Ode to Rick Snow

Many years ago

In the back room

Of a nondescript

Downtown Long Beach

Second story walk-up

We are legless

Leaning on pillows

Scattered on a Persian rug

Water-pipe bubbling

Black light

Exploding colors

From Day-Glo posters

Twinkies and Orange Crush

Calling to us

Someone says
 "Rick, play that song!"

He laughs and says okay

For the fifth time that night

We listen to him play

And sing

"Here Comes the Sun"

All of us listening

All of us loving it
All of us with Chinese eyes

visit Rick Snow at REVERB NATION

click to hear (Brown Bottle Flu)

.

Update - Human Directionals

Only in SoCal

Do you think he might be high?

A little while back, I posted a story about how my wife and I used to "twirl" signs as second jobs. I'm pretty sure that the company we worked for would not have taken this account.

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Paul, thanks for the pic...

Blotter Acid

Blotter Acid: “LSD that comes on a small square piece of paper. The LSD is put in the middle of the paper (blotter) with an eyedropper. It comes in four different strengths; single hit, two-way (two hits), or four-way (four hits). If it’s two way, you tear it in half. Four-way, you tear into quarters.”

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...

It’s Cool, Man!

The movie “Alien” was released in the summer of 1979. I went to see it with my friend Lee and his wife. It was showing at the old Newport Beach Cinema-Dome. Although it was "state of the art" for it's time, this was back in the days before “stadium seating” and other such viewer comforts.

We didn’t purchase tickets in advance and had to wait in a very long line. While we’re waiting Lee looks at me and motions to his mouth. I had no idea what he meant. After a few more “gestures” I finally figured out that he was telling me that he had taken LSD. Not only that, but his wife didn’t know anything about it. She didn't even know that he got high.  She just thought he was crazy.  He just stood there with a big smile on his face. I finally had the opportunity to talk quietly into his ear. “You took Acid? Are you fucking crazy? Do you know what this movie is about? He just smiled at me and said, “It’s cool, man!”

Somebody from the theater came out and told the people in our area of the line, that we might not make into the next showing of the movie. The next showing after that was over two hours away. We weren’t pleased at all. A few minutes later Lee tells his wife and me that he’ll be right back, and he disappears towards the front of the line.

About 10 minutes later, Lee walks back to us and says “it’s cool!”
“What do you mean, it’s cool?”
“It’s cool man!”
To this day, I still don't know how he got us in there.

We could tell the last showing was over because of the large number of people walking out of the theater. About 10 minutes later the line starts moving up. It stops moving when they’ve let in enough people to fill the theater again. Or so I thought…

An usher walked up to us and said we should follow him. He led us past the hundred or so people in front of us and walked us right into the building. What in the hell did he do? Lee just smiled. The usher leads right into the theater and marches us to third row center. Lee is happy, but I see a big problem. This isn’t a concert; it’s a huge Cinerama movie screen and we're so close, that were going to have to look up to see everything.

I’ve sat this close to the screen before, it’s not comfortable. It’s like you are in the movie. Oh yeah, one more little issue, Lee is on acid… The movie hasn’t even started yet, but I can see him already retreating within himself

The movie finally starts. I’m splitting my time between watching the movie and watching Lee. He’s not moving a muscle. His eyes are the size of saucers. No, saucers aren’t large enough. They are the size of frigging dinner plates. You’ve seen the movie, right? You know how it is. You know how many “gotcha” moments there are in it. It's chock full of terrifying images also.  Lee doesn’t even twitch. I’m not sure he’s blinking, or even breathing for that matter. I can’t even begin to imagine what is going on in his head.

Sigourney Weaver eventually escapes with the cat and the movie ends. I'm waiting for Lee to freak out, or tell me that he has an Alien growing inside of him.  But he doesn't say a single word. We walk out of the theater and are almost to the car, when he finally looks at me and says, “It’s cool man…”

a day NOT like any other day

It’s 1972, I’m 22 years old. I’m working in a warehouse (when I show up) and partying (most of the time). I didn't make very much money, but with roommates, I managed. I spent a lot more time having fun, than paying attention to work. Obviously, I didn’t keep that job for very long. I shared an old house with two girls I’d known since high school. We lived together as friends and had a great time. If anybody today saw the inside of the house, I’m sure the first word out of their mouth would be “hippies!” Tapestries, water beds, candles, etc… There were always people over. They were either females, who were friends of my roommates, or guys who liked them. I was of course deep into self medicating, but at the time I just thought I was having fun.

A young couple moved into the old house across the street. The female was very cute and seemed very friendly. The only real contact I'd had with her, was saying hello when I was going to work in the morning. She apparently worked the graveyard shift somewhere and was just getting home as I was leaving. I saw her boyfriend, husband, or whatever he was, even less. One thing led to another and she and I started talking. Her name was Bonnie and I was happy to find out that the guy she lived with, was actually her brother. One day she invited me over for dinner. I accepted the offer, the dinner went well, and we agreed to do it again.

I seldom saw her brother and only knew that he was going to a trade school, learning electronics. I’m actually very sorry that I ever saw him at all. One morning, I walked across the street to pick her up to go do something. We were just getting ready to go when there was a knock on the door. She opened it and three guys pushed their way in. All three of them had handguns. They were pointing them directly at me! Not that they even needed the guns. All three of them were very large and very rough looking biker types. Two of them had colors on, but I’ll just keep the name to myself. The first words that one of them said to me was something very close to, “you’re fucking dead meat!”

Not my idea of a friendly greeting.  I didn't know what to say.
“I am?” “Why?”
“You know why!”
“I have no idea; I’ve never seen you guys in my life!”
"We've never seen you before either, but you're still dead!"
One of the others said “you think you can narc on our brother and get away with it?”

I’m totally confused until one of them tells me they’ve been watching the house and were waiting for me to get home. My friend and I look at each other at just about the same exact time and realize that they are looking for her brother.

Oh my god, where is her brother? Well, she didn’t say anything right away, and I’m not about to take a bullet for her brother, or pretty much anybody else. Of course in the time it just took me to write that sentence, I’d already told them about 50 times that, a) I don’t live here, and b) I’m not her brother! She seems to be in shock. I can’t tell if she’s relived that it wasn’t me they were looking for, or upset because her brother is in danger.

Apparently, her brother had bought some drugs from one of the guys in their MC. Shortly afterwards he was busted by the Long Beach PD (who else) and did in fact cut a deal.  Those kind of deals usually go like this; "If you tell us who you bought the drugs from and it checks out, we will let you go."

I was supposed to have a beard, but I didn't. One of the guys left the house to make a phone call. They wanted to find out exactly what the guy they'd been waiting for looked like.  They were thinking that I might have shaved off my beard. We didn’t look that much alike, but I insisted that Bonnie get them a picture of him to compare to me. She did, it clearly wasn't me.

Once they were satisfied that it wasn’t me they were after, they turned their attention to her. They wanted to know where her brother was. She didn’t know… This went back and forth for a while, until one of the guys said that if she didn’t tell them what they wanted to know, they were all going to “do her.” She responded with something very close to “you’ll have to kill me first!” Oh shit, if they kill her, they will probably kill me as well. Tell them where your brother is!” I said to her.

She’s not having it; she’s not going to cooperate with them at all. She’s really starting to make them mad. A cocked pistol held against her forehead did nothing. One of them slapped her, it did nothing. She just glared at them. I swore to myself that if I should be lucky enough to live through this, I’d have nothing more to do with this woman.

One of the guys has the bright idea to search her brother's room. He’s in there for a while tearing it apart, and walks out with the schedule for her brother's trade school classes! And he’s scheduled to be in class at that very moment. I’m hoping that maybe they’ll just walk out the door and go to him. Nope! One of them said they were going to the school to get him and that we were going with them.

We all walk out of the house, one of them in front of us and two behind. The guy behind me wants to make sure I know he still has a gun, and keeps poking me in the back with it. I turned my head and gave him a dirty look. All that accomplished was to make him poke me in the back, even harder.  Down the street a couple of houses, there’s a ford van parked. I assumed that is where we were going, and it was. The driver in front, and the other two guys in the back with us. One of them told us about 10 different things that would result in our being shot. Don’t move, don’t yell, don’t try to get out of the van, etc.

So we drive to the trade school. It’s in another part of Long Beach, but not too far away. They discuss how they are going to get her brother out of class, and into their van. One of them goes in? She goes in with one of them? She goes in alone? I go in? It’s decided that she is going to go in by herself and bring him out. If she’s not back within 10 minutes, they are going to kill me. Stupid idea! But they seem to like it. So thinking of my own survival I said “we haven’t been dating that long, and her brother probably means more to her than I do.” She’ll probably tip him off and they’ll both split.

I think I’m making a good point. I know they heard me, but they aren’t responding. One of them finally says, “he may be right, what kind of car does he drive?” She said she doesn’t know what the make or model is, and only knows what it looks like. Sure she doesn’t… “1949 Buick Road Master,” I said “gray primer.”

So now were driving around the parking lot, and nearby streets looking for his car. We can’t find it anywhere. Where is he? Did he skip school and go somewhere else? Is he home now? This is getting too complicated. The driver said he was going back to the school. He was going to go in with her to see if her brother was there. If they didn’t see him in the class he was scheduled to be in, they’d ask at the office. I assumed he picked himself to go with her because he was the most “normal” looking of the trio. That may be true, but “normal” is an extremely relative term. He did not look normal to me. He looked like a maniac.

It’s getting damn hot in that van and I just want to get it all over with. My friend and the driver walk into the school. I don’t know if I’m hoping he’s there, or that he’s not there. We’ve been in the parking lot, or driving around this school for quite a while now, and somebody may think something is up, and call the police. At least that’s what I hoped for a minute or two. And then I was struck with the reality of the situation. If these guys would kill us without reservation, they would probably shoot it out with the cops. Hell they may be wanted already. Son of a bitch!

The two of them were gone for about five minutes. When they walked out, it was still just the two of them. Her brother hadn’t shown up for school and didn’t show up the day before either. So now we’re speeding back to her house to see if he’s there. The car isn’t there. We drive around the immediate vicinity, the car is nowhere. “What now?” I asked. The driver told me to shut up. I did… The van parks, we all get out. We all go into the house. We all sit down. And we wait, and we wait, and we wait. We wait for a few hours. After they get nothing further out of her about her brother’s possible where abouts, they stop asking.

Nobody is talking. Her and I haven’t said a word to each other for a long time. The three guys aren’t even talking among themselves. I’m not liking this at all. They seem much too serious about the whole thing now. Eventually two of them leave the room, and are talking in low tones that we can’t quite understand. They finish talking and go into her brother’s room again. I wasn't sure what they were looking for, but when they came out, it’s clear they found something. Well, it’s not what they found; it’s what they didn’t find. What they didn’t find was very many items of clothing. Pretty much everything in his room was on the floor from the first search, and apparently, the one who did it, failed to mention that there was hardly anything in his dresser drawers or hanging in his closet.  They are pissed off!

He had split…

The same two guys left the room again. I’m thinking it’s all going to end now. And not in a good way. There is no where to go, at least one of them always has gun pointed right at me. And I have no doubt that the one doing it now wouldn’t hesitate to shoot me. I’m working on a plan, I have to do something. I think I can over power the guy who is left to guard us, if I do it quick enough, I can grab his gun before the other two react and come back into the room. I can either go down fighting, or I can…the decision is made for me, by me, somewhere in the back of my head……I disassociate. I don’t care anymore, I’m not afraid. I don’t feel anything. I’m going to do it even if it gets me killed.

I’m going to grab the ashtray sitting on the table beside me, and I’m going to brain the one watching us. I’m going to do it when he’s looking at her. But he keeps l o o k i n g at me. I can’t wait much longer, the others will come back soon. I’m about to do it, even while he’s looking straight at me. My legs and arms are tensing, getting ready to leap out of my chair.

Just before I spring at him, I vaguely hear one of the others talking to us as they walk back into the room. His voice sounds distant and like a whisper to me. He said that they were leaving now, and if we call the police, some others will be visiting us, and they will kill us in a horrible way. I don’t remember if I believed him or not, or if I even reacted.

They walked out the door.
We didn't call the police.

After they left, bonnie told me that she knew her brother was gone the whole time. He had told her what happened with the police. He came directly home from jail, packed some of his stuff, put it in his car, and headed for their home town of Eureka. After she laid that gem on me, I knew she was capable of anything and that I had to get the hell away from her.  I've never laid a hand on a woman (in anger) in my life, but at that moment, I came so very close to ruining my perfect record.  She really did earn it.

I didn't get away from her for a while. The only good thing about that (which I'm sure could be debated) will be covered in future stories...