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Valium and Acid before/after So I was in college, I think. Freshman? Sophomore? Don't know. Me and my best friend were racing up north, in the grips of a complete loon-out drug binge that always seemed to take place around Independence Day. Indeed. What better time to play with incindiary devices other than when one is ripped straight to the tits. I was driving this old, well beaten, canary yellow, 79 monte carlo. It was pitch black in ther middle of nowhere when the acid started to groove down. We ended up behind a car, that had the plates 976 ELVS. I bobbed up into concious expression through clouds that had accumulated with two days straight of booze and drugs. "Elvis." I mumbled out loud. "ELVIS!" my best friend shouted, "The KING! Where is he!?" This drew my attention. Fighting the fugue, I mumbled, "Right in front of us...the plates..." "Are SPINNING! I thought he was in Kalamazoo, spinning plates, but the son-of-a-bitch is right here! Right here in front of us, the whole motherfucking time!" And it clicked. He was right. It was a subtle clue. The king still had flash, even though he had to keep a low profile these days. I rolled down my window, seized by the idea. "YO! KING!" I shouted into the night. "King! Elivs!! EL-VIS!!!!" I laid on the horn, and flashed my brights. "Elvis! EL-VIS! EL-VIS!" I shouted, tailgaiting him like mad. In the backseat, were enough incindiary devices to start a small war. "Fire a rocket at his ass, he'll get the signal then," my friend said bluntly. Ye gods, what was this? How did it get to this point? Was I really behind Elvis, on some lone country road, trying to flag him down, or failing that, corner him like BigFoot? "No, you bastard, what are you trying to do, get me locked up? Lynched by the Memphis Mafia? Damn you and your belligerent ideas." I continued to shout out the window, and we followed him for a few miles, flashing the lights, blaring the horn. Eventually he turned off. "Follow him!" my friend said. But no, I had bigger fish to fry. Besides, the acid had grooved down so hard, I couldn't really talk anymore. Things came out in forced chunks, garbled. "Buh. Euf." I said. "What?" my friend said, but I could tell it would be the last thing he would say for awhile, it was so forced. We pulled into my parents place on the lake, and set up shop. I sat down by the water, smoking pot feverishly, trying to take the edge off. Fireworks popped off all over the lake. They even had their own show. Cities around for miles could be seen in the distance. For some reason, a laughing fit grabbed a hold of me. I laughed until my cheeks hurt, until my stomach muscles ached. My laughter echoed into the night, like madness. If I have to guess what set me off, I'd say it was the thought of, "Yeah, so we fought and died for your independence from the British Empire, and to mark the occaisson, burn things." It likely could have been a lot of things, or nothing at that point. It felt good to truly laugh and be alive. My mind then gripped the notion of burning things. I had a couple thousand whistling moon-traveler bottle rockets at my disposal. I retreived them from the backseat of the car, and returned lake-side. I then proceeded for the next couple of hours, to fire them in the lake, one by one. WHEWWWWW!!! BUP!!! WHEWWWWW!!! BUP!!! WHEWWWWW!!! BUP!!! Eventually, the elderly neigbors roused themselves. Bill, who over the years had been like a grandfather to me, came outside. He was eighty or so. Was it one am? Two? There was no such thing as time. "Argentum...why don't you save the rest of those for tomorrow night?" I grunted in response. He took it as affirmation, and went inside. (little did I know that I had covered the entire area with the corpses of many, many bottle rockets. Disposal...never occurred to me. They just stayed there, on the beach, in the water. Hundreds and hundreds of them. Waiting to be discovered by my 'rents next weekend, as they sought to find out, What The Hell Happened.) So I packed it in. I sat inside, and smoked some reefer. We then delved into the Valium. Ahhh, you evil things, how much I luv u. We started blandly, popping one, and waiting a few. Then a few more. Then it became like a race, one after another like M&M's. And the last 5mgs of the run were crushed and snorted. ("Goddam, I'm not feeling a fucking thing from these. Time to switch the delivery.) I ran through a modest sixty five milligrams...something like thirteen tabs. Normally one takes one to two pills. I don't really remember what happened next, but in peicing things together, I apparently lit a fire from the plastic wrapping of the bottle rockets, and let it sit on the floor, as I slumped in my chair, and babbled about, "The best way to beat Shaquille O'Neal...is...you can't go through him, you can't go over him...you've got to go AROUND him." And then padding off to a bed to sleep, letting the fire scorch itself into the flooring. I awoke nine hours later, feeling like I was carrying a ton of weight on my back. I tried to get some momentum. My friend slept where he was. "C'mon! Lets go! Second wind!" I said. "Muh. Guh." he said. I went and knocked out for another six hours, and was still tired when I awoke, some fifteen hours later. Well, that's what Ephedrine is for, isn't it? I drove home, and continued the party. That's a story for another time. Later on, bieng so shaken by the valium and acid experience, I ditched my entire stash of valium. Hundreds of pills. Gone. Its okay to be young and make mistakes. Its important to learn.
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