Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Soda Feet and Soda Legs
I scratched a bug bite instead. And listened to Fever Ray. I browsed blogs. Fashion is seductive even for a slob like me. Still, I can't help but feel disenchanted by the frequency of blogs devoted to consumer goods; things that can be bought and sold. Or stolen.
Shouldn't we concern ourselves with bigger themes like love and death, creation and destruction. Veganism. (As I write this I have chili cheese fries swimming around in a puddle of Dr. Pepper inside my belly). And I can't stop thinking about a pair of French tights that I've seen in some blog or other.
But then I felt inspired by miri to write a druggy post.
The first time I tried acid was with my friend Tilo. He had gotten it from his older brother, the famous DJ. It was during the holidays and we were up in Oregon at his grandma's house. It looked like the fucking Bates Motel and I was terrified of the attic even before we swallowed the blotters. First came the giggles, the uncontrollable ones that had us tangled up and weeping on the floor that later turned into a candy bar. His grandma was luckily not that coherent, but she did wonder what was so funny. I think I told her that Tilo farted. She did not approve of toilet humor so she continued watching HSN.
Along with the giggles came the tingly feeling of little lightning bolts shooting up our spines. Soda feet and soda legs. Tilo's eyes lost all the brown and became black holes. Mine did the same. At first I remember feeling that every thought that came to me was so brilliant, but I could never finish thinking that diamond thought before the next brilliant thought came shoving the first thought out of the way. It was a bit frustrating, but after awhile I started feeling at ease, connected to Tilo and to the universe that rolled out like a star-strewn blanket. Everything made sense. I remember saying to Tilo:
This is dangerous, I am going to want to do this everyday now.
But after awhile the shadows started to lean in and grow octopus-arms. Maybe because it got dark and the grandma went to sleep. There was a fork on the table. I asked Tilo to remove it, because its shape scared the hell out of me. His voice dropped an octave and for awhile I couldn't hear what he was saying because all the words smeared together. But then I heard him loud and clear:
Kim, I've lost a chunk of my brain. We need to go to to the hospital.
Despite me hearing Satan beckoning us from the attic I knew that was a terrible idea. I remember hearing that alcohol could take the edge of, and I found a dusty bottle of brandy in the cabinet and we started drinking.
It wasn't long before we were wasted instead of high. That was familiar territory.
photo by Nan Goldin