Load up on drugs, kill your friends.

Moe’s dad lived in Freeport, which is a town I’d never visited for any other reason besides the party I’m going to tell you about in a minute. Freeport is a little town on the south shore of Long Island. Canals and fishing boats. Montauk Highway. Gas stations and 7-Elevens and tiny strip malls. Greyed old men with raincoats and long-haired dogs. I never met Moe’s dad more than once or twice at most, and I don’t even remember if meeting him ever actually happened or if I’m just making that up. Moe lived with his mom and some dude whose name I can’t remember, up on the north shore by me and most of the other people in this story.

Just warning you. This is the longest thing I’ve ever posted. And there are no pretty pictures either…

Anyway. Moe’s dad went out of town somewhere, probably some sort of manly fishing trip or something. So Moe decided to throw a party at his dad’s house. A weird old house, right across from a canal. Walk in the front door, living room to the right. Dark wood paneling, shag carpet, dark woods everywhere really, that’s what I remember. And the bear, but we’ll get to that soon enough. When walking in the front door, walk straight, walk up a half a flight of stairs to a dining room with shag carpet and cheap furniture. Look to your right and there’s a random room with a fireplace and a chair or two and more shag carpet. Look to your left and there’s a tiny kitchen. Turn around and you can see through a big hole in the wall (the kind of hole that people build on purpose to make their homes feel more “open” or whatever), look right into the living room with the bear in it. Or, while turned around, you can look up. Half a flight of stairs to a landing that held the doors to three bedrooms and a bathroom. Shag carpet. When I say shag carpet so many times, I’m trying to illustrate that this was not a modern looking house. It was probably built in the forties. The windows were made to feel like the windows of a boat or something. Probably some kind of manly fishing boat. And the shag carpets were all beige or brown, they had been there a long time, and they will be there forever.

Party people? Jen from Lindenhurst was there with a hot friend or two and about a half sheet of green gel-tabs. That means LSD. Fuck. Who else was there? Edwin, I think, he was the one with the ecstasy I think… White Mike was definitely there (I would later have daydreams about killing him brutally that night), and of course Moe, and Matt was there later on. Jim was there. He bought us the keg, because we were all still 17ish and he was pushing 30. Whatever, a bunch of people were there. 20 or 30. Not too many, but that’s plenty for a fabulous drug party.

I bought one of those green gel-tabs from Jen, and a couple of hits of ecstasy from Edwin. I think they were UFOs. Fair prices on everything, because we were all friends. I also had a big bag of good weed, a pretty large Jerome Baker waterpipe, and I must’ve had a bag full of weird CDs. Okay, kids, let’s do drugs!

So. I swallowed my UFOs with some cold water from the kitchen sink. I gently placed the green gel-tab on my tongue and waited for it to melt and become a part of my body. Afterwards, Jen explained that gel-tabs are super-concentrated hits of acid, similar to taking 3 hits of some decent blotter acid. Cool. I had never tried gel-tabs. And I had never “candy-flipped” either. There were only a few of us candy-flipping. But everyone else was either just taking ecstasy or just taking acid. And I suppose it’s possible that there were a couple of people who were only drinking and smoking, but these people wouldn’t exist to me in an hour.

After ingestion, I sat down with my bong in the living room. Sublime was playing loudly in the background, coming from an open-doored bedroom upstairs, dancing around the entire house. Moe had a thing for high quality audio systems. I had a thing for high quality marijuana. I said to Dave Stewart, “I’m going to sit here and take bong hits until I start tripping.” Dave helped me with that. We pulled apart sticky orangey-green buds and started to smoke. Time flew. At one point, I was looking at the bear next to me. It was 7 feet tall, brown, mouth opened, sneering. Someone had killed this thing on a mountain somewhere. Probably some manly fishing trip or something. Standing on it’s two legs, with its arms held out straight like Dracula. In its mouth was a tongue, which was apparently one of the only man-made parts, other than the eyes and the tip of the nose. I guess those are the parts that start to stink if you just leave them as-is. I don’t know shit about taxidermy, but the guy did this bear was a pro. Well, looking back it was probably the extremely loud bass frequencies coming from upstairs that caused it, but the tongue magically fell out of the bear’s mouth and on to the ugly shag carpet. Dave picked it up and put it in his mouth and started growling at me. Then his face started to look warbly. I had taken bong hits until I started tripping.

I walked up the 5 or 6 stairs and sat in the dining room to engage in conversation with Jen and one of her hot friends and Moe and some other girl I can’t remember. I ended up looking up into the light that was reflecting off of the glass chandelier. It created a pattern on the wall and cieling above the window to my right. A pattern of little crosses, I think. But then the crosses became gravestones and then those became little skulls and then the skulls started to lip sync to the music we were listening to. I think it was something off of Wu-Tang Forever. People’s faces were changing, I was paying more attention to cheek bones and those bones above people’s eyes. We were all looking quite skeletal. I heard people around the house start in with the “I’m tripppppping… duuuuude… I’m tripping balls right now” shit. I thought about stabbing someone in the face. And I started to sweat. It was winter time. I decided to go for a walk for a couple hours.

On my way out I saw Matt driving around on a quad that belonged to Moe’s dad. People were standing around laughing, and then he managed to flip the thing over and he was stuck under it, revving the engine everytime he bursted with new laughter. This made me feel happy. The walk went quickly and uneventfully. Although I think I got on a boat and become the captain and fought a toothless whale that may or may not have actually been there. I also may have eaten some things that animals aren’t supposed to eat.

I ended up back in the house, in the room with the stereo. I sat on the floor, leaned against the bed. I was directly in front of the sound, two feet away. This was the first time I ever experienced synestesia. I put on the Grateful Dead’s Dozin’ at the Knick. It was a 3 CD set from 1990, I think. Bobby Weir was singing All Along The Watchtower and it started to happen. It was loud and clear. There was a guitar solo that came out of the speakers in streams of technicolour. People were knocking at the door but I had locked myself in. “I can’t… be… right now… I am uhhh… busy… God’s here… colors… I can see everything from here… be back later…” I was peaking. It was glorious. The entire world was made up of prisms and so I understood that I would be okay. I got up and left this world for the next.

The next world was outside the back door. Where someone had dragged the keg up onto the roof. I tried but couldn’t climb up. This happened to someone else too, I think a sprained ankle happened. The moon was large and there were at least three of them. And then some of those moons had smaller moons dancing around them.

The next world after that was my face in the bathroom mirror. My hair at that time was long and stringy and a little greasy and wavy and the colors were brown and orange and yellow and white and black. I had acne much worse as a teenager too. So, between these two things… my face was amazing to look at. I watched myself become a living watery jungle. The walls and the shower curtain behind me were breathing heavily. My hair curled around my face, I moved it around, and then it moved itself. I put some in my mouth and it came out my nose. Someone outside the door asked if I was okay. I said “Probably?” This person yelled to someone else, “Rob’s yacking in there, man! God, I’m tripping balls!” Was I really vomiting? I didn’t realise it.

I went back in to where the music was and I laid down and tried to sleep. The thoughts came, the ones I was used to by then… I wish this would just end. What if I never sleep again. My back feels too hard. What if this never goes away? What if I’m stuck in this freaky space forever? On and on and on.

I woke up to one of those airhorn-in-a-can things. Ha-fucking-ha… We had to go. But first, a few people wanted to show me what I left in the bathroom sink. Apparently I had vomited after all. I left the sink full of chewed-up leaves and sticks and grass and some brown gruel stuff. I guessed that maybe I ate some weird shit when I took my walk and fought the whale. Anyway, yes, I had to clean it up and then we had to go. We took many cars. It was ten or 11. Too early. I went with Lennon, I think. I shit my pants in the car and then made him stop at a Barnes & Noble so I could go wipe my legs and ass and throw my boxer shorts down the toilet. I never told anyone about that. We went to some girl’s house and I had to borrow some girl’s pants and I used her shower too. I don’t remember where I was sleeping then, I was kind of homeless. But I definitely went and slept somewhere for a day or two.

So. This is a story I started thinking about earlier. I just told it because… it’s a story. And I don’t always know what else to say here on this blog. Maybe it’s a weird story. So here’s a little explanation. The reason I’m alone in this story for 90% of the time is because, by then, LSD had started making me lose my mind. I wanted to kill my friends. I was always tripping for what I considered in my 17-year-old brain to be a “higher purpose.” I was trying to get in touch with my self, and the universe… I was trying to trip myself into enlightenment. But I was crazy. And mostly homeless. And a high school drop-out. And I wanted to kill my friends who were all using LSD as a social lubricant. I watched their faces become ugly and American and stupid. And then these bad vibrations started to rattle around in my day-to-day life. Anyway, I ended up in rehab within a couple months of this story happening. 16 months. So yeah. I’m old now, and I’ve only dropped acid once in the last 10 or 11 years. I am not murderous or anything, but there have definitely been lingering effects. I can’t play basketball very well, I talk kind of slurrily, and I have very little control over my mind. Which is why this blog is a playground full of rambly over-analytical bullshit that rarely makes sense. Whatever. I just don’t want people to think that “I wanted to kill my friends” means much of anything. I was a messed up kid. And that is all.

Whatever. It’s a story. It was fun times. Now that it’s all in the past, I can perceive it as a positive and life-changing thing, you know? Because I’m going to sleep in a bed tonight and I’m going to go to work tomorrow and I’m going to eat decent food and I’m going to go out with a friend or two that I’ve never thought of killing. See? All’s well that ends well. And stuff.

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About R. Spacely

Bastard.
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