MIAMI. Hail Moloch. Hail Eris. Don’t believe anything you read. This is the kind of thing I’m into now. I would also say it’s necessary to partake in some psychedelic drugs every now and then just to keep yourself grounded.
We considered last weekend a special occasion- one of my best friends had just come home after completing an extended culinary course in NYC/some city just outside of Parma. It had been about six months since we’d seen each other (Clayton had actually grown this big Doc Holiday mustache). So we decided to go out, that was my girlfriend, Autumn, and my friends, Clayton and Matt, to Miami’s most legit punk bar. We played a few games of pool and drank a few pitchers. Then I saw this dude that I worked with, and I knew him to be an acid dealer.
So I was all, ‘Sweet. How do you guys feel about doing some acid tonight?’
Clayton was down for sure. Autumn had her first day of classes the next morning, and regretfully declined. Matt wasn’t interested at all. We decided that we would take two hits each, and the squares could just go to bed early if that’s really what they wanted to do. So dude goes back to his car, cuts a couple big rectangles, and gives them to us, saying “They’re a little bit bigger than usual. It’s like, two, two and a half, three hits. Something like that.”
Done. We stuck them on our tongues immediately, because like I said, Churchill’s is a punk bar and nobody cares about that kind of thing.
About forty five minutes later we came back to my house. It was probably about 2:00 a.m. I was super excited about the acid coming on. I was more comfortable with doing it than I ever had been before. Now that I know about how the unified theory of everything is only waiting on science to officially validate it, and how the philotic chords of our being connect all life at the center of the Earth, and how every atom that makes me me was once and still is a part of God, and how through the world power base has systematically suppressed the God-like powers in each and every individual, I see an acid trip as a welcome experience- a blessing.
So the acid starts to come on. Matt is trying to go to sleep but the lights are on and we’re playing music. He’s on the couch with his shirt wrapped around his eyes and his arms crossed on his forehead and he looks absolutely miserable. My apartment, it seems, just isn’t big enough to comfortably incorporate the plans everyone had for their night. Me and Clayton go in the bedroom and talk. Autumn is there, too. She looks jealous that she didn’t get to trip with us and said so a few times. We’re playing this really amazing Thin Lizzy song called ‘Opium Trail’. Suddenly the record player cuts out and I hear a loud bang in the living room. I kind of had to wonder what to do.
The dilemma was this- Matt obviously really wanted to rest. He kept saying how tired he was and was making it painfully obvious that he wasn’t happy with all the noise and activity. BUT- it’s my house and it’s not my fault that he was being such a party-pooper. So I walked into the living room and was like, “Matt, is everything okay?” and he said something like “Yeah, man. I’m just really tired and I can’t take trying to sleep right next to the record player right now.” And I said “That’s fine. But don’t be kicking my furniture and shit.” And he said “I wasn’t kicking your furniture.” And I said “Okay. It sounded like maybe you did,” and then proceeded to break down the situation to him as clearly as my acid soaked vocabulary would allow. The only compromise I could think of was to give the bedroom up to Autumn and Matt, since they both needed sleep. Of course Autumn would not have been happy having anyone else in the bed but me, so we took the couch cushions off and laid them on the tile so Matt could be comfortable. Me and Clayton we free to do whatever we wanted in the living room, and everything was cool.
Hours went by. We were really, really, really tripping hard. The drugs we bought were pretty strong I think and I think we took a larger dose than either of us ever had. Mostly we were talking and looking at things. The future, all the dreams and plans you have for yourself can so concurrently so bright and dismal on acid. On any drug, I guess. But we were having a good time. Clayton shaved his mustache because it was making him super uncomfortable.
Later on, I was making tea in the kitchen, and Clayton was there to keep me company. He was looking at this toy I have- you know that ‘WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE’ book? The main wild thing. I have a small statue of him on my refrigerator because my mom used to read me that shit when I was a kid and I tried to give it to her as a Christmas present but she gave it back to me. Anyways, it’s about four, five in the morning, and Clayton’s looking at this thing, and suddenly my dog barks. Clayton, apparently thinking that the barking came from the statue, starts screaming in terror.
I know it was genuine terror because once when I was about 15 a white cat ran out from under my car- I thought it was a demon or something and I screamed just like that. Five in the morning, and Clayton is screaming really fucking loud in my kitchen. Matt kind of runs out of the room, followed by Doom (my dog). I was trying to calm Clayton down but he realized pretty soon what was happening. We thought it was pretty funny. Matt made the picture to commemorate the event. The acid didn’t wear off until like 8 o’clock that evening. In the meantime, Me and Clayton walked around South Beach, swam in the ocean, wondered about drug trafficking postal workers (we have good reason to believe that my mail woman is running drugs), showered, woke Matt, and went to see Superbad in the theater. Shit was tight.
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