On Monday last week, someone broke a window on the car. Nothing was taken. I put it down to vandalism and P reported it. I was a pain because the coppers wanted her to leave it all untouched so they could dust it. So she had to ride her bike to work, and the weather was really nasty. To be honest, I'm not sure I'm comfortable with her riding to work, because its right across town and the drivers are ill disposed towards cyclists in general. I ride a lot and frequently have near misses. Basically there is no point riding assertively because a sizeable quantity of drivers don't think you have the same rights in the rule book as they do. Like they do stuff to you that they wouldn't try against another car or even a motorbike. I don't want to think of her coming to grief at the grill of some auto-fundamentalist is what concens me.
I decided to drop 7mg of DOM on tuesday afternoon. I've not dabbled for two months now, which has probably been wise. I hadn't been that well, and I know phens seem to make me a little wheezier at the best of times. I'd heard it said that DOM was as powerfull as acid, by some more knowledgeable voices. This I wanted to know about more intimately. I have witnessed its ability to encapsulate both the the euphoric and the challenging within one trip, very dramatically. It was long ago, but my main impression of those long ago acid trips was primarily wonderment and good old hilarity. Still, 7mg it was, in a skin, down the hatch with a cuppa. I ran a deep hot bath to sooth and cleanse my aching body after the cold and wet morning out on delivery. I dosed at 2pm and by 3, I was getting exceedingly high. I was in the bath and watching a piece of blue belly button fluff dance round in the water over me. It appeared multiplied across the surface of the water pirouetting just beneath the surface. The white chamber of the bathroom glistened and danced with jewels and patterns of geometric virtuosity. I was feelin pretty damn good. The stimulation of my body muscles was pleasurable and felt complementary to the hot water. I lazed for an hour or so, during which the phone went. I stayed put though. After I got out the bath and dried, I couldn't help looking at myself in the mirror. I thought I was looking in good shape. I've got good muscles and almost a six pack going on there. Except I don't have to go to any fancy gymn or anything.
I checked the answerphone, and it was P, telling me that the copper would be round ar 4.30, in case she didn't get back in time. At that point I started to become somewhat alarmed at the prospect of entertaining a member of the constabulary in my then state of mind. I went for a joint in the shed to ponder the situation. Enlightenment struck in the form of doing the washing up. Perhaps somehow, the mundanity of washing up might enable me to ground myself somewhat. Quite how this would take place I was unclear in my mind. I got stuck in anyway and put on the calming voice of Radio 4. I made a carefully constructed structure out of the crockery on the draining board which maximised the usage of all available draining space and avoided any potential pooling points or sumps. P arrived home thankfully, and I felt better imediatley. She, I can handle, when the air is filled with threads of light and my mind a little wider than usual. We conversed about our days, although I omitted the bit about dropping the DOM. We had some dinner which I cooked fairly succesfully, after which the bell went. I started to feel a bit jittery, so I thought I'd take the dishes to the kitchen while P tailked to the copper. Having done this, I started to think that it would look suspicious if I stayed in the kitchen, so I stood in the doorway of the lounge and introduced myself. Jesus was doing the driving baby. Trust in the force. Try not, Do. Etc. I shook his hand , and he continued to take P's statement. He was a healthily stocky mid forties chap. My emotional tuning was quite sensitive at that point, and I felt a sense of benevolent concern coming from this policeman towards us. He seemed diligent, and I also sensed that he took the oppertunity to meet people as a way to promote bringing the community onside to help tackle the crime thing. I felt troubled that I as a pothead and psychedelic enthusiast was the other side of the fence to him, because in general I support the general project of law and order in all other areas except drug policy. I was sober enough not to share these thoughts with him as they ocurred to me. He left and I could resume my trip. I did a bit more washing up. Visually, things were getting really quite out of hand now. All the colours in my visual field, what I was looking at and the decorations it had sprouted, were now tinted a strong luminous tinge, fairly garish. It had the vivid tones of some breakfast television program set. And, of course, it was strewn with linnear currents of energy and sinew. I felt positively euphoric and giggled at it all. I stroked my bearded chin (two week vintage) and imagined my entire body covered by a simillar kind of beardiness. Sure enough I saw it sprouting from allround my arms and hands, including the palms. This made me laugh more, especially since it was a kind of pink furryness through the filter of my visual hallucination. This is the kind of purely surreal hilarity I remember from old.
At one point I was suddenly a bit negative and dark in trajectory, and I desperately tried to hit on some good music on my hard drive. However it ocurred to me that I hadn't heard the latest Giles Peterson show on Radio 1. Iprayed for him to be on form, with something to bring me round. Sure enough he played a Louie Vega tracl with his Mrs, Anané, singing. It was a cover of a track called Brand New Day, by a Belladonna, from the mid seventies. It was a medium tempo latino hous style track with a really muscular bass but still laid back. Anané sings a love song in her rich voice and it was all pure honey to listen to. I had to get on to gemmrecords to nail my copy. Out on Tommy Boy. Cheers Giles.
Overal it was a good trip, with some moments of doubt an deep personal stuff, but I think its better to know what there is there, than not sometimes. Ithink that's one of the reasons I keep doing this kind of thing. I struggled to sleep at all, and Wednesday was a non day where I was probably still tripping but was too tired to be very constructive. I couldn't really settle on any one course of activity for any length of time. I did enjoy some good music and smokes, and finalyy went to the shops to fix dinner at 3pm.
Last week, I was delivering down a street when I passed a gentlemen in his mid sixties with one of the finest beards I have witnessed outside of the dramatic arts. He was waiting at a bus stop as I approached. From some distance, it appeared as though he had a sculpted clam shaped piece of granite affixed to his chin. We greeted as I passed. Then a white van came the other way, with three youths sitting abreast in the front. The passenger side window was wound down and the occupant shouted ' Ooarrghh, Cap'n Birdseye' while his companions laughed. I was split fifty fifty between thinking 'what a bunch of idiots' and laughing inside aswell. The I thought to myself, maybe the bloke was standing there thinking, 'Yeah boys, check my beard!'. I kind of hoped so.
Peace and love to all on sundry - PippUK
