monkeyfingers
Greenlighter
- Joined
- Nov 20, 2013
- Messages
- 5
After months of snuffling around town like a junkie truffle pig, I was recently fortunate enough to procure 22 hits of LSD. I was at my apartment’s pool when a strange 40-year old woman wearing a pink wig and a Pokémon hat loudly asked if anyone had any pot. After a wary pause, I invited her over for a smoke. M was strange indeed, and very manic, but we were fast friends nonetheless. This is how I met R, her weed dealer who also happens to sell other wares as well. For many years I dated a very knowledgeable man with an incredibly vast and impressive collection of substances, so when J left me in November I realized how spoiled I was by never having to search for this magic on my own. If only I had asked him to teach me the ways of Tor and bitcoin… but I’m not even remotely tech-savvy. I don't mean to sound like that's all he was good for. I've yet to fully recover from what happened between us, and the resulting multi-month meltdown motivated me to pursue different avenues of deeper introspection.
One February night on a late walk back home from the bar, I found a navy leather pouch in the road containing $200 cash. (I was drinking pretty heavily earlier this year.) The only markings/identification on the pouch what-so-ever were a peace sign and “Dat Boi” scrawled sloppily on in the corner in sharpie. Though my sweet, upstanding parents urged me to turn the pouch in to the police, I didn’t trust the authorities to ever help with an ID-less wad of cash. Maybe that makes me a monster, but I don’t trust the police. I did call Hooter’s, which was the closest establishment to where the pouch was found, but no one ever followed up. Jackpot. Hedonist that I am, I made it my goal to spend the found money on drugs. Mission (eventually) accomplished.
I’m somewhat acquainted with lysergamides, but this particular experience stood out starkly from the others. J always expressed the importance of writing trip reports, but at 28 years old I never felt inclined to do so until today. Writing makes me hate myself truth be told, but I want to solidify the details of the experience and reflect however I can. That’s enough back-story for now.
My two close friends T and G are moving back to San Diego in 3 weeks. They're trying to explore more of beautiful Texas before their departure, and we've talked about a camping trip for some time. Shockingly none of us have been to the gulf coast, which is a mere 3.5+ hours from our Austin residence. We set out Friday morning along with another dear friend N, and settled a camp site on Padre Island. While T and G planned to take MDMA on Saturday (which seems like a very odd setting for that drug, but they had fun), I brought two tabs of acid for N and I to share. I’ve already had one scary run-in with the police while tripping *and* with additional LSD in possession, so we made sure not to bring pot this time and to place the 2 tabs in an obscure location (inside of an orange plastic whistle in the trunk of my car.) Some experiences are worth the slight risk.
N and I put the squares on our tongues after a breakfast of coffee and grilled sausages at 11am sharp. T and G dropped their molly as well, and we walked the short 100 ft to set up on the beach. I’m infinitely grateful that my boyfriend D lent us his canopy, or we surely would have burnt to a crisp. Although it poured briefly on Friday and the forecast indicated storms, the sky was splendidly bright and only slightly cloudy. We wasted no time jumping into the waves. Pretty quickly I was noticing subtle rainbows dancing across the water. I was very jealous of a young boy I saw slapping at the water with his orange net. Unfortunately the coffee kicked in, so after only a few minutes of swimming I had to trek back to camp to take a monster shit. Things took an unpleasant turn as I labored on the toilet, listening to maybe one, maybe a dozen children howling in the nearby shower stalls- almost certainly from jellyfish stings. As I watched splotches shrink and expand on the demonic purple floor, my body struggling through its horrible functions, the screeching was all-consuming. Finally it was over, and I slunk back into the sunshine feeling very weak.
Upon my return to the beach I was delighted to find the bright orange net floating abandoned in the shallows. The little boy was nowhere to be seen, so I laughed and grabbed it immediately. I discovered on Friday that I’m very skilled at catching small creatures. I had spent the previous night snatching up the fast, tiny ghost crabs that ran all around on the sand at night, playing with them, and putting them back only to catch them again. After T was stung by a jellyfish, I made it my personal vendetta to snatch up as many of the fuckers as I could. Initially I was doing it all by hand, which resulted in a few finger stings. I stung myself on the leg intentionally to know what I was up against. Jellyfish stings are much less painful when they’re not a surprise. “Fear stings more than any jellyfish” I recall saying. Anyway, I was thrilled to have a net.
T and G returned from a short walk to tell us they found a colony of rays a little further down the coast. Net in tow, N and I excitedly started to follow them in that direction. As we walked I suddenly realized that for either an eternity or a split second, all the sights and sounds went black and then returned full force. Suddenly the sun blazed, the salty wind rustled my hair, the waves roared. The sensation is quite difficult to put to words, but along with this feeling I also felt a sort of tunnel vision. I could only see what was directly in front of me, but even then I didn’t feel like I was really seeing it at all. I felt like I was not really present, a long-dead ghost observing the real world from a different plane. As the feeling intensified I could no longer feel my body. I panickedly looked down at my hands, tiny yellow things that seemed miles away. N, perceptive as always, asked, “Are you OK, Sam?” Our eyes met, he looked like himself, and for a moment I was OK. We walked further, but still I felt like I was drifting further and further away into the abyss. More mini-blackouts. I looked at my distant hands and panicked anew. Realizing that we were passing lounging families, not to mention getting farther away from our canopy setup, I opted to turn around before things got worse. I’ve tripped in proximity to families/children/normies many times, but I felt too ominous for it now. N followed me back as I stumbled, the whole time feeling like I was about to pass out. This near-blackout feeling would last for hours.
We spent the entire day in the hot Texas sun, on drugs, probably not eating enough or drinking enough water. I’m sure this was a huge contributing factor (it's very strong acid, too). I knew that then, even though I’m generally very active and quite used to the Texas heat by now. Since existence was too terrifying for me to enjoy the beach, I spent (I’m guessing) an hour or two laying on a blanket under D’s canopy. Sweet N stayed nearby, only stepping away occasionally to splash around in the shallows. I laid my head on T's backpack, sipped water, and gazed up in awe of the ever-shifting sunlit brown canopy above. I watched open-eyed visuals of fractaly Mayan designs and the closed-eye visuals of kaleidoscopic human faces. I am quite used to these types of effects. Things intensified as the visuals turned into full hallucinations. In the canopy appeared an all-American family standing in front of an SUV, holding fishing poles. The dad reached his hand down toward me, beckoning to join their fishing trip. I saw many more shifting humanoids, laughing, sneering, always reaching to me. When I mentioned this to N, he said that often when he takes acid he sees people reaching out to him as well. As I observed the visions I realized I could somewhat control them. I decided to make the people less creepy, perhaps even sexy, and suddenly I was briefly seeing fractals D's face, as well as shifting African queens, later Egyptian sphinxes and pharaohs. At one point the humanoids sharply turned into still, large-eyed aliens staring down at me. Whenever I unfocused my eyes, I saw an enormous laughing face. All the while I felt the terrifying sensation of not being present in my body. The waves roared and buzzed. My brain was ever floating into oblivion. I felt insane. N came over and asked if I wanted to try to go on a walk again. I stood up, stepped out of the canopy, said “nope” and laid back down again. Drank more water. N trekked back to camp to bring me a meat stick. After the meat stick I decided that despite this persistent awful sensation I would leave the canopy and catch more jellyfish. Perhaps focusing on a task would help.
I didn't keep track of the time, but the sun was slightly lower and covered with a thin haze of clouds. Everything had a gorgeous blue-pink hue. N encouraged me to swim further out with him. One thing I love about the gulf is that you can go out quite far while still being able to touch your feet to the bottom. This makes it very easy to catch a jellyfish and run back to fling them on the scorching shore. As I hunted jellies, N and I joked about being pitifully feeble creatures, and how horrible, ugly Mother Nature is always trying to kill us. The uncomfortable brain-floating-away sensation persisted, but N's silliness was very reassuring. The sky was unbelievably vivid and gorgeous. I think because of all the sea weed, every time I looked down I saw hoards of crawling spiders beneath the waves. At one point an enormous dog-sized crab floated past N. I could see its legs poking out of the water, writhing mechanically. It was bright blue with bright rainbow speckles, definitely unlike any crab species I've ever seen. Knowing it might be imagined or at least distorted, I screamed at N to avoid the crab. Of course he asked, “What are you talking about?” and after awhile the crab dissolved into the waves. For a long time afterward I would see countless imaginary crabs in the waves, in the sand, in the trash, everywhere. I kept laughing and yelling “I can't tell what's real!” and fruitlessly swinging my net. I was more afraid of the jellyfish than I was last night, yet still yearned to catch them. Mirroring how I feel about death, or aliens for that matter, I was both terrified and entranced with the idea of an encounter.
T and G joined us in the water, bright-eyed and talkative from the MDMA. I told them about my giant crab sighting, then asked if they could take us to the rays. I still felt incredibly inhuman and strange, but knew I could handle it this time. We decided to have a quick snack beforehand and cut up some ataulfo mangos under the canopy. It was probably just the state I was in, but it was the most incredible mango I've ever had in my life. N opted to rip at the mango like a gorilla. As he did so, perhaps due to the contrasting bright yellow fruit, for a moment he looked like a majestic blue-purple jungley panther man. After the snack N jumped back in the water to wash off. T and G remarked on what a wonderful man he is, and what a shame it is that at 26 N has yet to find a girlfriend. Perhaps it was imagined, but I sensed judgment in their voices and felt terrible guilt. N and I had dated briefly the past summer in the midst of a polyamorous disaster with J and another woman, but for reasons I won't get into now, N and I were not suitable to each other's needs. I'm still getting over J, and it's very possible that N is still getting over me. T and G have known N for several years before I moved to Austin, so I always imagined they might villainize me a little for breaking his heart. And rightly so. Nevertheless, I was lost for words and didn't want to discuss it. I sat there silently for awhile, feeling an immense sadness for my friend. I'm grateful that after all the chaos and heartbreak of last summer/fall, after a stint of not being comfortable around one another for a short while, we've been able to remain very close friends. He really is a wonderful person, and I know in time he'll find someone more suitable. Antsy, I asked my friends if we could revist the ray excursion.
As we walked along the edge of the tide, N became fascinated with the tiny Easter-colored clams. He remarked that between the hot sand and the ocean of horrible jellyfish, the thin strip of clams lining the shore AKA the “Clamosphere” was the most pleasant place to walk. This beach was much less inhabited than the East Coast beaches I'm used to from my childhood (think Ocean City, Rehoboth, etc). I've never been to Galveston, but I've been told it's too choked with pollution and vacationers to have much real wildlife. It didn't take us long to pass the other beach-dwellers and reach a point where the beach turned into an endless natural landscape- save for the distant oil rigs on the horizon. There were hoards of birds, some standing still, others swooping for fish, some even fighting, most screeching. (For those interested, I can semi-accurately identify them as laughing gulls, plovers, sandpipers, terns, cormorants, and brown pelicans). It somewhat reminded me of Jurassic Park, or perhaps the Pittsburgh National Aviary. Pinkish bird shit was everywhere. It was at this point that T pointed down to a cluster of tiny orange-brown rays that we saw only briefly before they drifted back into the waves. Surreal.
I suppose I don't need to describe every single thing we did at the beach, and can't, but I wanted to make a quick mention of our stay at Bird City trying desperately to catch sand crabs. The sandpipers make it look so easy, poking their beaks into the sand and tilting the critters back into their throats. We struggled to even catch one. T and G teased me for not being as keen of a critter-snatcher as they initially thought. I finally caught a tiny sand crab after lots of furious digging. During this stretch we also caught a very small green crab, a nearly microscopic hermit crab, a starfish (which none of us had ever seen in the wild), and a tiny white fish thanks to my trusty net. It was during this “hunt” that I realized that I no longer felt like a floating ghost. I still had strong visuals, but I was human again.
All of us coming down by now, N suggested we head into town for dinner instead of cooking at the campsite. After a brief discussion of who's most driveable (N, on his half-tab), we ended up at a cocktail and tapas bar called The Dragonfly. I was still seeing crabs and patterns, but there's nothing that eventful to report other than the fact that the food and margaritas were fantastic. I ordered seared Ahi tuna and a drink called the Monster Meltdown. Booze always softens the tail end of a trip. In that vein, we had to hit the liquor store after dinner. N had purchased coconut-flavored Parrot Bay, not knowing it was only 42 proof and tastes like lotion (which, coincidentally, I am swigging as I type this.) We were exhausted at that point, looking forward to piling together onto my queen-sized air mattress when we all returned to camp.
Lugging a 6-pack and bottle of Kraken black rum to the cashier, she asked if we were on our way to the burn. In our eccentric outfits, we definitely looked like the sort of people to attend such an event. Although T and G are Burning Man veterans, we were unaware that there was a regional one happening only a few miles away. And on a day we happened to be on an assortment of drugs nonetheless. O Fortuna! We couldn't miss this. The cashier rattled off the directions to the burn and we hit the road.
It took us 1-2 hours to find the burn. We found the pier which the cashier described, but couldn't remember her directions from there. I saw a fire just behind a dune, thinking it was the effigy, and told N we were close enough to park. After a short walk I realized I was mistaken- I had only seen a campfire. In fact, there were campfires all along the beach. Silly me! We got back in the car, drove a little further. Pretty shortly into the drive, T and G's Prius got lodged in a soft patch of sand. Some very nice burly men helped us push it out. We parked again and decided to walk the rest of the way. Eventually we realized we weren't seeing any signs of a burn, just a long, long stretch of people fishing and camping. (And in my case, lots and lots of imaginary crabs.) We hesitantly asked a lady in a tie-dye shirt if she knew about this event and where it was. Not for another 2 miles. We walked all the way back to the car and ended up braving the sand, staying on only the densely packed parts.
We knew we were approaching the burn when we started seeing all kinds of vivid LED lights. When things started to look wacky and dense we finally parked for the third and final time. I was pretty tipsy at this point from all the rum. I'm just going to gloss over the remaining details because they're slightly hazy, and more interesting to be experienced than described. I'd never been to a burn before, but I've heard a lot of stories about them and had a general idea of what it's all about. Someone offered me some water, and instinctively I offered a cigarette in exchange. He smiled and said that wasn't necessary- it was a gift. Considering we were out of water and could easily be in dire straits out here without it, I thanked him profusely for sharing life's most precious resource. The man shrugged and said, “Naw man, the most precious resource is good will.” (Ha!)
The effigy was a rather small but beautiful phoenix with a steel head. It was a relatively microscopic burn with maybe only 100 attendees, 200 max. At 11:30pm the phoenix was ignited along with some fireworks. Everyone screamed and cheered, some of us including drunk-me ran in circles around the fire, howling like wolves. After that we drank pickle-backs at the bar and swapped stories with the others. I smoked a joint at a jovial older couple's camp and cuddled their dachshund for a long time. N returned saying he witnessed a fist fight. At one point I briefly waded into the ocean one final time for the night, later discovering that I soaked my pack of cigarettes. Other random things. It was a fantastic ending to our day. I grinned the entire drive back (G drove this time, quite well considering our collective exhaustion.) As I watched the full, amber moon disappear and reappear behind the rolling hills that I pretended were waves, I felt incredibly carefree and fulfilled. My favorite Pittsburgh hat blew off my head at one point, as I knew might happen if I stuck my head out the window catching the wind in my face for as long as I did. I didn't care.
Sunday as N and I drove back, him asleep and me having racing thoughts as I gripped the wheel, I had a few significant revelations. Other than the realization I had no painful dreams or thoughts about J all weekend, I don't feel the need to go into detail. Suffice to say I still felt the effect of the LSD the next day. When I got home I brewed a much-needed french press of Intelligentsia coffee. The drifting-brain sensation came back and persisted all Sunday evening. On the bright side, I reunited with my handsome D and we swapped weekend stories. All the dark thoughts I had on my drive were comforted by his warmth. Despite my exhaustion we went to a potluck at which I was deliriously spacey and tired, but in a fun way. I felt bizarre yet wonderful. All in all it was just the weekend I required. Til next time, crabs.
Tagged by Xorkoth
substancecode_lsd
substancecode_lysergamides
explevel_experienced
exptype_positive
exptype_glowing
roacode_sublingual
One February night on a late walk back home from the bar, I found a navy leather pouch in the road containing $200 cash. (I was drinking pretty heavily earlier this year.) The only markings/identification on the pouch what-so-ever were a peace sign and “Dat Boi” scrawled sloppily on in the corner in sharpie. Though my sweet, upstanding parents urged me to turn the pouch in to the police, I didn’t trust the authorities to ever help with an ID-less wad of cash. Maybe that makes me a monster, but I don’t trust the police. I did call Hooter’s, which was the closest establishment to where the pouch was found, but no one ever followed up. Jackpot. Hedonist that I am, I made it my goal to spend the found money on drugs. Mission (eventually) accomplished.
I’m somewhat acquainted with lysergamides, but this particular experience stood out starkly from the others. J always expressed the importance of writing trip reports, but at 28 years old I never felt inclined to do so until today. Writing makes me hate myself truth be told, but I want to solidify the details of the experience and reflect however I can. That’s enough back-story for now.
My two close friends T and G are moving back to San Diego in 3 weeks. They're trying to explore more of beautiful Texas before their departure, and we've talked about a camping trip for some time. Shockingly none of us have been to the gulf coast, which is a mere 3.5+ hours from our Austin residence. We set out Friday morning along with another dear friend N, and settled a camp site on Padre Island. While T and G planned to take MDMA on Saturday (which seems like a very odd setting for that drug, but they had fun), I brought two tabs of acid for N and I to share. I’ve already had one scary run-in with the police while tripping *and* with additional LSD in possession, so we made sure not to bring pot this time and to place the 2 tabs in an obscure location (inside of an orange plastic whistle in the trunk of my car.) Some experiences are worth the slight risk.
N and I put the squares on our tongues after a breakfast of coffee and grilled sausages at 11am sharp. T and G dropped their molly as well, and we walked the short 100 ft to set up on the beach. I’m infinitely grateful that my boyfriend D lent us his canopy, or we surely would have burnt to a crisp. Although it poured briefly on Friday and the forecast indicated storms, the sky was splendidly bright and only slightly cloudy. We wasted no time jumping into the waves. Pretty quickly I was noticing subtle rainbows dancing across the water. I was very jealous of a young boy I saw slapping at the water with his orange net. Unfortunately the coffee kicked in, so after only a few minutes of swimming I had to trek back to camp to take a monster shit. Things took an unpleasant turn as I labored on the toilet, listening to maybe one, maybe a dozen children howling in the nearby shower stalls- almost certainly from jellyfish stings. As I watched splotches shrink and expand on the demonic purple floor, my body struggling through its horrible functions, the screeching was all-consuming. Finally it was over, and I slunk back into the sunshine feeling very weak.
Upon my return to the beach I was delighted to find the bright orange net floating abandoned in the shallows. The little boy was nowhere to be seen, so I laughed and grabbed it immediately. I discovered on Friday that I’m very skilled at catching small creatures. I had spent the previous night snatching up the fast, tiny ghost crabs that ran all around on the sand at night, playing with them, and putting them back only to catch them again. After T was stung by a jellyfish, I made it my personal vendetta to snatch up as many of the fuckers as I could. Initially I was doing it all by hand, which resulted in a few finger stings. I stung myself on the leg intentionally to know what I was up against. Jellyfish stings are much less painful when they’re not a surprise. “Fear stings more than any jellyfish” I recall saying. Anyway, I was thrilled to have a net.
T and G returned from a short walk to tell us they found a colony of rays a little further down the coast. Net in tow, N and I excitedly started to follow them in that direction. As we walked I suddenly realized that for either an eternity or a split second, all the sights and sounds went black and then returned full force. Suddenly the sun blazed, the salty wind rustled my hair, the waves roared. The sensation is quite difficult to put to words, but along with this feeling I also felt a sort of tunnel vision. I could only see what was directly in front of me, but even then I didn’t feel like I was really seeing it at all. I felt like I was not really present, a long-dead ghost observing the real world from a different plane. As the feeling intensified I could no longer feel my body. I panickedly looked down at my hands, tiny yellow things that seemed miles away. N, perceptive as always, asked, “Are you OK, Sam?” Our eyes met, he looked like himself, and for a moment I was OK. We walked further, but still I felt like I was drifting further and further away into the abyss. More mini-blackouts. I looked at my distant hands and panicked anew. Realizing that we were passing lounging families, not to mention getting farther away from our canopy setup, I opted to turn around before things got worse. I’ve tripped in proximity to families/children/normies many times, but I felt too ominous for it now. N followed me back as I stumbled, the whole time feeling like I was about to pass out. This near-blackout feeling would last for hours.
We spent the entire day in the hot Texas sun, on drugs, probably not eating enough or drinking enough water. I’m sure this was a huge contributing factor (it's very strong acid, too). I knew that then, even though I’m generally very active and quite used to the Texas heat by now. Since existence was too terrifying for me to enjoy the beach, I spent (I’m guessing) an hour or two laying on a blanket under D’s canopy. Sweet N stayed nearby, only stepping away occasionally to splash around in the shallows. I laid my head on T's backpack, sipped water, and gazed up in awe of the ever-shifting sunlit brown canopy above. I watched open-eyed visuals of fractaly Mayan designs and the closed-eye visuals of kaleidoscopic human faces. I am quite used to these types of effects. Things intensified as the visuals turned into full hallucinations. In the canopy appeared an all-American family standing in front of an SUV, holding fishing poles. The dad reached his hand down toward me, beckoning to join their fishing trip. I saw many more shifting humanoids, laughing, sneering, always reaching to me. When I mentioned this to N, he said that often when he takes acid he sees people reaching out to him as well. As I observed the visions I realized I could somewhat control them. I decided to make the people less creepy, perhaps even sexy, and suddenly I was briefly seeing fractals D's face, as well as shifting African queens, later Egyptian sphinxes and pharaohs. At one point the humanoids sharply turned into still, large-eyed aliens staring down at me. Whenever I unfocused my eyes, I saw an enormous laughing face. All the while I felt the terrifying sensation of not being present in my body. The waves roared and buzzed. My brain was ever floating into oblivion. I felt insane. N came over and asked if I wanted to try to go on a walk again. I stood up, stepped out of the canopy, said “nope” and laid back down again. Drank more water. N trekked back to camp to bring me a meat stick. After the meat stick I decided that despite this persistent awful sensation I would leave the canopy and catch more jellyfish. Perhaps focusing on a task would help.
I didn't keep track of the time, but the sun was slightly lower and covered with a thin haze of clouds. Everything had a gorgeous blue-pink hue. N encouraged me to swim further out with him. One thing I love about the gulf is that you can go out quite far while still being able to touch your feet to the bottom. This makes it very easy to catch a jellyfish and run back to fling them on the scorching shore. As I hunted jellies, N and I joked about being pitifully feeble creatures, and how horrible, ugly Mother Nature is always trying to kill us. The uncomfortable brain-floating-away sensation persisted, but N's silliness was very reassuring. The sky was unbelievably vivid and gorgeous. I think because of all the sea weed, every time I looked down I saw hoards of crawling spiders beneath the waves. At one point an enormous dog-sized crab floated past N. I could see its legs poking out of the water, writhing mechanically. It was bright blue with bright rainbow speckles, definitely unlike any crab species I've ever seen. Knowing it might be imagined or at least distorted, I screamed at N to avoid the crab. Of course he asked, “What are you talking about?” and after awhile the crab dissolved into the waves. For a long time afterward I would see countless imaginary crabs in the waves, in the sand, in the trash, everywhere. I kept laughing and yelling “I can't tell what's real!” and fruitlessly swinging my net. I was more afraid of the jellyfish than I was last night, yet still yearned to catch them. Mirroring how I feel about death, or aliens for that matter, I was both terrified and entranced with the idea of an encounter.
T and G joined us in the water, bright-eyed and talkative from the MDMA. I told them about my giant crab sighting, then asked if they could take us to the rays. I still felt incredibly inhuman and strange, but knew I could handle it this time. We decided to have a quick snack beforehand and cut up some ataulfo mangos under the canopy. It was probably just the state I was in, but it was the most incredible mango I've ever had in my life. N opted to rip at the mango like a gorilla. As he did so, perhaps due to the contrasting bright yellow fruit, for a moment he looked like a majestic blue-purple jungley panther man. After the snack N jumped back in the water to wash off. T and G remarked on what a wonderful man he is, and what a shame it is that at 26 N has yet to find a girlfriend. Perhaps it was imagined, but I sensed judgment in their voices and felt terrible guilt. N and I had dated briefly the past summer in the midst of a polyamorous disaster with J and another woman, but for reasons I won't get into now, N and I were not suitable to each other's needs. I'm still getting over J, and it's very possible that N is still getting over me. T and G have known N for several years before I moved to Austin, so I always imagined they might villainize me a little for breaking his heart. And rightly so. Nevertheless, I was lost for words and didn't want to discuss it. I sat there silently for awhile, feeling an immense sadness for my friend. I'm grateful that after all the chaos and heartbreak of last summer/fall, after a stint of not being comfortable around one another for a short while, we've been able to remain very close friends. He really is a wonderful person, and I know in time he'll find someone more suitable. Antsy, I asked my friends if we could revist the ray excursion.
As we walked along the edge of the tide, N became fascinated with the tiny Easter-colored clams. He remarked that between the hot sand and the ocean of horrible jellyfish, the thin strip of clams lining the shore AKA the “Clamosphere” was the most pleasant place to walk. This beach was much less inhabited than the East Coast beaches I'm used to from my childhood (think Ocean City, Rehoboth, etc). I've never been to Galveston, but I've been told it's too choked with pollution and vacationers to have much real wildlife. It didn't take us long to pass the other beach-dwellers and reach a point where the beach turned into an endless natural landscape- save for the distant oil rigs on the horizon. There were hoards of birds, some standing still, others swooping for fish, some even fighting, most screeching. (For those interested, I can semi-accurately identify them as laughing gulls, plovers, sandpipers, terns, cormorants, and brown pelicans). It somewhat reminded me of Jurassic Park, or perhaps the Pittsburgh National Aviary. Pinkish bird shit was everywhere. It was at this point that T pointed down to a cluster of tiny orange-brown rays that we saw only briefly before they drifted back into the waves. Surreal.
I suppose I don't need to describe every single thing we did at the beach, and can't, but I wanted to make a quick mention of our stay at Bird City trying desperately to catch sand crabs. The sandpipers make it look so easy, poking their beaks into the sand and tilting the critters back into their throats. We struggled to even catch one. T and G teased me for not being as keen of a critter-snatcher as they initially thought. I finally caught a tiny sand crab after lots of furious digging. During this stretch we also caught a very small green crab, a nearly microscopic hermit crab, a starfish (which none of us had ever seen in the wild), and a tiny white fish thanks to my trusty net. It was during this “hunt” that I realized that I no longer felt like a floating ghost. I still had strong visuals, but I was human again.
All of us coming down by now, N suggested we head into town for dinner instead of cooking at the campsite. After a brief discussion of who's most driveable (N, on his half-tab), we ended up at a cocktail and tapas bar called The Dragonfly. I was still seeing crabs and patterns, but there's nothing that eventful to report other than the fact that the food and margaritas were fantastic. I ordered seared Ahi tuna and a drink called the Monster Meltdown. Booze always softens the tail end of a trip. In that vein, we had to hit the liquor store after dinner. N had purchased coconut-flavored Parrot Bay, not knowing it was only 42 proof and tastes like lotion (which, coincidentally, I am swigging as I type this.) We were exhausted at that point, looking forward to piling together onto my queen-sized air mattress when we all returned to camp.
Lugging a 6-pack and bottle of Kraken black rum to the cashier, she asked if we were on our way to the burn. In our eccentric outfits, we definitely looked like the sort of people to attend such an event. Although T and G are Burning Man veterans, we were unaware that there was a regional one happening only a few miles away. And on a day we happened to be on an assortment of drugs nonetheless. O Fortuna! We couldn't miss this. The cashier rattled off the directions to the burn and we hit the road.
It took us 1-2 hours to find the burn. We found the pier which the cashier described, but couldn't remember her directions from there. I saw a fire just behind a dune, thinking it was the effigy, and told N we were close enough to park. After a short walk I realized I was mistaken- I had only seen a campfire. In fact, there were campfires all along the beach. Silly me! We got back in the car, drove a little further. Pretty shortly into the drive, T and G's Prius got lodged in a soft patch of sand. Some very nice burly men helped us push it out. We parked again and decided to walk the rest of the way. Eventually we realized we weren't seeing any signs of a burn, just a long, long stretch of people fishing and camping. (And in my case, lots and lots of imaginary crabs.) We hesitantly asked a lady in a tie-dye shirt if she knew about this event and where it was. Not for another 2 miles. We walked all the way back to the car and ended up braving the sand, staying on only the densely packed parts.
We knew we were approaching the burn when we started seeing all kinds of vivid LED lights. When things started to look wacky and dense we finally parked for the third and final time. I was pretty tipsy at this point from all the rum. I'm just going to gloss over the remaining details because they're slightly hazy, and more interesting to be experienced than described. I'd never been to a burn before, but I've heard a lot of stories about them and had a general idea of what it's all about. Someone offered me some water, and instinctively I offered a cigarette in exchange. He smiled and said that wasn't necessary- it was a gift. Considering we were out of water and could easily be in dire straits out here without it, I thanked him profusely for sharing life's most precious resource. The man shrugged and said, “Naw man, the most precious resource is good will.” (Ha!)
The effigy was a rather small but beautiful phoenix with a steel head. It was a relatively microscopic burn with maybe only 100 attendees, 200 max. At 11:30pm the phoenix was ignited along with some fireworks. Everyone screamed and cheered, some of us including drunk-me ran in circles around the fire, howling like wolves. After that we drank pickle-backs at the bar and swapped stories with the others. I smoked a joint at a jovial older couple's camp and cuddled their dachshund for a long time. N returned saying he witnessed a fist fight. At one point I briefly waded into the ocean one final time for the night, later discovering that I soaked my pack of cigarettes. Other random things. It was a fantastic ending to our day. I grinned the entire drive back (G drove this time, quite well considering our collective exhaustion.) As I watched the full, amber moon disappear and reappear behind the rolling hills that I pretended were waves, I felt incredibly carefree and fulfilled. My favorite Pittsburgh hat blew off my head at one point, as I knew might happen if I stuck my head out the window catching the wind in my face for as long as I did. I didn't care.
Sunday as N and I drove back, him asleep and me having racing thoughts as I gripped the wheel, I had a few significant revelations. Other than the realization I had no painful dreams or thoughts about J all weekend, I don't feel the need to go into detail. Suffice to say I still felt the effect of the LSD the next day. When I got home I brewed a much-needed french press of Intelligentsia coffee. The drifting-brain sensation came back and persisted all Sunday evening. On the bright side, I reunited with my handsome D and we swapped weekend stories. All the dark thoughts I had on my drive were comforted by his warmth. Despite my exhaustion we went to a potluck at which I was deliriously spacey and tired, but in a fun way. I felt bizarre yet wonderful. All in all it was just the weekend I required. Til next time, crabs.
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I have to say, that's a hell of a first post, welcome to Bluelight. It was thoroughly engaging to read the whole time. Sounds like an awesome experience.