ss1

July
2003-07-06 - 11:06 p.m.


before/after
strangely non-functional guestbook

And so

not immersed into debaucheries

hazy days

drug filled lays

I approach the height

of midsummer,

the fireworks,

the festivals,

sitting back and letting the

concussive force of the fireworks

pop and boom into my face

making the center of me shiver

this time of year, as it approaches

by birth date

death date

wont be late, thinking of times

gone by, other days

times when I spent the week

trying to get fucked up

as possibly much as I can

to stop thinking of the old times

the new times

the evaluations

"What did I do with my life this year?"

type of shit.

Wandering around with a cooler full of beer,

a pint of jack daniels in the back pocket

a half ounce of marijuana in one pocket

and another full of LSD, prime grade white blotter

enough to get a party full of people high,

"Gawd," one girl said, "You're like a one-man party."

And it was true, true, in two ways I thought,

like giving gifts on the appointed day

like Indians

and having a celebration is easiest

when all the ingredients are near.

Passing out the LSD like flyers

"Here, man, take this,"

and they do, few questions and much gratitude later.

Sitting high on the couch, as the party whirled

around me,

gritting my teeth, gripping the couch

mind reeling at light speed through all the possibilities

unable to get to a standing position, just

feeling safe on the soft, white couch,

girls coming to talk, and all I can do is nod.

Nod and grit my teeth, not caring so much

at what was passing me by then,

but in the past

and in the future, too.

Sitting next to a guy who'd kill himself

in a year,

"He was so drunk, he fell in the river,"

watching him drink, vomit, comeback and

drink somemore,

always recognize the suicide trip,

trying everything I could to come down a little,

take the edge off, smoking giant dubee's

like cigarettes, chugging at beer, nothing works,

finally going with some girls to watch one get

her navel peirced,

a novel idea,

and the peircer, a woman

dressed all in black, wan,

goth,

representing a witch in my addled brain,

while the LSD thumbs through the possibilities,

feeling her spookiness in my bones,

so much that I start to shake,

not in fear so much,

as some type of recognition,

watching her lather up the appointed place

with iodine,

clamp down and watch the girl,

cute blonde,

eyes go vacant, start to tremble,

hands get cold, knees shake,

no blood, she didn't even whimper,

and I,

in my hallucinogenic langour,

regained my powers of speech,

getting to where I was by nodding assent,

gave subtle murmurs of encouragement.

And another day, tripping on LSD for days straight,

eating mushrooms, ephidrine, valium, whiskey, pot,

and whatever else I could lay my hands on,

sitting on top of a porch at a party house,

party's gonna' move on to a new location,

friend says, "Here, buddy, this is how we get down,"

hops over to a tree and slides down like a fireman

down his pole.  And I, in my rough tumble, salubrious

drug induced hubris,

said,  "Well, hell, if he can do it..."

Jumped out to the tree, and that's all I remembered for many years.

Getting high on that good ol' LSD a year or so later,

one with cartoon pitchers on the front,

blotter, yes, but the cartoon sells it all,

says, "I'm good!  Eat me!  Eat me!",

going to a festival in the shady,

back roads, small town sepulchur midwest style

high as hell, watching the ferris wheel turn into a wheel

of colors, smeared and washed into itself,

like whirling a ciggarette around at night,

realizing that I'd been standing there,

for quite a long time,

complacent, finding an isle of faith and safety

in the cacaphony of the weird and garish,

carnivals like distorted tumors, cancerous growths

on the american dream,

also finding out that I was a part of something,

a conversation, a speaking perhaps, but with little words,

looking about and finding a cordon of puerto rican kids

all from the same family, arrayed in a line by height,

descending order,

standing right next to me,

their pure blue eyes staring at me beautifully

speaking of manliness and respect,

some inane homage I'd gained

simply by standing my ground,

not even realizing I'm doing it ,

startled by the realization of it all,

taking off with my erst-while, high-on

toxic friends,

going way out to the country,

to some ranch style split level house,

perhaps a graduation or something going on in there,

I didnt know, didn't care,  didn't want to leave the car,

and my erst-while, highon toxic friend jim says,

"Man, I don't wanna go in there." feeling the hostile country

'you're-not-from-around-here' vibe,

and I said, "No way!  Its a goat-roper party. Let's just sit here,"

and we did, my mind with the help of the acid thumbing through the possiblilites

as we talked idly and sophmorically about life in general, trying to be sophits,

prophets, soothsayers with a bit of wisdom, coming out trite and tired

the sum of our experiences being little and young, as old as our souls were,

me, finally figuring out what's going to happen, "Man, they're gonna' get pissed we're out here."

I said, "Why?  They're gonna' get pissed if we go in there, too,", knowing they're gonna' get

pissed, no matter what we do,

and they did, I saw a meaty faced, pale, drunk wobble our way,

"Here it is, a goat-roper pissed I didn't crash his party,"

he beats on the window, slurring about moving the car,

and how he has a twenty two pistol under the seat of his

car to help me move it,

I get out, and in one of the classic lines of my life,

say, "Well, if you shoot me, you'd better kill me,

or I'll take that gun away from you and beat your ass."

And everyone got in the car and left, trailing off into the night

hooting insults at the country kids, not giving a damn,

going to another house, chugging a half pint of whiskey

after figuring out that love was truth and beauty,

and they were all one and the same,

and why we're here, once again,

leaving love notes for a girl,

calling it a night.

And later in life,

more, more, more,

grinding teeth, getting the groove from the dose,

climbing a hilltop to meet a ravens nest,

that eyed me so warily, contemptously, easily,

sizing me up for food, as I clambored among the red rock,

finding a ledge to sit on, hanging onto it by the seat of my pants,

while I closed my eyes and smoked a butt of reefer,

the ground a thousand feet below me in a sharp drop,

these things I do for my birthday,

watching life go by,

the fireworks,

booming with aplomb,

sitting a football feild away,

one detonates on the ground, killing a man,

he shrieks and flys into the river,

the crowd applauding, raising my disdain for the people

en' masse'

the colors and lights, multihued and loud, coming right at me,

and with the deadly burst, actually coming right at me,

me too proud, too stoned, too hight, tight and wired to move,

listening to the unending drone of patriotic classic rock,

as the rockets rose,

and a young man died, nowadays these ventures are gone,

I wander lost,

among the crowd, not feeling the disdain, just a gentle

want to being, to be, community, human.

Drifting into and out of thought, listening to

the children pass me bye,

"Man, I could really go for being raped."

kid says, pausing, "By my hand,"

A black and a white child walk by

feet thumping on the boards of the boardwalk,

as I ponder the years gone bye, the adventures

the history, the penultimate nothingness except for my own

hedonistic, carnal, sensualistic enjoyment,

the white child gabbering to the other,

"Man, then see, we slaved you,"-"Man, I oughtta' hit you,"

-"No, see, I'm not English," he says in his defense,

and I pause to reflect on the simple lives that

swirl around me, so much beyond me,

wondering what another year will bring

to this jaded, seenitall, doneitall mind.


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