*=Regulator=*
Bluelighter
1.5 Hits of Acid - 2nd Time - The Love Slug!
The time is summer in beautiful Tasmania. I am home from college in Sydney and a great 2 months of holidays are drawing to a close.
It has been an eventful break filled with love and lots of drinking. All of my issues have resolved themselves and I am content, if a little emotionally worn out. I have a remarkable feeling of closure and my brain is definately ready for some psychedelia.
My two best friends are soon to arrive in my home state. Crazy, crazy B, all the way from North Carolina is returning to Australia, and I am the first stop on her itinerary. W too, is coming to stay from Canberra. The plan is:
Have insane amounts of fun in the six days we are in Hobart together, before returning to Sydney for well, insane amounts of fun.
The visit has gone superbly. We have been to most of the breathtakingly beautiful places of Tassie, and smoked in all of them. Our impromptu photo album looks like a personalised issue of High Times.
More fun is in store: I have acquired the keys to our beachhouse, and 4 hits of high quality blotter acid!
On the drive down we get some supplies: A bottle of Smirnoff; a bag; some food ("Mac and Cheese!!!!" at the insistance of B). After much debate we get some mind fodder as well. "Star Wars: Return of the Jedi" and "A Clockwork Orange".
We eat a little and then go and sit out on the deck. The air is warm and a gentle breeze flolics through the juvenile pine trees in the yard. Coupled with ominous clouds rolling over the horizon and a dampness in the air, a tranquil, yet forboding scene is set. This feels like the calm before the storm, and my thoughts within have shyly revealed a similar mindset. This mergance of self and nature evokes raptures of joy from me. The feelings are indescribable and intangible. I don't struggle as I normally would to verbalise my state of mind. The feeling is one of choosing to simply witness a beautiful sight and enjoy it, or to forgoe the beauty momentarily and take a polaroid snap shot, so It can be immortalised. I choose to mentally sit back and relax, and enjoy the experience. Damn this weed is good!
We all agree that there could be no better place to be, anywhere in the world, at this point in time - what a perfect way to begin a trip.
The sausages sizzle as the acid dissolves on my tounge. W, B and I sit side my side on the wooden bench, transfixed on the embers of the barbeque. After swirling the blotter around in our mouths and eating the cardboard, we retire to the comfort of the house, and on comes star wars.
Jabba the Hut is speaking in a bizarre tounge while he playfully tugs the chain on Princess Leia's neck. This seems incredibly profound. Hmm I guess I'm tripping! Thus begins the night of the Tripper's interpretation of Pop Culture.
After at least 10 minutes of straight giggling, we all simultaneously verbalise the desire to go outside, as it is now dark, and we are all tripping.
"You know, the song 'It wasn't me?', by shaggy?" I ask. "I think he is speaking the language of true love, and if we could only decipher the lyrics we would all be enlightened and equiped with the knowledge to be lovers of Herculian proportions".
"Ummm right....."
"Seriously, it makes so much sense. No-one can understand what he is saying, he is like a prophet".
"I think you have a point". Says W. "I think the same is true of Jabba the Hut."
We share a "moment" that only two people with such interrupted thoughts can. B is off in the distance, a few metres away, doing her own thing.
Jabba the Hut, "The Love Slug", is born and unbeknownst to us will rear his head throughout our trip.
I drink four shots of vodka.
"I can't believe that I'm this fucked and still conscious", I say between giggling fits.
N. Arrives and consumes half a hit of acid and smokes a bucket. He leaves us and sits down in front of the TV, where he will remain for the duration of the night.
W. Drops 4 cigarettes from his recently open packet down the gaps in the decking. "What are you doing?" I ask.
"The Love Slug is stealing my cigarettes." I experience the most hilarious minutes of my life as we both become convinced that "Jabba, The Love Slug" is living beneath the decking of my beach house.
Eventually I wander inside and plonk myself in front of a window blind with vivid floral print. The colours begin to swirl in a kaleidoscopic morphing of colours and shapes. I almost explode from fascination. Enthralled with this new found ability I stare into numerous surfaces with incredible results. So many patterns and so little time. I am truly having the best time of my life.
W and B soon come inside after a chat out on the deck and we all sit down with N. to watch "A Clockwork Orange." Even the most graphic violence of the movie can't hold our attentions. The concept of telivision seems stragely dull and infantile. We all walk outside after a little bit of eye-candy courtesy of moving wallpaper.
We sit around talking and smoke a little more weed.
"I'm out of smokes, B" says W. "Can I have one of yours". B gives us one each, then another. After an eerie 5 minute silence, B, who has been carefully rationing her U.S. imported Camel Lights, remarks: "Ya'll are some cigarette fiends". With her deep southern drall she continues "Quit being such hoes, ya'll can have one more each, and that's it. I suggest you wait for a while before smoking them." She gives them to us, and without hesitation we smoke them.
Half an hour later W. and I are really craving a smoke. W. remembers that there are 4 left but that "The Love Slug is gaurding them." We both cowered in fear at the prospect of having to face The Love Slug, but agree that it is the only way to get more cigarettes. W. goes inside and emerges without a t-shirt, a tea-towel around his head, and a torch (flashlight) in his hand. He crawls under the deck and begins screaming. "Oh my GOD!", I scream. "The Love Slug is eating W!!" For the next five minutes I am convinced that W. was being consumed by a 6 foot slimy cassanova worm. Terror gripps my soul. When W. finally emerges from the deck I am so relieved I almost cry. W. stands on the bench and triumphantly holds aloft his 4 cigarettes like a trophy stolen from a slain mythical being. They were the sweetest cigarettes of my life.
The time is 4 am. N. emerges with eyes like saucers and anounces he has to leave for Hobart because he has an Optometrist appointment in 4 hours. The hilarity of this statement is not wasted on us. I laugh until tears stream down my face. He asks how to get back to Hobart. I tell just to go straight. W. ammusingly remarks that there is no chance of this happening as he is everything but straight.
When N. leaves we head down to the beach to watch the sun rise. The clouds are a shining golden, pink and their warmth eminates around me. B. who is normally very reserved about expressing that she is mind altered states "I'm tripping balls". This completes a superb night for W and I. We feel vicarious pleasure surge through us as B. grudgingly admits she has had an incredible, entertaining, hilarious night.
We put our arms around each other and enjoy the love of the best of friends, that know they won't be together for much longer. "What an incredible night", I say.
We all cuddle up and drift off to sleep lying in the soft sand of the beach as the sun rises majestically over us. Warm waves gently lap at our ankles, the wind rustles in the dunes, and peace consumes us.
The time is summer in beautiful Tasmania. I am home from college in Sydney and a great 2 months of holidays are drawing to a close.
It has been an eventful break filled with love and lots of drinking. All of my issues have resolved themselves and I am content, if a little emotionally worn out. I have a remarkable feeling of closure and my brain is definately ready for some psychedelia.
My two best friends are soon to arrive in my home state. Crazy, crazy B, all the way from North Carolina is returning to Australia, and I am the first stop on her itinerary. W too, is coming to stay from Canberra. The plan is:
Have insane amounts of fun in the six days we are in Hobart together, before returning to Sydney for well, insane amounts of fun.
The visit has gone superbly. We have been to most of the breathtakingly beautiful places of Tassie, and smoked in all of them. Our impromptu photo album looks like a personalised issue of High Times.
More fun is in store: I have acquired the keys to our beachhouse, and 4 hits of high quality blotter acid!
On the drive down we get some supplies: A bottle of Smirnoff; a bag; some food ("Mac and Cheese!!!!" at the insistance of B). After much debate we get some mind fodder as well. "Star Wars: Return of the Jedi" and "A Clockwork Orange".
We eat a little and then go and sit out on the deck. The air is warm and a gentle breeze flolics through the juvenile pine trees in the yard. Coupled with ominous clouds rolling over the horizon and a dampness in the air, a tranquil, yet forboding scene is set. This feels like the calm before the storm, and my thoughts within have shyly revealed a similar mindset. This mergance of self and nature evokes raptures of joy from me. The feelings are indescribable and intangible. I don't struggle as I normally would to verbalise my state of mind. The feeling is one of choosing to simply witness a beautiful sight and enjoy it, or to forgoe the beauty momentarily and take a polaroid snap shot, so It can be immortalised. I choose to mentally sit back and relax, and enjoy the experience. Damn this weed is good!
We all agree that there could be no better place to be, anywhere in the world, at this point in time - what a perfect way to begin a trip.
The sausages sizzle as the acid dissolves on my tounge. W, B and I sit side my side on the wooden bench, transfixed on the embers of the barbeque. After swirling the blotter around in our mouths and eating the cardboard, we retire to the comfort of the house, and on comes star wars.
Jabba the Hut is speaking in a bizarre tounge while he playfully tugs the chain on Princess Leia's neck. This seems incredibly profound. Hmm I guess I'm tripping! Thus begins the night of the Tripper's interpretation of Pop Culture.
After at least 10 minutes of straight giggling, we all simultaneously verbalise the desire to go outside, as it is now dark, and we are all tripping.
"You know, the song 'It wasn't me?', by shaggy?" I ask. "I think he is speaking the language of true love, and if we could only decipher the lyrics we would all be enlightened and equiped with the knowledge to be lovers of Herculian proportions".
"Ummm right....."
"Seriously, it makes so much sense. No-one can understand what he is saying, he is like a prophet".
"I think you have a point". Says W. "I think the same is true of Jabba the Hut."
We share a "moment" that only two people with such interrupted thoughts can. B is off in the distance, a few metres away, doing her own thing.
Jabba the Hut, "The Love Slug", is born and unbeknownst to us will rear his head throughout our trip.
I drink four shots of vodka.
"I can't believe that I'm this fucked and still conscious", I say between giggling fits.
N. Arrives and consumes half a hit of acid and smokes a bucket. He leaves us and sits down in front of the TV, where he will remain for the duration of the night.
W. Drops 4 cigarettes from his recently open packet down the gaps in the decking. "What are you doing?" I ask.
"The Love Slug is stealing my cigarettes." I experience the most hilarious minutes of my life as we both become convinced that "Jabba, The Love Slug" is living beneath the decking of my beach house.
Eventually I wander inside and plonk myself in front of a window blind with vivid floral print. The colours begin to swirl in a kaleidoscopic morphing of colours and shapes. I almost explode from fascination. Enthralled with this new found ability I stare into numerous surfaces with incredible results. So many patterns and so little time. I am truly having the best time of my life.
W and B soon come inside after a chat out on the deck and we all sit down with N. to watch "A Clockwork Orange." Even the most graphic violence of the movie can't hold our attentions. The concept of telivision seems stragely dull and infantile. We all walk outside after a little bit of eye-candy courtesy of moving wallpaper.
We sit around talking and smoke a little more weed.
"I'm out of smokes, B" says W. "Can I have one of yours". B gives us one each, then another. After an eerie 5 minute silence, B, who has been carefully rationing her U.S. imported Camel Lights, remarks: "Ya'll are some cigarette fiends". With her deep southern drall she continues "Quit being such hoes, ya'll can have one more each, and that's it. I suggest you wait for a while before smoking them." She gives them to us, and without hesitation we smoke them.
Half an hour later W. and I are really craving a smoke. W. remembers that there are 4 left but that "The Love Slug is gaurding them." We both cowered in fear at the prospect of having to face The Love Slug, but agree that it is the only way to get more cigarettes. W. goes inside and emerges without a t-shirt, a tea-towel around his head, and a torch (flashlight) in his hand. He crawls under the deck and begins screaming. "Oh my GOD!", I scream. "The Love Slug is eating W!!" For the next five minutes I am convinced that W. was being consumed by a 6 foot slimy cassanova worm. Terror gripps my soul. When W. finally emerges from the deck I am so relieved I almost cry. W. stands on the bench and triumphantly holds aloft his 4 cigarettes like a trophy stolen from a slain mythical being. They were the sweetest cigarettes of my life.
The time is 4 am. N. emerges with eyes like saucers and anounces he has to leave for Hobart because he has an Optometrist appointment in 4 hours. The hilarity of this statement is not wasted on us. I laugh until tears stream down my face. He asks how to get back to Hobart. I tell just to go straight. W. ammusingly remarks that there is no chance of this happening as he is everything but straight.
When N. leaves we head down to the beach to watch the sun rise. The clouds are a shining golden, pink and their warmth eminates around me. B. who is normally very reserved about expressing that she is mind altered states "I'm tripping balls". This completes a superb night for W and I. We feel vicarious pleasure surge through us as B. grudgingly admits she has had an incredible, entertaining, hilarious night.
We put our arms around each other and enjoy the love of the best of friends, that know they won't be together for much longer. "What an incredible night", I say.
We all cuddle up and drift off to sleep lying in the soft sand of the beach as the sun rises majestically over us. Warm waves gently lap at our ankles, the wind rustles in the dunes, and peace consumes us.
