the earliest I remember, I was in someone's place.
car wreck. can't slow down fast enough. it seems it slows down to a certain speed and just keeps going like it's on ice, not that it's on ice. the wreck was up the road. many people i knew around. i managed to stop by putting the car sideways.
there were lots of plants. i bought a lot of plants. i hadn't realized how obsessive it got, flowers hanging from the ceiling. cacti, and flowers. some looked like power-flowers.
there was a book that I found, that showed cave-men looking people, and a christian cross. the book was orange. i associated it with my mythology book that my mom got me for christmas years ago. i found it under a tree, a pine tree, undamaged, opened to a picture of a- an image of a red fox.
there was a dead reptile, or some kind of half plant half reptile-like thing, in the porch area or whatever it was that i had gathered all these plants in. screened in porch-like. some plants were dying of neglect, already. i didn't remember i had so many. i was in a ladies house, this whole time, using this space. she didn't mind too much. her son had just died. sometimes i felt insensitive. she said she had to make room, i think, for a baby, who was coming some way or another in june. that it was okay if i stayed until then.
my grandmother was there. she had a painted face. she's deceased. purple/violet with reflective paint mixed in. like a dancer. lines, simple lines. minimal. in ways hindu-like. she looked tiny, compared to how she looked. younger. but i knew she had been dead. it was almost as if she didn't know. i think her clothing might have been purples, as well. she remembered falling just a moment ago, and we were too busy to deal with her, on a personal level, like people seem to with old people sometimes.
an older black lady, dressed in orange, had just gotten mad at some of us for being away from the group. and perhaps because we were using opium. we were in an "opium den". a basement of sorts. I descended in there following my brother in law's lead- a brother in law who does not use drugs, though may have experimented with marijuana, and has a thing for coffee. and hiking, and writing, and writing about God. he was really open and not considering it a bad thing at all, more like an adventure- an activity, which was surprising to me. so nonchalant. i thought maybe it got him closer to God in some way. i had my head down, my hat on, and traded the first hit out of a stone pipe, with a stone pipe of my own, giving it to the one who had the stuff, but then he seemed to give it back, or to another. the stuff was very potent, and the taste rich, like a coffee-marijuana resin. not like the flowery opium i know. i took a deep hit, and held onto the pipe, which seemed to bother one guy, or worry him that i may drop it, but i maintained, and made eye contact, and then handed it off to him. and he is the one who had the pipe i gave.
i then noticed everyone. i knew them. the guy who had the opium that we were using was one, and then another, who was J.R., a guy I used to be friends with, but who friendship sort of dropped with, perhaps after I took his girlfriend on a date, when they weren't dating. but they dated for years and years, from middle school through college, with periods of being broken up. i was always curious about her, from childhood on she was my longest crush, and i saw her first, and he just got with her, first, not having any idea of my 7 year crush, and i didn't hold it against him, so, what a fucker. anyways. he married christina, and here he had the opium. but it was another guys. and i knew all of them. and though brandon, my brother in law, brought me down there, i don't remember seeing him again.
i had a thought while sitting there feeling the first hit come on that i should have taken more. my seat reclined back, and forth. flexible. i wanted more. but i was fine with the one hit, on that idea that i did want more, and might want more after. not that pure opium is that addictive, i guess.
the lady in orange made us stop. black lady. big orange hat. salmon-orange, actually, was her clothing color?
j.r. shook his head, in annoyance, and we acknowledged we both felt the same, with eye contact. who is this lady? of course, she wanted us to rejoin the group, so, eh. she might be right.
here is where my grandmother showed up, with painted lines on her face, on her forehead, and down from her eyes on her cheeks, wavey lines, plum-silver, and purple. slightly smaller.
i remember walking with my dad, earlier on. he was warning me of a red-wolf spider, that was apparently rather poisonous. i seemed to have no fear of them, or any spiders. i had been spending a lot of time in nature, with plants. gathering plants, perhaps, or taking care of them.
there were tiny little men-things, who were no more than a foot tall. less. they were seemingly covered in snow. they hid in these chambers, on the ground. it was known that they always rested/stood where they could see at least a slice of lava from volcano, or something. something. so i looked where they were looking, and they were looking at these things that might appear like whistles, with a barrel, a half barrel coming out of the ground, formed from fire, or something. they seemed like natural things, these little guys. they were rather moody, too. i'm pretty sure they attacked me when i got between them and their views of these... fire whistles. not whistles at all, but just visually it resembled. ovens, maybe. clay. all natural formations. the men seemed made of clay and snow. what they looked at, religiously, made of clay, and fire. i remember kicking them, when they attacked me. And they just kept coming back, just smaller, and smaller, until maybe there was nothing. they were angry. i was just defending myself. they were like angry insects. they were regarded as something special, and it was unfortunate that i had to do it, but understandable.
car wreck. can't slow down fast enough. it seems it slows down to a certain speed and just keeps going like it's on ice, not that it's on ice. the wreck was up the road. many people i knew around. i managed to stop by putting the car sideways.
there were lots of plants. i bought a lot of plants. i hadn't realized how obsessive it got, flowers hanging from the ceiling. cacti, and flowers. some looked like power-flowers.
there was a book that I found, that showed cave-men looking people, and a christian cross. the book was orange. i associated it with my mythology book that my mom got me for christmas years ago. i found it under a tree, a pine tree, undamaged, opened to a picture of a- an image of a red fox.
there was a dead reptile, or some kind of half plant half reptile-like thing, in the porch area or whatever it was that i had gathered all these plants in. screened in porch-like. some plants were dying of neglect, already. i didn't remember i had so many. i was in a ladies house, this whole time, using this space. she didn't mind too much. her son had just died. sometimes i felt insensitive. she said she had to make room, i think, for a baby, who was coming some way or another in june. that it was okay if i stayed until then.
my grandmother was there. she had a painted face. she's deceased. purple/violet with reflective paint mixed in. like a dancer. lines, simple lines. minimal. in ways hindu-like. she looked tiny, compared to how she looked. younger. but i knew she had been dead. it was almost as if she didn't know. i think her clothing might have been purples, as well. she remembered falling just a moment ago, and we were too busy to deal with her, on a personal level, like people seem to with old people sometimes.
an older black lady, dressed in orange, had just gotten mad at some of us for being away from the group. and perhaps because we were using opium. we were in an "opium den". a basement of sorts. I descended in there following my brother in law's lead- a brother in law who does not use drugs, though may have experimented with marijuana, and has a thing for coffee. and hiking, and writing, and writing about God. he was really open and not considering it a bad thing at all, more like an adventure- an activity, which was surprising to me. so nonchalant. i thought maybe it got him closer to God in some way. i had my head down, my hat on, and traded the first hit out of a stone pipe, with a stone pipe of my own, giving it to the one who had the stuff, but then he seemed to give it back, or to another. the stuff was very potent, and the taste rich, like a coffee-marijuana resin. not like the flowery opium i know. i took a deep hit, and held onto the pipe, which seemed to bother one guy, or worry him that i may drop it, but i maintained, and made eye contact, and then handed it off to him. and he is the one who had the pipe i gave.
i then noticed everyone. i knew them. the guy who had the opium that we were using was one, and then another, who was J.R., a guy I used to be friends with, but who friendship sort of dropped with, perhaps after I took his girlfriend on a date, when they weren't dating. but they dated for years and years, from middle school through college, with periods of being broken up. i was always curious about her, from childhood on she was my longest crush, and i saw her first, and he just got with her, first, not having any idea of my 7 year crush, and i didn't hold it against him, so, what a fucker. anyways. he married christina, and here he had the opium. but it was another guys. and i knew all of them. and though brandon, my brother in law, brought me down there, i don't remember seeing him again.
i had a thought while sitting there feeling the first hit come on that i should have taken more. my seat reclined back, and forth. flexible. i wanted more. but i was fine with the one hit, on that idea that i did want more, and might want more after. not that pure opium is that addictive, i guess.
the lady in orange made us stop. black lady. big orange hat. salmon-orange, actually, was her clothing color?
j.r. shook his head, in annoyance, and we acknowledged we both felt the same, with eye contact. who is this lady? of course, she wanted us to rejoin the group, so, eh. she might be right.
here is where my grandmother showed up, with painted lines on her face, on her forehead, and down from her eyes on her cheeks, wavey lines, plum-silver, and purple. slightly smaller.
i remember walking with my dad, earlier on. he was warning me of a red-wolf spider, that was apparently rather poisonous. i seemed to have no fear of them, or any spiders. i had been spending a lot of time in nature, with plants. gathering plants, perhaps, or taking care of them.
there were tiny little men-things, who were no more than a foot tall. less. they were seemingly covered in snow. they hid in these chambers, on the ground. it was known that they always rested/stood where they could see at least a slice of lava from volcano, or something. something. so i looked where they were looking, and they were looking at these things that might appear like whistles, with a barrel, a half barrel coming out of the ground, formed from fire, or something. they seemed like natural things, these little guys. they were rather moody, too. i'm pretty sure they attacked me when i got between them and their views of these... fire whistles. not whistles at all, but just visually it resembled. ovens, maybe. clay. all natural formations. the men seemed made of clay and snow. what they looked at, religiously, made of clay, and fire. i remember kicking them, when they attacked me. And they just kept coming back, just smaller, and smaller, until maybe there was nothing. they were angry. i was just defending myself. they were like angry insects. they were regarded as something special, and it was unfortunate that i had to do it, but understandable.
