light. I have a somewhat sordid past to begin with so there is the possibility this is a dangerous exercise that could unleash the devils warrior that may be lurking about in the hopes of finding a portal into the mortal. Ergo (I love using that word) I put forth a disclaimer or two. First, there are no innocent people in need of protection but names were changed anyway to make them sound more badass. Second, this story may or may not be true and may or may not be based on real life experience. Either way, it could happen to you. Here then is a tale of one night when my darkness encountered the darkness of a gun barrel. The night I was held at gunpoint.
Like most big cities New York has an underground drug market. On the Lower East Side you can get it all. Pot, pills, coke, dope, pretty much any drug you want, you just needed to know where to go and how its sold. On 14th street give the two finger V sign and you’ll attract valium salesmen, down on Third Ave listen for the word “sense” and you have pot. Coke is by Tompkins Park, and heroin is in the famed alphabet city. Life had dealt me some major blows, leaving me living in a tiny room with no family connections. I had used a lot of different drugs but my depression was at an all time low, even I didn’t want to hang out with me. I found solace in drinking booze and sniffing bags of heroin to take me away. It was a very dangerous game to play, one because its an unforgiving high and if you let it get you it won’t let go, and two because to cop it you had to go into the belly of the beast of the city where not a single soul can be trusted. But when you don’t give a shit about anything, even your pathetic life, it’s a risk worth taking. So I did, I went down on occasion to cop some dope. The dealers have people they call steerers, who steer you to the sellers. It’s a labyrinth designed to protect the dealers in which you encounter three people before finding the one holding the dope. This hot July night I was gamed by a junkie who posed as a steerer.
“Hey Bro, you looking for some good dope? Mr. T, the best shit in town right around the corner.” Mr. T was legendary dope, very strong and a real prize among users. In an attempt to let him know I knew my shit I asked, “Old executive or double Dee?” This Latin dude stared at me. He has very tight curled hair parted in the middle and a pock marked worn face partially covered by a weak goatee. “Hey look Bro, you be talking to Culebro, I da man wit da plan G. You want the real deal Hollyfield Exec or you wanna get that cheap ass double dee shit from the negritos Yo? Follow the Culebro if you want the good dope son I ain’t got time to play games boy the fucking man is all over this place. Come on ahead or get the fuck out!” I made a shit decision, I followed The Culebro.
It’s not uncommon for dope to be sold in an abandoned building. No neighbors, easy exits for the dealers, and no one to tip off the cops. But this abandoned building was just that, abandoned. I followed Culebro up to the third floor, the stairwells lit by candlelight. I thought that was a good sign, that usually the habits of a smart operation. Or an operation no longer in use. As soon as we entered the hallway on the third floor Culebro pushed me up against the wall and stuck a handgun to my head. “Okay blanquito, how much you gonna die for tonight?”
I’ve often heard the phrase “shit a brick” to describe a profound fear. First let me say that if one were to shit even little pieces of broken mortar it would take a great deal of effort and concentration, both of which were in short supply. I assure you bowel movement would be amongst the last thoughts one has with a loaded pistol poised at ones forehead. Nor would my thoughts cause me to perspire bullets. My life didn’t flash before my eyes. That would have at the very least offered some entertainment. Most of went through my head was more like, “Oh fuck. Oh shit. That’s a fucking gun! What the fuck am I gonna do now. This fucker is crazy and he’s gonna shoot me.” I also entertained the thought of being a statistic in tomorrows police blotter. Unknown twenty something found dead in center of chalk line on Lower East Side. Me, reduced to a thin line of white chalk! But that was a fleeting thought, what I instinctively knew was I had to escape or die. But how to approach this escape? Beg? “Oh please man please…don’t. I have a family somewhere maybe I’ll have children someday.” No, that won’t work. Calm reasoning? “Hey look man, this is a mistake, I’m not worth it. I have no money, the gun will make noise and cops will be up here in seconds.” No, cops aren’t anywhere near this area, its one of the poorest in the city. Here gunshots and sirens are like birdcalls in the morning. No go. Bargain? “Look man, I have plenty of cash in my apartment in the village, we can take the subway over and I’ll go up and get it all for you. I won’t tell anyone, I swear.” Right! He seems like such a trusting soul. Options are limiting rapidly. Then it hit me. My bright idea.
Living in the city that never sleeps has some unwritten, unspoken rules. There is a good chance that at some point you are going to get ripped off. Mugged. Always split up your cash an always have some cash somewhere. You never want to carry a lot of cash around but you always need something. If you get mugged and have at least a little cash you chances are good it’s a druggie looking for quick cash and will take your money and flee. Roll it up in bundles to make it look like more than it I. A well rolled wad of single can look like a major score, and most times the thief doesn’t stop and count. If you have nothing you run the risk of pissing them off and turning them bat shit crazy. I had my own strategy because purchasing drugs on the street was an art. Hundreds of scammers and muggers. I place my drug purchase money in my front pocket, a small wad of singles in my left, and a roll of cash in each sock. That way if I get mugged before copping I can still cop, and if its after I can give them money and they won’t know I have drugs. But this situation was different. This dude knew I had drug money and he wanted it. He doesn’t realize I live here, he thinks I’m a B&T. B&T is slang for Bridge and Tunnel, a reference to the fact that kids come from the suburbs of Connecticut, New jersey or Long Island to come to play in the big city by driving through the tunnel or over a bridge. Easy prey. But I was no longer B&T, I had been living in the city for four years now and knew a lot of tricks. I opted for one I practiced in my mind but never in a real life situation. I sprung into action.
With my hands in the air I said, “hold on man, hold on. I have some more cash here in my sock.” I slowly reached down towards my foot and removed a wad of singles wrapped in a twenty to show him. Then I flung it up in the air using my thumb to separate the bills and it looked like bills from heaven. It was just the distraction I needed and as he greedily started grabbing for the bills he lowered his gun and I fled like the track star I could have been if I applied myself. (that’s what my Mom always told me). I didn’t stop running until I reached the village, and I absolutely learned my lesson about dope. I’ll never cop anything in that neighborhood again!

There Is Nothing Like A Grateful Dead Concert

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dead
Rock Is The Dead
Standing about five rows back in front of the stage at The Nassau Coliseum. Small talk abounds and the loud crackling stereo system cranks out some generic rock tunes. The roadies spend about twenty minutes setting up but it seem more like an hour. No matter, the time has come. The lights are dimming and the band is about to take their places on stage. Mostly everyone begins making bets on what they’re gonna open with as the stage gets pitch dark. The hum of the crowd builds as it gets closer and closer to go time. Bill and Mickey tap out a few drum rolls as they position themselves at their drum kit thrones. Keith is at his piano which has a steal your face skull flag draped over it. Donna can be seen walking on stage and Phil is back by the speakers. Bob and Jerry’s silhouettes walk on stage and we are ready! Most of the time after the first five notes everyone knows what the boys are going to play. Tonight was no exception and they opened up with a rousing cover of Chuck Berry’s “The Promised Land”. The music has already lifte our souls into a new dimension. So good we don’t even need drug to feel high, but of course we consumed so much by now our brain waves are stumbling around. From that they sear right into one of my favorite Dead tunes, Sugaree, and Jerry was smoking tonight. I don’t mean he was smoking pot although we all assumed he was, it’s a term for when Jerry was especially on fire. Jerry plays improvisational tripping music and no song is ever exactly the same. Tonight he had a sort of Spanish sounding twist to his playing but the notes were uper crisp and clear and you can feel the notes bending.. The trademark of all Grateful Dead shows is when Garcia begins strumming his improv jam and he goes off into space. As he plays a cosmic snowflake of sound erupts into an iceberg of joyful soul tickling music. Jerry’s playing is like a super melodic interpretation of Jimi Hendrix. If a kaleidoscope could make noise it would sound like what flows from Jerry’s amplifiers. His strings hypnotize and separate our mind from our bodies. Lift and separate, not just a Playtex claim, a mindfuck reality at a Dead show. Some of the jams were so long and spacey you completely forget what song you’re listening to until they went back in to finish it. Sometimes they would even change to a different song in the middle, trance off into space and then finish that song before returning to the original one. It was like being on a musical roller coaster, full of surprise turns, dips, and so many tempo changes you could loose your equilibrium in a flash. Jesus shit man, this is it. This is what its all about, rock and roll at its ultimate. The mind altering effects of the Orange Sunshine are accentuated by the music. The trip peaks as stacks of big ass speakers, gigantic stereo amplifiers, blare music so loud I can feel the hammer and anvil shake loose in my middle ear. The music coming from those amps create an almost demonic possession that sucks up your essence and takes you over the top. Fuck the exorcism I don’t ever want this feeling expelled from my body I want it to enslave and possess my soul forever. Carrie, Ken, Sue and I did not utter a word during the show but gave hand signals indicating how un-fucking-believable it was. Jesus shit man, we’ve got the music, the hallucinations, the dulled senses bordering on numbness, the feeling of love and togetherness. There really is nothing quite like it anywhere. Thousands of people concentrating the collective consciences on one very powerful wave length of unity. When we are tripping, listening to live rock and roll, and we are mere droplets in a massive sea of love. We understand the concept of nirvana, the oneness of existence, and the music helps us transcend all the dimensions we know of and opens our ears and eyes to new ones. The universe is in perfect balance inside this concert hall and it is filled with love, and peace, and a sense of completion. It is filled with rock and roll. I mean it is all about the music, but not just music alone. It is everything that goes along for the ride. The best part of it is that it has just begun.
The show continues with “Birdsong, Mexicali Blues, They Love Each Other, Jack Straw, Stella Blue, Big River and Casey Jones, each tune whipping us into a deeper frenzy than the one before it. Beach balls take to the sky and bounce around in endless search of destiny. Bob Weir walks up to the microphone and announces that they are gonna take a short break, and the lights come on. Our minds are humming and our ears are ringing as our min and bodies dance freely.
The entire Hall is alive with the buzzing of thousands of ecstatic bees engaged in small conversations, nobody aware of how loud we are speaking because our ears have a dull but constant ringing. We don’t even notice. Now The four of us can talk, and most of the conversation centers on what we had just experienced. Carries favorite was Stella Blue, Sues was They Love Each Other, and Kens, no surprise to me, loved Mexicali Blues the best. I prattled on and on about Sugaree of course, but the talk was all about the show. The lights, the Grateful Dead skeletons, the songs, whatever it was it concerned something we had just seen and/or heard. “He whose true spirit dwells in that of a Grateful Dead Concert knows true bliss inexpressible through words.” That was one of my sayings, a bastardization of a Herman Hesse line from the book “Siddhartha” that had become my bible. All kinds of chatter filled the room, as joints and pipes were passed among strangers. If you lit a joint, you passed it to your friends, and they passed to whoever was next to them. It was like getting a smorgasbord of buzz. Someone next to me would pass me a joint of real good gold pot, next someone passed along some crap green Mexican, then maybe a lucky shot of incredible Thai stick, and every once in a while a chamber pipe filled with hash. I wondered if the owner ever got the pipe back. That’s why we always rolled joints. A half hour later, our buzzes restored to ecstasy and fully refreshed, the lights once again go off.
The stage is pitch black dark but we can hear the instruments getting warmed up as a renewed anticipation hangs like a cloud of smoke. Or maybe it really is a cloud of smoke, a sweet earthy smoke. The stage fills up with a neon rainbow of flashing multi colored lights and right on cue the band all begin the first tune. The Dead open up the second set on a bit slower pace to build up to a telepathic mind fornicating guaranteed to please. “Mississippi half step” into “Me and My Uncle” into “Row Jimmy Row” into “Dark Star” as if it were one long song. In the middle of “Dark Star” Jerry went into what felt like a half hour “space jam” which goes so far off the path that everyone in the building forgets where they are until he hits a familiar riff that brings us all back together in an instant. Phil Lesh starts playing some unfamiliar bass chords and Keith plays some soft piano rhythms as Bob, Jerry, and Donna appear to be talking. Maybe they are deciding what they will play next, or maybe they are just talking bullshit to each other. Could be they’re sharing some drugs, who knows and who cares? The only thing on our minds is what’s coming next. I tried to yell to Ken over the buzz of the crowd, “Jesus shit man, I hope they do ‘Eyes Of The World’” to which he yelled back “Man I’m hoping to hear ‘Going Down The Road.’”. We were both wrong but certainly not disappointed as Bob Weir came forward and they did a rousing version of “El Paso”. I loved the way they went back and forth between Bobby songs and Jerry songs. This was a Bobby song and a crowd favorite. Jerry jammed a flamenco-oriented jam allowing us to see his Classical Spanish talent and no sooner did it end when we were already jumping to “Eyes Of The World” with another long space jam in the middle. When it wound down the band took another very short on stage break, and seemed to want to change the tempo. At the very first note the reason for the pause became crystal clear. It was a Jerry song, a very haunting version of a post apocalyptic tune called “Morning Dew.” I felt this was Jerry’s best song vocally, and his guitar strings just wrapped around your soul and sucked a feeling of deep sorrow and sadness onto the stage with him. His guitar was crying at the devastation his eyes were seeing, ears hearing, and soul feeling. It was the most emotionally stinging song I ever heard, yet instead of sorrow or regret it filled us up with hope and joy, as if the words bounced off and only the music remained. When it ended, the lights went off and the band walked off the stage, and we were left with a vibrating sensation wishing this had never ended. But the Dead always do encores and the louder we begged the better the aftershow. The hall filled up with clapping, and whistling, and screams of delight and approval. The chant began to take shape in the form of “more more more.” The stage and the hall were still in the dark and we continued chanting until the sound of a drum roll erased the chant and replaced with a most enthusiastic and incredibly loud collective scream of approval. The colored lights on the stage went back on, and the band took their places. We had gotten so loud that no one knew which song they were playing until we calmed enough to hear “Blossoms blooming and I don’t care”. In an instant we knew it was another fan fave called “Sugar Magnolia” and we erupted into cheering and jumping mass of teenage energy sensing an end to an evening most of us wished would go on forever. From Sugar Magnolia they went into the tune Ken was hoping for, “Going Down The Road And Feeling Bad”. On stage Donna came forward on this and was really getting into it, pulling her extremely long blond hair up over her head and letting it fall a few times as she belted out some back up vocals that were more like musical notes than words. Jerry took control of the mid jam and it was his best of the evening. I don’t remember ever seeing Ken jump quite so much before. He normally got into any show we went to, but whether it was the acid or, the fact that it was most likely the last show we would ever go to I guess I‘ll never know. Whenever he went jumping around with such reckless abandon it made me happy and proud to be with him. Like that wasn’t enough, they continued the encore with one last tune to finish out our night. Bob Weir really let loose on “One More Saturday Night” to the ecstatically rambunctious delight of the crowd. Upon the last note Bob Weir walked to the microphone and said simply “Good Night Long Island, we love you.” Donna stood center stage blowing kisses as the band turned and walked off the stage. A very hopeful crowd tonight, we all started chanting and screaming and clapping again as if another encore might be coming, but all the lights went on, a signal that the show was officially over. We all stood with our brains vibrating and our ears ringing, this time so loud we couldn’t hear much of anything else. We decompressed for five minutes before even trying to speak, and even then our throats were sore and horse from yelling non stop, and our ears were ringing too loud to fully comprehend the words at all. The music had ended but between the drugs, the LSD, and the pure energy of Grateful Dead rock and roll we would remain in an electric state for hours. Fucking A, there really is absolutely nothing like a Grateful Dead concert.

Life During Wartime

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In the backrop of the Viet Nam war we heard of kis being killed on a daily, sometimes hourly basis. JT never once believed his brother James would be one of those statitics. It was an uneasy time and the youth of America learned firt hand how to self medicate.

I Heard The News Today Oh Boy

We partied through the night, Patrick tried once to put the move on Sue but I took him aside and set him straight. No harm no foul, it was the ludes that really made the move and Patrick wasn’t the kind of guy that would steal his friend’s girl. That is to say not without being coerced by a number of Quaaludes and herbs. It was late and time to head home so the three of us headed out. We first dropped Sue off at her house, then Carrie and I hid in the bushes just on the side of her house. We made out for ten minutes and we both wanted to make love, but doing it on her front lawn was not a good move. It was late and we had nowhere to go to exercise our throbbing hormones so time to cold shower our desires. I gave her one last kiss goodnight and began my trek home.
A myriad of thoughts were flooding my head and I began hallucinating wildly. This was a common practice when you have been trying to maintain all night so no one would know you were tripping. When you let your guard down the hallucinations flowed with the fury and passion of young love. Which by no accident was one of those swirling thoughts. The smile on my face was so huge that my ears had to take a step back and make more room. The delirious joy from the ludes and the spiritual wonder of the mushrooms had begun a tag team match. They both won and I felt unbelievably great. “Jesus shit, nothing in the world could possibly take me down. Not nothing!!” But as we have learned, never say never.
I walked up the driveway and noticed the kitchen light was on. “Oh fuck. Someone’s awake, this can’t be good.” I walked into the house with an uneasy feeling. That wonderful feeling of good life was quickly replaced with trepidation. I could hear my Mom whimpering in the kitchen. When I walked into the kitchen I could feel the tension in the air. It was obvious Mom had been crying for some time. The old man just stared at the floor with a blank expression on his face. “Whats going on?” The silence only made the tension more evident. After about 10 seconds of eerie nothingness my Pops broke the spell. “We got a visit from the army. James was killed in battle.” Mom broke out in a renewed set of loud heaving cries that I was sure had been going on for quite a while. I knew it. Jesus shit I fucking knew this was gonna happen! The rage built up quickly and I felt my face fill with anger, sorrow, and total disdain. I looked over to my old man and he never took his eyes off the floor. Not even the balls to look me in the eye. I glared at him and all I could think of was how Ken had described punching his old man out. I wanted to go over and wail on him but my Moms crying stopped me. I walked over to hug her and my eyes filled up with salty rivers of sorrow. I began to cry as well and just held her tight as she cried in my arms. My whole world was now upside down, inside out, half assed, and backwards. The various drugs teamed up with the raw emotion and the result was a vortex of confusion.
Mom had an empty soul at that moment. Her eyes were empty, all red and beaten not just from tears but from many years of worry and stress over her kids. I knew I was a major contributor to the weathered and worn orbs and felt somewhat ashamed at the moment. Her expression was blank, vacant. I had never seen anyone so detached and it worried me. As I held her I reflected on the better times James and I had, arm punch contests, purple nurples, and wet willies aside we were very tight as kids. Jameson always let me play ball with him and his friends and I thought back to the time when we played quarterback and helped me score my first touchdown. “Okay JT, you take one step over the line, I’m throwing you the ball. You catch it, turn and run to the endzone.” Ha, the endzone. An obscure piece of real estate in between two large trees. The promised land of schoolyard football. He then turned to the rest of the guys in the huddle. “Any one of you mother fuckers lets JT get touched by anyone gonna get their ass kicked by me!” We laughed for days because I caught it, turned and ran my little ass off down the field and James and his friends used the most unethical and illegal forms of blocking, but not a soul touched me. For weeks all anyone talked about in my Jr. High school was how JT made a touchdown playing football with the high school kids. It was gold. Jesus shit I’m gonna miss James.
I looked my Mom in the eye and said “Mah, remember the time James was chasing me around the house and I ran through the sliding screen door Dad had put in that morning? I thought you were gonna kill us both.” I could see the smile taking root on her face and her eyes lit up just a tiny bit for the first time since she got the news. “Oh good god JT, you two were such terrors. You have no idea how much you guys put me through.” Mission accomplished, Mom was now reflecting fondly too. We exchanged stories for what seemed like hours, but it just felt good just to not see her crying. As for the old asshole, still not a word. Most likely he was wallowing in guilt and remorse. He was pounding down beer after beer and he looked drunk. I almost felt sorry for him because his sorry ass aura had no glow at all. Nothing, nada, zilch! Zero emotion as though he didn’t even have it in him to shed a tear. Beneath those eyes it was an empty sandlot.
I sat up with Mom for a few more hours until the sun began to shed light on what was a normal day for everyone else. Mom offered to make breakfast but I declined. My head was now pounding from the loss of James compounded by a killer hangover that promised to take residence. My worst fear compounded booze and drugs. Fuck this war. Fuck this world! I went to my room slapped on the headphones and lay on the bed, not even bothering to take off my clothes. I have no idea how long it took, but I stared at the ceiling until I fell asleep. I slept hard all the time hoping when I woke up it will all have been just some shit ass dream.

Confessions of An Expanded Mind

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Because I have frequent flyer miles when it come to mind expanding practices I am often asked to talk to kids about drugs. They want me to tell them how drugs ruin lives and destroy dreams. The truth is I did a lot of drugs over the years and I have seen lives destroyed an dreams shattered because of drug abuse, but its not the drug itself it’s the abuse. Not a very popular thing to say but I never wanted to be an anti-drug ambassador. Many times I enjoyed doing drugs. That’s too vague, I enjoyed smoking pot and hash, I enjoyed a few barbiturates once or twice (no, not a day!) , and some hallucinogens. I learned very quickly that its all about moderation and using common sense. I think it was in a Carlos Castenada book I learned “Never let the drug control you. If you are not in control and the drug is its time to stop immediately.” I still feel very strongly that weed should be legal and it is ridiculously hypocritical of the government to choose for us which form of recreational relaxation is allowed. Of course they allow alcohol for two reasons, one because its such a monumental money maker, an two because the first time they attempted to take it away the population went friggen berserk. But I could ramble on for hours about this subject and quite frankly its an easy argument intellectually, but a losing battle with a government built on the power hunger of the christian right. That’s not my subject either, although I am always up for a good battle with organized religions. No, what I want to focus on today makes me very unpopular with “responsible parents”, but quite the opposite with former, present and future users of hallucinogens.
LSD, peyote, mescaline, magic mushrooms, psilocybin, orange sunshine, blue cheer, barrels, all kinds of different psychedelic drugs. They were used as experiments for mind control by the CIA an other head in ass organizations looking for world dominance. They hoped to control minds and create assassins with plausible deniability for the government. What they got was a set of hippie Guru’s like Timothy Leary, Ken Kesey (author One Flew Over The Cuckoos Nests and leader of the “Merry Pranksters”), and Bear Owsley who manufactured the LSD that turned on nine tenths of San Francisco and ignited a hallucinatory craze. I myself have indulged in the use of these mind benders, and here is my confession.
I was all of 16 the first time I tripped, and it was on the legendary “Purple Owsley”, the acid that was rumored to have been used by the artists at the Monterey Pop Festival. Well Fuckin’ A man, if this shit was good enough for Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin, then you bet you’re a the EB was willing to give it a taste. I’ll try just about anything. Twice if I’m not sure I liked it or not. So I dropped the LSD. This shit takes just over an hour to kick in and after only 30 minutes we were complaining that we didn’t feel anything. What a disappointment. About 40 minutes later I aw something from the corner of my eye. Wait, what? I just aw a tree bend over and kiss the ground. My head felt funny, like it wasn’t mine. I thought my cranium had cracked and my grey matter was spilling out to have a look for itself. I was in a cartoon. Now IO began to worry, I mean they drop anvils on your head in those fuckers. But no Wile E. Coyote, or Yosemite Sam, it was cartoonish but not like fake. Maybe more like I was posing in a landscape picture for Salvador Dali. The tree’s and the people were still there, same color, just kind of melty. I noticed that the blades of grass. I mean I NOTICED the blades of grass. I could see the fibourous hair sticking out and I thought, holy shit, I never realized how beautiful they are. Or the tree’s or anything. Everything was just beautiful, full of detail normally unnoticed. Colors were alive and singing. It was visually stunning. I placed my han in front of my face and after a short period more fingers began sprouting until it looked like I had ten fingers. That may not sound unusual, but I was only holding up one hand. The sounds were equally as amazing and I could sense guitar strings vibrating as the music played. I could feel the music inside of me. The whole trip lasted about six hours and I squealed with laughter as I aw funny in everything, I marveled at the incredible sights and sounds that had been there every day, but not really felt. It was amazing, an I knew right away it would not be my last trip.
It wasn’t my last, I took many more trips on various hallucinogens. What I noticed most about the trips was that they showed me how things really are, not just how they appear. That’s also why I wanted to stop. It was getting to a point where I was liking less and less people because the drug revealed the inner persons and many of them I didn’t like. Suddenly I became suspicious of everyone, as if their ulterior motives were showing through. The last straw was the night I id 3 hits of Blue Cheer. I was living at home with my folks and had been grounded on a weekend that promised to be one of the best party weekend of the year. My rebel spirit is what told me to do 3 hits of what a normal person would do only one of. That’ll show em! Well it started out as usual, feeling really happy and digging the music when I got up to use the bathroom. A I turned to leave there was a full length mirror and the sight of myself caught me off guard Around my right eye was two yellow circles of like war paint, and around the right side of my lips outline in black war paint. The left side was the opposite, black around the eyes andd yellow around the lips. I mae the big trippers mistake. I stared at myself. Suddenly I went from Dali to Picasso as my facial features took turns moving around my face. I began to fear that I would stay that way cuz my Mom warned me not to make faces. I got very paranoid, my brother came home and I hid a sandwich I was eating. I still don’t know why I stashed a bologna sandwich but for some reason I believed it contraband. Anyway, after hallucinating images I made up in my head and sweating it out for five hours I decided that was my last trip. Unless of course I’m dying. My son knows that if ever they bring around hospice he should load me up with a little of everything he can get his hands on.
So I won’t advocate drug use but nor will I judge. If you choose to take drugs educate yourself on them as many can be very dangerous, and like Carlo said, never let a drug control you. I don’t trip anymore and I confess I took more than I should have, but truth be told it was a major part of opening up my creative soul and permitting me to be more open minded on everything. The trips allowed me to flourish creating culinary delights, and hopefully drawing on that mind expanding experiences I hope it will allow me to find my creative soul in writing, both a blog, short stories, and The Great American Novel I have vested about 200 pages in so far. I have faith in the youth that they will find their way, making mistakes along the way, and finding their own creative legs. Judging from some of the blogs I’ve read here I have no doubt…Get inspired, stay inspired, and make sure you give your imagination plenty of exercise…………………………PEACE

From the Memoirs of a Hippie Chef

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When Life Give You Lemons Take Some Pills
With just a month left of school before our last official summer vacation we had become psychedelic travel agents. We tripped on Acid, Peyote, and our favorite, mescaline. Mesc. Ken was selling a lot of mesc lately and one particular batch was cut into Nestles Quick and half the student body was buying little containers of milk to make “chocolate mesc.” It was so cool, drinking chocolate milk that exercised your laugh muscles to near exhaustion and stretched the boundaries of your mind. We laughed and tripped for two weeks straight drinking chocolate milk mescaline everyday. You could tell who was tripping and who wasn’t just by looking in their eyes. Ken and Artie had become closer and closer and Ken had become his number one salesman. Anyone wanted pot or pills or hallucinogens went to him. I was beginning to get just a little worried because he was not as careful about it as he had once been. Its not good for too many people to know, but he was making pretty good money and he always had plenty of buzz. He bought a scale to keep in his room and now he was weighing the drugs out himself. He had become a full fledged dealer and people were getting more and more demanding of him. I was really glad summer was coming because school had just become to dangerous. Carrie and I had completely cemented our relationship and everyone was sure we would get married after school. Marriage wasn’t in my immediate plans because everything would have to wait until Ken and I cruised across Rt. 66 and documented the journey. Maybe then I would send for Carrie. She knew this and was not happy about it, but she also knew Ken and I had planned this long before we started going out. For now we would enjoy the summer baking our bodies in the sun at the beach, water skiing, swimming, and just cruising the Long Island Sound by day, and partying our asses off at night. Cavalieri’s slowed down for me as well because the managers son worked there part time in the summer so my days got cut. It didn’t bother me too much, of course I had less money, but I had more playtime.
Carrie and I had gotten very serious and I felt like she was the love of my life. So funny that someone who has been a female friend for years suddenly becomes the most important part of your life and you begin to make your plans around them. But that was exactly what I did. We tripped together, went to concerts and movies either high from pills or so stoned we sometimes forgot where we were. I had become a cooks assistant and head suds buster at Cavalieri’s. This was promising to be the best summer ever, and it was just about to begin. Still, I was looking forward to going to work on this warm spring evening if only to get away from the chaos of daily life. At Cavaliers I was in a separate world which had a total different set of characters that somehow seemed somewhat refreshing. I had become a central figure in the restaurant and had achieved the enlightened feat of reaching a new plane of visiting a parallel universe. It was a culinary Mecca which absorbed my inner spirit and astral projected me to another world.
I had learned quite a bit at Cavalieri’s, Jimmy had sort of taken me under his wing and shown me his paternal side. He had become my sensei, my benefactor of cooking. Even Andre had begun teaching me although I suspected his motives were more about getting me to do his work. But I had become the kitchen protégé in line to one day have dominion of my very own kitchen. All the basics plus some tricks on soups and sauces. The more he taught the more I absorbed. I became a gastronomic sponge soaking up the “tricks of the trade”. I was learning as I was earning.
When I walked up to the back door of the kitchen I was surprised to find it locked. I peered in the grease smeared window but it appeared all the lights were off. I double checked my watch then looked to the parking lot. Jimmies car was parked in front with a few other cars so I walked around to the front. Fuck man I hope Jense isn’t gonna yell at me again for using the front door but what else was I to do? I opened the door and what I saw was rather perplexing. Across the dining room at the bar sat Jimmy, Andre, Didier, and even Rod the bus boy all getting served by the bartender John. I walked up and noticed an almost deathly glumness in the room and on their collective faces. “Hey, whats up? The back door is locked.” Jimmy broke the ominous silence and said “Zeet down JD. We gots some bad news today. Johnny, give JD a cervesa .” My happiness was rapidly being replaced with worry as John poured me a cold beer. It was Didier who spoke up next. “Jense and Laura have run off with all the restaurant’s money. They broke into the safe, took all the cash, emptied the cash registers and disappeared.” I felt my face turn a whiter shade of pale. “WHAT??” If I told you I was stunned I would have been doing the emotion a terrible injustice. More accurately I was shocked, flabbergasted, bewildered, in a funk and totally blown away simultaneously. My entire world and every world within a hundred light years had been rocked! I looked intensely from face to face hoping one of them would reveal the fact that they had played a fabulous joke on me but none offered a scintilla of a smile. “Jeeeeesus fucking shit! When, what, how did, did you call the cops?” Didier being the manager took control again and explained everything as the news slowly seeped into my cerebellum. He had come into work this morning and found the front door open and the alarm shut off. The cash register was open, there was an empty bottle of Dom Perignon Champagne on the bar with two empty glasses. He ran to the office which was also wide open as was the safe door. He called the cops first, then Jense. Jenses wife said he left for work early and should be there by now. Didier started doing the arithmetic and called Laura whom he had expected of having an affair with Jense. The cops came and took away the champagne bottle and glasses but it was pretty obvious what has happened.
It was a lot to digest. So many things raced through my mind. “Wow! Laura and that fucking airhead asshole Jense? They took all the money? They took ALL the money? Wait, what does that mean?” “It means JD that we ain’t got no more restaurant. No mas trabajo amigo.” I looked at Jimmy with an empty confused stare. So that was it man. No more job. No more Laura. No more money coming in. No more Cavalieri’s. It was painful. Didier explained that the restaurant would have to withhold my paycheck until the investigation was over. The six of us sat at the bar and drank for hours until finally it was time for everyone to leave. We said good bye to each other, and Jimmy and I talked at his car for another 30 minutes as he assured me when he found another job he would call me. But I knew this was the last I would ever see of Jimmy, or any of the other people who had become such an integral part of my life. My restaurant family was getting divorced. Now they would all just be a speck in my memory bank. Feeling sad and somewhat broken I walked home. Actually I sort of stumbled home having consumed more than my share of the free flowing beer. The summer was barely beginning and Cavalieri’s was done, over! I stopped off on the way at Kens and scored some ludes to help me forget all the bullshit of the day.
When I got to Kens room he was flying high and slurring even worse than me. “Hey bro, what’s the matter? You look like you been crying or something. Here, take 2 of these.” Ken had handed me two white tablets that looked like huge aspirins. “Jesus shit man, what the fuck are these monsters?” I trusted Ken to the end so I downed the tabs without waiting for a reply, but still I was curious. “Those were morphine tabs bro, gonna kick your ass six ways to Sunday.” Artie crushes them and snorts em up his nose. Says it gets him way fucking high. I think he shoots them in his veins sometimes too, but fuck that man, none of that shit for us.” I was beginning to wonder how much he really meant that or of he was only trying to convince himself, but that shits for another time. “Hey man, fuckin’ Cavalieri’s closed. That chick Laura ran away with the dickhead floor manager and took all the fuckin’ money. They even downed some Dom Perignon before running off. Now I ain’t got no job. Sucks man!” Ken seemed shocked but had a hard time convincing his face to respond that way. Almost vacant. “Whoa! Holy Jesus fuck man! Oh you are really gonna need those fuckers tonight. Here, take some weed home too.” As always Ken knew what I needed and he lit up a bowl and handed me a small baggie of preamo weed. We puffed the weed in his chamber pipe and in the middle of talking I saw Ken nodding off and falling asleep. I couldn’t help but notice some fresh bruises on Kens arm and it made me sad. I snuck out of his house quiet as a mouse and walked home. I had no doubt his old man was beating him now. Man things were changing way too fast. But for now, I’ll just head home, smoke another bowl, and dig this new morphine high.
……………………………………PEACE