sfshitty

I’m not in the mood
for thinking about real feelings
Lately.

just efficiency
just moving along here,
Finding different ways to spend the days.

Taking back control of my life
A feeling of catharsis

Gentle gains
Not needing an explanation
But simply doing

Turning a new leaf,
But refusing
To step back into time

The only time is now
The purpose is here
If and when
To take it

I can let myself go,
Marionette.

We can try something new

THE POWER OF CHARTREUSE COMPELS YOU.
THE POWER OF CHARTREUSE COMPELS YOU.

The words were sickening, harrowing, a powerful reminder of unknown entities, possibilities that exist in our world.  I shudder, I shake to think of both the pure evil and pure delight that touched my lips and twisted my soul on that fateful night: my birthday.

It all started innocently enough.  On the day of my born year, I remained content.  There was much to be grateful for: a new home to soon move into, that was blessed by fruitful parents, and aside from this new gain, I was also blessed by the wealth of friendship.

Cheerfully, my friends engaged me in an alluring proposal: how about dinner and a night of getting shitty?  I wholeheartedly agreed to exercise my right to fucking party.

Ah, youth.  At the age of twenty-seven, I’m still considered youth, right?  Gosh, I hope so.  For the powers of youth and birthday revelry are the only excuses for what happened next.

Dinner was business as usual, no complaints there (aside from my friends being a um, tad late, but uh, in their defense, there were no white people there to keep them on time).  Bulgogi was grilled, soju was drank.  Yeah, the night started off fine.

It should be known for future reference though, that when your friends suggest the next moves of the night be merrymaking at Tempest to the tune of chartreuse, the decisive response should be a hearty HELL NO.  A loud, resounding and pure FUCK NO.  A NO that could be heard from the depths of the soul.

Oh, how I wish I had known to just say no.  Twenty minutes later and four shots of chartreuse in (what was I fucking thinking?), the world shut down.  She was gone. Faded. Done.

I can’t say for sure what happened next, except that I was carried out by a big strong white man and put into a big strong vehicle. Great way to meet the new guy your girlfriend is dating.

One gingerly placed on a couch, touchingly embarrassing photos were taken, etched into the memories of my friends. When I saw the pictures the next day, all I could think was, wow, all my friends showed up! How cool! Too bad I can’t remember.

No exorcism was needed, but I did learn a lesson.  The next time someone suggests a chartreuse shot, just say no.

“I know that like, I don’t cry and stuff, but I feel just as bad as you right now,” he said as I tried to stifle my sobs.  There he was, my cold, unwavering, now ex-lover, massaging my neck and shoulders, trying to throw me some sympathy.

“Would you want to try again?”,  I asked meekly, raising my head and uncovering my eyes from the cold, wet, snot-lined sleeves of my sweater.

Of course it was the wrong question.  Of course we couldn’t just try again, not now, not after all the time we’d spent trying and trying to make each other work.  The question and answer were circular, lacking in any real progress.  We always ended up in the same situation, me hurt, and him clueless.  It was always the same.  

I guess though, in the last few months, the situation had been more horizontal than anything.  Devoid of any incline, sta- gnant, without the rise and fall of a couple on a path of love.

It’s utterly pathetic how much I dreamed and hoped and wished, refusing to believe that our paths could be divergent.  Hell, I even wished on a star – on a fucking star – that we’d end up together.

And In the true unpredictability of life, the universe provided.  Gave me what I was looking for, a confirmation.  Love was there.

“Addiction is the hallmark of every infatuation-based love story. It all begins when the object of your adoration bestows upon you a heady, hallucinogenic dose of something you never even dared to admit that you wanted – an emotional speedball, perhaps, of thunderous love and roiling excitement.  Soon, you start craving that intense attention, with the hungry obsession of any junkie… Meanwhile, the object of your adoration has now become repulsed by you.  He looks at you like you’re someone he’s never met before, much less someone he once loved with high passion.  The irony is, you can hardly blame him.  I mean, check yourself out.  You’re a pathetic mess, unrecognizable even to your own eyes.

So that’s it.  You have now reached infatuation final destination – the complete and merciless devaluation of self.”

Elizabeth Gilbert

Love was there, but love is fleeting, and as soon as I was there to receive, I was there to retreat.  Hastened by the threats of heartbreak, chastised by the past, and now with opportunity in front of me, I’m left with the urge to run again.  Isn’t it funny how life goes?

It was a day unlike any other, to be sure.  There I was, just another cog in society’s wheel, spinning in its endless Monday through Friday, nine-to-five drivel.  But blessed I was to have a Wednesday off.  Good God – a Wednesday, Hump Day.  What kind of adventure could I find myself in while my peers were still at work?

A tab of acid could heal the world, I’d once told myself, if only ever all of earth’s good people could just drop a tab for once.  That must have been what I told myself when I convinced myself that taking a tab and heading to our Glorious City would be a good idea.  The idea had been tested before, so the plan was clear: I’d ingest the psychedelic, I’d head to my museum of choice and trip balls, I’d have a grand ol’ time.  

And so I placed the lovely printed square below my tongue while I prepared a lunch to eat before the start of my adventure.  After letting the square sit in my mouth for a bit, I soon swallowed the whole tab, and ate my Chinese food.  

And so it began.

At just eighteen minutes post ingestion, the walls began to ripple in a not so gentle fashion.  I swallowed my food.  Suddenly I wasn’t hungry, and the strong smell of Chinese vinegar made me feel sick.

“Are you ready to go?” asked my father.  That’s right, I had asked him to drop me off at BART.  Shit.

I grabbed my bag and headed out the door.  The air was cool and crisp.  The sun felt warm on my skin, despite the recent drop in temperature.  As I walked to my car, the brightness of the sun began to overwhelm me.  The colors of the surrounding trees seemed to blur.

Luckily I wasn’t driving.  I lived less than ten minutes from the BART station, but once I got in the car, the drive seemed to drag on and on, what with my father always slow at the wheel, and his seemingly endless banter on recent changes in the neighborhood, and uh, the whole acid thing.

I couldn’t formulate any acceptable responses to his conversation.  My vision seemed to blur even more in the moving vehicle.  I began to feel extremely overstimulated from my surroundings, and became increasingly nauseous from the motion of the car.  I was beyond disoriented, and it was a complete mindfuck.

As soon as we reached the BART station, I told my father in a very weak voice that I wasn’t feeling quite right, and changed my mind about going to the city.  I’d like to go back home now, please.

It was a strange request, but, well, it was me, and so… We headed home and again, the ride seemed to take ages.  I announced to my father that I was to retire to my bed, right uh, now.  I then headed straight for the shower, for some reason convinced that I needed to be clean (I often joke about not showering, but in my recollection I had already started the day squeaky clean.  Acid is a bitch though, and quite frankly, can make you do crazy things.).

I hopped in the shower and proceeded to vomit everywhere.  As I kneeled on my knees on the shower floor puking, the narrow walls of the shower seemed to overtake me.  Rather than seeing the details of the wall’s white tiles, I saw an assortment of lit up geometric shapes.  Shards of rainbows seemed to drip out of the water, dripping onto me.  Whoa.

This. Is. Too. Fucking. Much.  At least that’s what I wanted to say.  I could barely think tangible thoughts at this point, as I became more and more disoriented.

The next half hour or so was a complete blur.  I made the slightest attempt to clean up the vomit. My clothes were now strewn across the bathroom floor, wet and soggy from the water dripping off my naked body as I struggled to figure out what to do with a towel.  What is towel?

Back and forth I paced, from the bathroom to my bedroom.  I’d collapse in the bed, roll around to try to calm down, only to be launched across three universes with every movement.  Close your eyes and calm down, a voice told myself, but with every held blink came a flash of colors and patterns so intense I’d beg my body to open its poor eyes again.  

It sounds kind of fucking cool now I guess, but at the time it was frightening, the whole onset just happened too damn fast.  My nausea became worse and worse, because too many fucking colors and shit.

And so I’d be out of bed again, pacing, from my wet, puke-filled bathroom to my bedroom and eventually to my connected backyard hammock.  I’d then toss and turn there, return to my bed to toss and turn some more, and back to the shower to get “clean”.  But oh hell, the colors and rollercoaster feeling of twisting through so many goddamn rainbow geometric shapes continued.

Eventually, I couldn’t take that shit anymore and figured out how to call a friend.  Just being in his presence helped me stay grounded in reality, and the rest of my trip was pleasant.

I’ve tripped many times, but this one was one for the books.  Never have I felt such a quick onset.  Stupidly, I had made myself my own guinea pig with this new stuff.

Would I do it again?  You better believe your ass I would, and will.  But I think I owe my mind a long break, and next time, I’d do maybe just a fourth of that tab.

Acid: it’s one hell of a drug.