Let me tell you a story…
Before the age of twenty I had pretty much tried every drug on the planet. Now I know I probably hadn’t tried literally every drug on the planet, but I’d tried every one that I could get my hands on. Weed, Opium, Coke, Heroin, Meth, Shrooms, XTC, prescription drugs (in particular pain killers, and I loved me some soma’s), I could go on, and on, and on. So it comes, from time to time, when I get asked the question, “if you would recommend any drug, what would it be?” I can’t just say that I would recommend it, I would say I encourage everyone to try acid at least once. Now I realize there are some people who can’t take a wonderful hallucinogen like LSD. These are the people who have “bad trips.” I can’t really tell you if you are one of these people…all I can say is if you have a hard time distinguishing between reality and fantasy, its probably not for you. Some of the things I’ve seen on acid would scare the ever living shit out of some people. Me? I went meh. Because I knew there was no one in hell that it was real. I kept in control of my brain.
For example: At a rave one time I was candy-flipping (combining LSD and XTC, also known as trolling). Now most of the time you want to be around people, both of those drugs are more of a social drug. However, for some reason, I ended up by myself. So I’m sitting there in a dark corner, on a dingy floor, the smell of dust and dirt in my nose (the rave was actually taking place at a church…believe it or not) and I feel something hit my hand. I look down to see a spider crawling on me. Normally I would flip the fuck out, I hate spiders, but this time I crunched it with the fingers of my other hand. I looked back up and felt a tingle go down my arm. When I looked again I had about 300 spiders running up my arm. 300 spiders. Instead of flipping my shit I said, “that’s cool,” and got up to find someone to talk to. That’s what I mean by knowing what’s real.
For example: I’m passed out at this guys house when my friend, his girlfriend, and the guy come strolling in. They are flipping out about the girlfriend. Apparently they gave her some acid and she was having a bad trip. So they throw her on the couch and proceed to argue about how to crash it, leaving me alone with her in the living room. I’m staring at this girl, who has a perma-grin on her face, and I watch as she slowly closes her eyes. The perma-grin goes away and is replaced by a look of terror. She snaps her eyes open and says to me, tears in her voice, “Please don’t let me go back to the bad place.”
I’m just like, what? So I yell into the kitchen (where they have taken the argument), “How many hits did you give her?”
A unanimous “One,” came back out at me.
One? This bitch is flipping out on one hit? I don’t even feel anything when I take one hit. Anyway, by the time I return my attention to her she’s opening her eyes again.
“Please,” she says, tears still in her voice.
“Hey,” I reply, getting her to look at me, “quit closing your eyes.”
She looks at me dumbfounded. “What?”
“If you go to a bad place when you close your eyes…quit closing your eyes.”
She stares at me and I watch her shut her eyes again. This continues for about ten, maybe fifteen, minutes. Finally I say fuck it. She closes her eyes again and I whisper in her ear, “Spiders. Spiders are everywhere.”
A huge shiver goes down her body and the little whine in her voice gets a little higher. I don’t know how many times I did that before my friend caught on.
“Hey!” He yelled at me, “Stop that. That shit ain’t cool!”
Yes. I’m an asshole.
Back to my original point. Acid is awesome. To demonstrate the awesomeness of acid I’m going to tell you a true story. Me…on my greatest acid trip ever. The names used will be the actual rave names of the parties involved.
I don’t know what day of the week it was. I would assume it was either a Saturday or Sunday morning considering most of the raves were on Friday or Saturday night. I know it wasn’t a particularly late night because the sun hadn’t come up yet. I can’t tell you how many times I drove back from Atlanta to a sunrise. But we were all at Keebs house passing out in one of his basement rooms. Well, except for Wonka and I. We had decided to keep tripping, considering we had started candy-flipping at the rave. So Special-K is passed out on the floor, curled up in a blanket. Keebs is passed out on another chair. Wonka and I are sitting on the couch. Let me see if I can recall a layout of this room, because details are important. If I were to give the dimensions of the room I would say they were slightly larger than a prison cell. There was enough room for a tiny two person couch (not a love seat), one of those bean bag chairs, a coffee table, and a small entertainment stand. The walls had been decorated in black light reactive drawings by several people…including all of the people in the room. There were black light reactive candles, posters, etc. Keebs was also something of an amateur magician…so the wall above the couch was lined in plastic masks where he used to do some kind of mask trick. Wonka was playing with a silicone ball (apparently also good for magic tricks). He would do that trick where you toss the ball up and palm it. However, to the observer, it looks like the ball disappears. What I saw was the ball disappear…and the ceiling ripple where it would have hit. Everyone has been out for awhile and Wonka asks if I want to do another hit.
So he taps Keebs awake and asks him if he can get his vile. For those not inside the know, a vile of acid is liquid acid, typically more potent than paper, and it comes in a breath assure bottle. Not always, but most of the time. He tells Keebs we both want another three hits and he hands the vile over, barely waking up to do so. I give Wonka his first. Drop. Drop. Drop. Underneath his tongue. He turns to do the same, only I feel: Drop. Drop. Drop. Drop.
“Did I give you any?”
“Dude my whole head just went numb!”
Now the reason my whole head went numb is simple. The cinnamon/mint/whateverthefuck that was originally in the bottle lingers. That made my head numb. By now Keebs has snapped awake and grabbed the vile from him.
“How much did I give him?”
“A quarter of the fucking vile.”
“How many hits is that?”
Now when telling this story I usually say 28. That I had 28 hits of liquid silver acid at once. That kids…is a lot. I’m not going to detail my entire trip here, but I will say that it lasted three days. So, Wonka is looking at me.
“Shit dude…I’m so sorry.”
And Keebs is looking at me, “Should we take him to the hospital?”
“No.” Wonka replies, “No. I tell you what Ty…if those mushrooms detach (he points to a black light candle that has three separate mushrooms on it)…we’ll figure out a way to crash it.”
I could go into how those mushrooms did detach at one point (I opted not to try and crash the trip). I could describe to you how this slightly colorblind individual saw some of the most vivid colors ever. GREEN Oh. My. God. I could tell you about the masks on the wall each moving their mouths in different patterns. I could go on about how I watched Special-K’s face melt into a blanket, how I watched my face melt into a mirror, how I saw a little man that kind of looked like Don Quixote on a white horse (he would have been about 8 inches high), about seeing death…yes…death…dead in the hallway. But I won’t. This tale, is about that goddamn silicone ball.
So a few hours into the trip Wonka decides to go fuck his girlfriend who his passed out in the next room. The reason being? He’d never had sex on acid before. So why the fuck not? So he leaves me…alone…to go fuck her. So I’m sitting in the hallway, listening to her moaning and the sound of his balls slapping against her, bouncing the ball against the wall and catching it.
“Dude…I just felt my dick go through her stomach…and touch me in the stomach!”
Eventually I get a good rhythm going…I can’t recall if it was in pace to the ball slapping…but it was a good rhythm. A steady: bounce off the floor, bounce off the wall, into my hand, repeat. At some point the ball got away from me. As I’m reaching for it I hear, “Fuck you.”
I instantly stop and look around. I still hear the sex going. I still see Keebs and Special-K sleeping away. The voice sounded like an old male cigarette smoker.
“Piece of shit.”
I stop again…look around. What the fuck?
I stop and stare at the ball. Is this little white ball really giving me shit? I still hear the sex going. I still see Keebs and Special-K sleeping away.
“Hey fuck you ya fucking piece of shit ball.” -Me
“Son of a bitch.”
This continued…for an hour and a half. For an HOUR AND A HALF I had a little goddamn silicone ball talking shit to me. And, well, me talking shit to it. No lie. Hand to god. That little motherfucker spit some of the filthiest shit I have ever heard in my life. I’m sure a lot of things were repeated…I doubt my imagination is that great. It ended when Wonka calmly called out, “Who the fuck are you talking to?”
“This goddamn rubber ball is giving me shit!”
He comes strolling out into the hall, only in his boxers, and looks around.
“You’re talking to the ball?”
“You know it’s a silicone ball right?”
“I don’t give a fuck, does that matter?”
“I’m sorry I left you alone. Come on.”
He proceeds to lead me into the bedroom, where he rips the covers off his girlfriend and I watch very large tits melt into one another like in End of Days.
Some other highlights of those three days? Going to an art gallery and arguing with the dealer for thirty minutes that a painting was finger paint…my friends had to drag me out. Being told, “You’re scaring the black people,” while I stood in Marietta Square watching the hour chime on the courthouse. Attempting to eat Krystal’s. Note…I said attempting. Going to see Someone Like You… with my mom and my sister. MY MOM AND MY SISTER. I moved once during the entire movie. That was to cross my legs when I realized I hadn’t moved at all. Driving. Driving on the highway and running into rush hour traffic. I almost ran a red corvette off the road…because it was red. I also must have used the phrase, “Did that just happen?” at least ten times.
Anyway boys and girl, ladies and gentlemen, hoes and pimps…I just felt like sharing a little story of my friend, and who should be your friend, Mr. LSD. Know this one thing though…you may get one hell of a fucking headache if you try it. Talk about stimulation overload.