I posted this elsewhere on the forum, but I figure I'll get better feedback here. I know my grammar and form suck... I skipped a lot of school This started as a report but I ended up having more to say than I thought. ------------------------------------- It started with a bottle robotussin of and half a pack of Coricedan HBP. The worst part of this is dealing with that awful tussin taste in your mouth while you wait a good hour at least for the stuff to kick. This time, I made that go away by gargling water before and after drinking it. I can not explain how much more comfortable that makes the process. I felt lovely. At some point during the first rush I decided to call my friend and long time drug buddy to see how he was doing with the new family. I told him what I was doing and he decided to see what it was like for himself. He was asking me if he'd still be able to go about his day without feeling retarded and too high. I told him how I always was able to interact and hold detailed conversations with people without them noticing. That always surprised me. I'd be talking to these people and thinking "Can you SEE how incredibly HIGH I am right now?" Anyway, the conversation shifted and we started talking about hunting. He invited me to come out. I was apparently able to talk about nothing but 'how long the meat would last us' and the thought of shooting a deer in the face sparked the primal interest of my hunter gather nature. I wanted him to pick me up right then and throw a loaded shotgun to me. Thin the heard, it's the humane way. Deer Jerky. That conversation came to a close with a promise of a visit in days to come. This made me happy. The sun was out and it was an unusually comfortable day for late January in a temperate zone. I decided to go for a walk. I hooked my iPod into my ears and played the CD "The Lonely Crowed West" by Modest Mouse. It was a fantastic choice. The walk was so peaceful and surreal. I have lived in rough neighborhoods for long spans of my life. Most of my childhood and slivers of my teen years were spend in the ghettos. But this was different. The place I found myself in now reminded me of my best memories of childhood. Open fields and quaint little country houses. Never too close together. There was a sign that said "Park Enterance" that depicted a family of turkeys crossing... or maybe it was ducks. Either way it was strange. I walked by this rustic looking old wooden house. Much of the wood was old and decaying. The air smelled of barbecue smoke. It seemed like heaven to me. I daydreamed about a beautiful worldly woman in a beige bonnet coming out to offer me a warm meal and a comfortable place to rest. As I walked further I thought about how happy I would be, if I could only get myself a house in a place like this. A old charming country abode with lots of land and filled with friends and like minded company. We'd walk through the woods and swim in the lake. Never once giving a damn about anything the outside world had to say of "What is really happening." It was all nonsense anyway, and we would just smile and hum them away. Then everything would be fine again. Before I new it I came across the local market. I thought about stealing another bottle of robotussin, but I had no money to cover myself with the purchase of an insubstantial item, like a candy bar. I was sure I'd think of something, as I did. I went into the store making no eye contact with any employes, but marking their positions in my mind through my peripheral vision. The way was clear. I made it to the proper isle and filled the sleeve of my jacket with the bottle. I walked over to the nearest worker and asked him if a manager was in. When he asked "Why?" I told him I was hoping I could find a job here. He nodded and went off to ask his supervisor if they were actively hiring. I grabbed another bottle on the way over. They talked briefly and he came back with a disappointed grimace. "Things are getting tight" he said "Alls well that ends well" I replied pointlessly. We exchanged nods, and I left. I felt pretty good as I made the long walk back home. I had been walking for an hour or more to get this far, and on the way home I cut through a public park. I came across a bridge in a wooded area that over cut a stream. An ideal location to take the next dose. I ripped the box open and struggled to open the child safety cap. As I apishly worked at the simple tool, I noticed some of the carvings on the bridge. Gary Loves you Brian "Isn't that sweet?" I thought. I wished that I had brought my pocket knife on me so I could leave my mark in the wood. Finally as I opened the cap, a drop of tussin spilled and stained the carved wood of the bridge. "That'll do pig" I said to myself, wondering why I had made a Toy Story reference to no one in particular. I downed the bottle entirely before I realized I made a mistake. The vial concoction left a putrid aftertaste in my mouth. Cinnamon. Those twisted bastards! Why on earth would they flavor it with fucking Cinnamon?! A good deal of spitting got rid of most of the taste left in my mouth. It was a short walk from here back home and I would get some water when I got back. I lit a cigarette and kept walking. Cutting through a field when I was accosted by a large and loudly barking dog. Normally I would have been afraid at this vicious mongrel that was clearly telling me "Get out, or I'll rip your fucking throat out." But I felt so calm and at peace with everything at this time. I just talked to him. "Hey boy, why are you barking? You're a good dog, look at you. Yeah, that's a good boy" and such nonsense. The dogs attitude suddenly changed, and he skipped back to a tree and grabbed what looked to be a filthy piece of cloth that was tied into a knot. What was no more than 15 seconds ago a feral beast that wanted to tear me limb from limb, with nothing more than a few kind words, turned into a playful puppy that just wanted to have fun and love and be loved. I can not describe the kinship I felt with this animal. I threw his dirty toy as far as could, watching as he ran out for it, grabbed it and started to run back. At this time I suddenly realized I was probably on someones property, and promptly left. I continued walking somewhat aimlessly through the park, looking for a familiar landmark to make my way back home. Turning off my headphones, I decided the musics part was over. Modest Mouse had already done their part to make a today a pleasant experience. Now it was time to listen to the wind. I had always loved the raw earth smell of winter. Today the air was more most, but the terra scents were still heavy in the breeze. I couldn't help but notice how bright everything was. The sky shown vividly in an azure blue defiance of winters mirky silver shroud. I came across two elderly (possibly lesbian) dog walkers and made small talk about the loud hyper animal. I knew that by this point my eyes had to be wild and hazy, but they didn't seem to notice. Moving on, I cut into the development where I would find my home. I waved at hikers and enjoyed my ever more surreal perception of the world around me. Making my way back home I downed the third and final bottle of tussin. The second was already working its red liquid magic on me and this final dose would push me into the final phase which I has only skimmed the surface of in previous DXM trips. I spent some time in a chatroom speaking gibberish to other mental cosmoneaughts happy to hear it. My instant messenger buzzed and I began talking to another old friend. As the minutes passed the keyboard became incrementally more difficult an instrument to manage. We talked about the state of things in America. We spoke of the things the TV News never dared to mention. People were getting angrier, and hungrier. Threats of succession coming from Texas officials of every rank. In the inner cities violence has reached terrible new levels. Shop keepers in detroit closed down shop due to constant robbings. Native chickens who came home to roost looked over their shoulder at every turn. Knowing their old home had turned ravenous and would eat them alive at the whims of the mad and hungry and tired and sick. The television spoke only of banks and wall street. Why do they not acknowledge the coming Revolution... or devastation that was so obviously looming over our heads? "Stock up on ammo" my hunter friend had told me earlier that day. Was he right? And was I a bad person for wanting him to be right? Am I uncaring or savagely desensitized for wanting this horrible machine to to cave in and live no more? I thought briefly of the French Revolution. And then of the Kent State massacre of foolish Ohio students, who thought the world may live in peace, by the claws of that very machine that now seemed indifferent or oblivious to it's own ominous death rattle. Strange thoughts. And at this point my mind had gone to that other dimension. I left the computer alone with the echos of these terrible thoughts, now nothing but binary and gigabytes, then turned my attention to the TV. Chappells Show was on. Chappells Show always came on when my mind was horribly twisted. I am amazed every time how obvious it was that the man did some serious drugs. His eyes were always wild and he was hardly able to contain his jittery motions. But he had the same sight as me. And in this twisted state I am rarely able to laugh at his skits... seeing nothing but the savage realities that he tried to make light of. Next came on Futurama. I turned it off, it was too obviously a cartoon. It seemed to me I was watching a flip-book of raw frames. Now it was Cops. This was always good for a real hard tweek on an already over indulged mind. Watching the worst moments of the Drug Cultures most pathetic freaks. I can not help but feel pure terror at the sight of those flashing lights. Red and Blue and huge dazed eyes of blood blotched white. Knowing that it is entirely possible that if I do not maintain complete control, I could end up one of these twisted weirdos paraded in front of a camera. Slammed and humiliated at the whims of draconian authorities, who would not carry this facade of humility in the lack of television audience. The show ended, and like always, total calm filled me after the too real jolt. My minds eye played strange and beautiful images that words could never properly describe. But I felt the onset of the comedown. Where the majestic fluids that filled my skull slowly drained... and I was to be thrown coldly back at the feet of reality. I retreated to my room, and in the darkness I gave myself entirely to the last throws of this wonderful poison. The blanket and mattress were so soft. And in the absence of light, my eyes were free to see the world in formless chaos. Vague shapes and shadows took the form of smoke and gas vapors. Color had no meaning in this kaleidoscope sea. Space and time seemed too absurd to have any clout anymore. I was not in my body, it didn't matter if my eyes were open or closed, as what I saw would not fade. Waves of energy and vacuums of space. I had a vision of a corner of a bright white room, the feeling I can never really explain. It seemed somehow beyond bodily existence, accepted reality. A sort of matrix... certainly something that was Outside. It felt undeniably real.. it felt like I had been there before. I knew and still know, only that there is something more... In the end, there was the letting go. A soft dreamless sleep. /end
Robitussin and DXM (dextromethorphan) are cough syrups. Okay, you describe a cheap high on two kinds of cough syrup. You think you might enjoy shooting a deer in the face. Why? You don't like cops. (Who does?) You think elderly dog walkers are 'possibly lesbian'. Why?
Well I kinda get what you're saying (I think) with your comments. The lesbian thing really had no backing, it was just a thought that entered my mind, which is what this whole thing is about, the working of my mind during this time. The deer thing was explained aptly. I was watching cops, and that comment seemed kinda dickish. And if you know of a cough syrup that is pure DMX let me know, cause this is not about two kinds of cough syrup. But yeah, I kind of get what you're driving at in terms of detail and mundaneness, but understand it was phrased in more of a jerkish manner than helpfully critical.
Taking the time to get spelling correct helps if you want to be taken seriously. This is something I do myself. The grammar is not bad. The word "and" should not begin a sentence. A question mark and explanation mark should not appear combined. The contraction "it's" should not be used if you want the possessive pronoun "its". Some of my work contains deliberate bad grammar because I am trying to put across a particular mood or lifestyle. Cowboys, cab drivers, hookers and cops don't always speak King's English. Myself, I have to work harder at offering constructive criticism which will not offend the writer, and simply say nothing at all if I can't say anything constructive.
The only teachers I listened to lied to me. lol. Like I said, I skipped a lot of school and just screwed around while I was there. So my writing is self-taught.
There's nothing wrong with "self-taught", but it doesn't relieve you of the need to get it right. Grammar and punctuation are like tuning a guitar ... they're the low-level tools of the craft, and if they're not right, it won't much matter how creative you otherwise are.
