I was sitting at home reading “A Separate Reality,” by Carlos Castaneda. It was released in 1970. The title of the book, when combined with the release date, should give you a hint relating to the subject matter.
A few days earlier, a friend had given me a hit of “blotter acid.” I didn’t have to start work for a couple of hours, so I decided to take a quarter of it. Not enough to make me totally stoned, but just enough to get a bit high. After more than a half hour with no results, I took another fourth. After another thirty minutes, still nothing! What the hell, I took one more fourth and saved the last one for later than evening.
Finally, I was feeling a little something. I was also thinking how crappy the acid was, and no wonder my friend gave it to me. Eventually I had to go to work. The drive was uneventfual, still just feeling a bit odd, but nothing to shout about. I was very happy that I hadn't paid for it. I was at work for less than an hour when they let some of us go home, because there wasn't enough work to do.
On our way out the door, a co-worker friend named Scott asked me if I wanted to smoke a joint before I hit the road. Of course, I said yes (you know, just to be polite). The pot must have been a catalyst for the LSD, because I started getting ripped in a hurry. I knew I had to get home and wasted no time going to my car. I was driving an old VW bus (of course) and I started hallucinating just a couple of minutes into the drive.
It was like one of those hallways in a fun house. You walk through a tube and everything but the floor you’re walking on, is rotating. It was just like that, except in this case, I’m driving through the tube and I'm stoned on LSD! Holy shit! I was really "tripping!" (I always hated that word. Not sure why.)
If you've driven a VW bus, you know that the steering wheel is huge and you hold it from the bottom. Just like a "real" bus. You would have to lean very far forward to get into the suggested "10 to 2" driving position, it just doesn't work. My point is... what the hell was my point. Oh yeah, my point is that its hard enough to steer a VW bus during the best of times. Steering one through the "fun house from hell," while stoned on acid, is somthing only a professional should attempt. Experience is everything!
After what seemed like hours (10 minutes at the most), I made it home. My girlfriend was playing the mandolin and her friend Lori, was playing the banjo. Maybe it was the other way around, but I do remember that they were playing Bluegrass music. The news was on TV with the volume off. I was sitting on the couch, listening to them play, and watching the TV. I was very high and feeling somewhat content. That was all spoiled when the face of the guy on the TV started melting. It ran down his shirt, onto his desk, and dripped down the front of the TV, onto the floor.
It was getting much too intense in there, so I went to my bedroom. I took off my clothes and got into bed. Something told me to cover up with the sheet only. I remember thinking that if I changed positions even the slightest bit, I would die. So I’m lying there, motionless, watching my bedroom ooze and melt in the semi darkness.
My dresser said something to me. I couldn’t quite make out the words though. I was positive that it said something profound, so I asked it to repeat what it had said. I didn’t say it out loud, but in my head. It must not have liked what I was saying, because the drawers started opening and slamming shut. Not all at the same time but randomly.
I had taken LSD on many occasions, but never had I been this far gone. Can’t my friends here all this noise? Why aren’t they coming to help me? This went on for what seemed like hours. I remember thinking that I was “too high” and I might need some help. I tried calling out to my friends, but no words escaped my mouth. So, I lay there. Everything in my room started flying around in a whirl wind.
From somewhere in my self induced insanity, rule #1 hit me. It didn't exactly "hit me," it was barely a glimpse of a whisper, on the edge of a thought If I’m still sane enough to know that I’m too high, then my brain isn’t totally fried. I’m going to be okay. At that point, I knew I could ride it out.
The next day I was pretty low key. Physically, I felt fantastic. Mentally, I was a bit vacuous. About two weeks later I spoke to the friend that gave me the acid. I told him what happened. He started laughing and said, “Oh my God, those weren’t quarter hits. That was a four-way blotter. You took three full hits!”
And that ladies and gentlemen, probably explains why I am, the way I am, today...
