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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