MistaJeff
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Apr 13, 2008
- Messages
- 3,194
Preface
I scribbled this down about a year ago on the tail end of a 5 day amphetamine binge. In my state of speed psychosis I began to belive I was Hunter S. Thompson. The title is meant to be nothing more than a tribute to him. I dug this up today and edited it. When I read it now, so long after these events supposedly took place I see that my writing was all over the place. My voice changed at least 3 times in this single chapter. I have two chapters completed but I am far from finishing my work at transcribing this horrible tale of substance abuse. For my protection I would like this story to be considered completely fictional. This is the first chapter and it is very long. I'm just going to put the first one up, I hope you enjoy it.
Chapter 1
It was already 8 a.m. by the time I got up from the La-Z-Boy I had been reclined in for the past four hours. My eyes were dry and blood red from staring unblinking at the brightly glowing monitor on my bulky laptop computer. I had been in a trance, my eyes glued to the screen. The images of naked women have been burned into my brain. They will haunt me for days. Every time I close my eyes they burn as a different whore’s unclothed body flashes behind my eyelids. It’s not like I don’t enjoy seeing this but after staring at pictures like theses for hours on end I was sick of it.
I shuffled from my room to the lavatory down the hall. After draining myself I looked down to see dark yellow swirls spiraling about in the toilet bowl. My body has started flush last night’s Adderall from my body. Every part of my body ached from the inside out, and I moved sluggishly back to my room. I took a brown vial and a razor out of the drawer of my end table. The vial still contained around 160 milligrams of crushed amphetamine. I poured a small pile out on an old role-playing hand book, Laws of the Wild. I keep it as a relic from my high school days. Years of torture by my peers had turned me into a reclusive nerd. I used to go to a park in Campbell California to L.A.R.P. a werewolf game with a very peculiar group of older nerds. I carefully crushed some of the Adderall that was still intact. I had hastily smashed it the night before to put it in the vial. After a small line in each nostril I leaned my head back, sniffing repeatedly with a force that almost made me pass out. I picked a fleece blanket up of the ground and spread it across the foot of my door. My parents tend to complain about the scent of the incense I burn so I try to keep the smoke in my room.
I lit a stick of some Indian incense and opened both of the windows in my room. Now it was time to get rid of this horrible ache I was having. I was already strung-out so I would feel a rush from the Adderall in a quarter of an hour. It seemed like I had just purchased the pills from my friend but I knew many hours had passed. I witnessed them all, and they all looked the same. I had missed a night of sleep but at least I had eaten diner first. I pulled a small plastic container out of the front pocket of the bass guitar case that leans against the wall by my desk. Recently the only thing the case has been used for is hiding my stash. The only reason I bought the thing was to join a band with my friends. I never really learned how to play it, but at least we were in a band. I took a small green chunk out of the container and broke it into pieces. The bud stuck to my fingers as I pulled it apart and packed it into the bowl of my bubbler.
It wasn’t actually my bubbler. One of my friends is very impulsive and bought it one night when we were smoking at my house and then venturing into the unknown of the world to see what we could see. Another friend of my encouraged him to get it, and I had just stood in the head shop staring at a poster. It said “Purple Sticky Salvia” and had a psychedelic swirl on it. I had forgotten about the hit of LSD I had taken a few hours prior and I could not figure out if the poster was really moving or if I was hallucinating.
I did not mind keeping the small glass bubbler at my house when my friend had to fly back to Arizona for University. It was a fine piece for the price and I had given my old bubbler away to a roommate a few months before. The nugget of bud was small but it was enough to fill the bowl of the bubbler. I mourned the death of the $40 sack I had bought the day before as I lit the bowl. I had spent the rest of my money the night before and I did not have enough to cop another bag.
I sat around my house until the afternoon. My buddy Dexter texted me; asking me if I wanted to go with him to buy a sack. I finished cleaning the house of any evidence of the night before. Dexter and I had been snorting speed, smoking weed, and playing video games well into the early hours of the morning. He had gone home to sleep though. Me, I tend to not be able to sleep when I have 210 milligrams of Adderall sitting in my room. I got into my car and drove to pick up Dexter. He didn’t have a car and I didn’t have weed, but together we had both. After lingering about our dealer house for a little while we drove back to my house and smoked a bowl. He left at three and I sat in my living room by myself staring at a blank TV screen. If I turned it on it would hurt my eyes and there wasn’t anything interesting on anyway. I was in an awkward phase where I was too fried to do anything but I could not go to sleep because I had a rave to go to that night.
There was a knock at the door. My first reaction was panic. I knew a courier was coming to me to give me drugs that my brother had paid for prior to the occasion. I clutched my replica feudal Japanese knife as I inched towards the door. The Cherry blossom is a cheap dagger. The handle and scabbard are plastic but the blade is steel, and often sharpened. I clutched her in my hand and threw the scabbard aside. I was angry, and I was fearful, and I was hungry. Hungry for blood, I wanted to kill whatever was on the other side of that door. I placed the blade on the couch adjacent to the door and opened it. It was a familiar face. His name was Stan Jachowicz. I had known this kid in my youth. He was a year younger than me and swam on the same swim team as I did. “Are you Jeff?” he asked. I replied with a simple “Yeah”. My brother knew his older brother and since that Jachowicz was on house arrest his kid brother had to bring the pills to me. Stan handed me a small zip lock back with thirteen pills in it. I thanked him and he left. The pills were purple and had a superman symbol stamped into them. I stood by the door for a moment and gazed at them. I stood in reverence of the shear amount of amphetamines I had in my possession, and set off on my quest.
I had to see a man about a horse and nightfall was just setting in. I chopped out a nice thick line of dextroamphetamine on the granite countertops in my kitchen. I tooted the line then grabbed: my duffle bag, a razor blade, my vial of sweet luscious orange powder, my keys; and I ran out the door. I drove north on Highway 85 towards Hayward. I was still a little stoned from earlier but I was well tweaked.
I made it to Hayward after an hour or so. This city is shit. The worst place I have ever seen in my life. The streets were horrible and there were just Mexicans, Mexicans everywhere; and liquor stores on every corner. I drove a single road for a while until I finally arrived at CSU East Bay. I called my brother about where to park and what door room to go to. I was greeted by him and his roommate and my brother and I retreated to his room to talk about the matter at hand. A band of adventures would be foolish to venture into the depths of etd.LOVE without the proper magical elixirs. As the only wizard of the party I was given the task of acquiring these potions and bringing them to the gathering point. I placed the baggie of pills on my brother’s desk along with my vial of amphetamine. He inspected the pills and we chattered about the consumption of psychedelic amphetamines for some time. I had finished my duties and I had done well. I could now sit back and relax, my responsibilities were over.
There was a knock at the door. It was my sister and her slutty friend. They were both high as kites when they showed up. The party was finally assembled. There were six of us. My brother was the paladin. His girlfriend was a priest, his roommate an Asian monk. My sister was our druid, and her friend the rouge. We had a well rounded party and we were prepared for the trials we were about to face. We set off in the monk’s sedan towards a land called San Francisco. A rave was to take place, a joyous spectacle. A celebration in honor of our gods but we had to be prepared for the unknown as we journeyed off into the night. It is a scary thing venturing into the night. What would out there waiting for us? Cops? Badger? Kandi Kids? I shuttered at the thought.
