illimex
Bluelighter
The window was only slightly cracked, permitting a fresh bout of wind to circulate into the
car as it glided down interstate 77. The heater was on, of course, as my feet always get
cold, and this mix of temperate fluxuation was slightly intoxicating, considering the
recently ingested MDMA. I thought of my conversation with a friend, earlier that day;
He lifted the tab on the Listerine Breathmint pack and showed them to me, the multicolored
array of medicinal beauties, and I laid my fifteen dollars on the coffee table.
"Keep it," he said, pouring the the rolls into his hand, "each of these are from the
Netherlands, none of that Chinese shit. Which ones do you want?"
I leaned in, gazing at the little round treats as if mesmorized by their simplistic
aesthetics. Blue, Green, Pink, Yellow, it was like a fucking box of lucky charms.
"Ones?" I asked, "Like as in, more than uno, like two? or three?"
"Shit, take five bro. I got a whole bunch more where these came from."
I pondered at the thought of 5 beans. I could only handle one, maybe one and a half at
most, so I knew they would last me a couple weeks at the very least. I didn't party, I
didn't go out much, and whenever I rolled, a night at home with some music was good enough
for me. Even under the influence of Ecstasy, I was never very social.
It didn't matter which ones I took, these were the shit, these were pure bliss straight out
of Europe, so I grabbed my share, not bothering with colors.
"Rock on buddy."
I looked up at my friend.
"You sure you don't want any money for these? I could pay you back over time or some shit."
He laughed and put the remaining pills back into the little case.
"Don't worry about it dude. I get this shit every week by the hundreds."
"Damn, how did you get that hookup?" I asked, fairly surprised. It had been a couple years
since my bro had been around. Straight as a fucking dog dick when he left for the navy.
The navy.... of all places to be corrupted.
"I met someone overseas...we made nice." He laughed and I laughed as he slipped the case
into his pocket and headed toward the door.
"Look, I gotta head out. I got some people waiting for me down at the club."
"I bet."
He began opening the door and stopped short. He turned to me.
"Look," he said, " I know I don't have to tell you to be quiet."
"Shit." I said in mock disgust.
"If you find anyone with some money and a desire, let me know, okay?"
"I might know a couple people. I'll get a hold of you, aight?"
He nodded and smiled, and shut the door behind him. I saw the lights of his car
illuminating the backside of my window blinds, then silently fade out. I went to bed.
So went the day. And now, there I was, driving down 77 with a pill and a half surging
through my brain. None of the symptoms of other people affected me. No tremors, jaw
clenching, eye jiggles and what-have-you to distract me from my vehicle operating tasks.
Just the all consuming bliss of reality under a microscope.
Everything looked so clear, the lights, the night, the moon out the passenger side window
were all bathed in a perfection unbeknownst to man until this very moment. I smiled at my
insightfulness, an overpass whizzing by my Sunfire, pillars like a great Greek or Roman
architectural marvel racing on either side of me as I drove through. The world felt
ultimately surreal.
I glanced up at the sign, destination; Statesville. Mileage? 35.
A friend of mine was running a club on the seedy end of town, a friend I knew, who had quite
a bit of money. It had been a week since I had talked to friend numero uno, so I gathered
the balls to leave my wife at home sleeping while I left on my endeavour to visit friend
numero dose. I too, could make some money in this situation, and lord knows we needed it.
Lord also knows, my wife was as dead set against pilling and drugs in general as DARE on
crack. What she didn't know, wouldn't kill me.
I continued driving, watching the mirrors, the mileage, gas gauge, the meters on the stereo,
the road, and everything at once. I couldn't help myself. I did this for another 20
minutes.
My exit came, and I rolled down the offramp onto the road, yeilding for any oncoming
traffic, none of which was, I mean, oncoming. It was dark, unusually dark and I took a
right onto B. Gardner and passed three stores, before seeing the broken neon Siren hanging
in the sky. It belonged in the sky, I thought. It was Ironic, the Siren song calling me
from home. Only those who were tied down wouldn't die, I suppose. I parked the car and
exited.
The clouds above me floated past in such a graceful manner against the night sky, I had to
stop. I had to take in the world, from where I stood, and if I tried hard enough I knew
that I could.
I stepped inside the front door. I knew the guard dog, guy named Ramon, like Top Ramon. He
was the "Top Dog", I thought, and smiled to myself. Music attacked my soul as I turned the
corner.
My little japanese friend was spinning a set and so I took a seat to watch the lazers and
take in the sounds. Everything was ebbing and flowing like the tides of a great planet,
something far greater than earth. Some people were dancing, swinging glowsticks around on
ropes, or sliding them up and down there arms. I was not fortunate enough to witness what
they call "trails" or "slo-mo", but it was pretty damned neat-looking anyway, if not a bit
tired.
A guy walked up to me.
"Hey man, you got some beans?"
I turned in utter, real disgust, and then saw who it was.
"Justin, what the fuck is up?" I asked him, eyeing his candy kid persona with a bit of
leftover disdain.
"Nada. I haven't seen you in while. Where you been?"
"Home. Kids. Work. Same shit different minute. You?"
He held his hands out as if presenting me with the environment and shrugged.
"Here, I suppose. It's pretty dry around here lately though, after that big bust and all."
"Yeah, I heard about that." I felt the little bag of pills through my carpenters pant
pocket. "Anyone you know?"
"Nobody I know. Milan might know, but not me."
I could see his mouth was filled with glowing shit.
"Speaking of Milan, when is he done with his set? I need to talk to him."
"He just started."
Justin sat down, taking a big drink of his Evian bottle. I noticed the full bottles of
liqour behind the bar and thought of the dark, dingy bars back in Wyoming where I came from.
This was a whole different world, a world that every place should be like, at least,
according to me.
"So, do you have any?" he asked again.
"Maybe I do. It'll cost you." I knew Justin. But hey, If I could make 20 bucks, then I
could make 20 bucks.
We made the exchange and he stared down at his pill.
"This ain't smacky is it?"
I about choked.
"How many fucking times do I have to tell you, Ecstasy doesn't have fucking heroin in it?
This is like the fourth time, Justin. Don't you read about what you stick in your fucking
body? Erowid dot com, dude."
"Oh, yeah." He chewed his pill up, wincing at the bitterness.
I wondered. Maybe MDMA does kill brain cells.
But probably only in the common man.
[ 07 February 2003: Message edited by: illimex ]
car as it glided down interstate 77. The heater was on, of course, as my feet always get
cold, and this mix of temperate fluxuation was slightly intoxicating, considering the
recently ingested MDMA. I thought of my conversation with a friend, earlier that day;
He lifted the tab on the Listerine Breathmint pack and showed them to me, the multicolored
array of medicinal beauties, and I laid my fifteen dollars on the coffee table.
"Keep it," he said, pouring the the rolls into his hand, "each of these are from the
Netherlands, none of that Chinese shit. Which ones do you want?"
I leaned in, gazing at the little round treats as if mesmorized by their simplistic
aesthetics. Blue, Green, Pink, Yellow, it was like a fucking box of lucky charms.
"Ones?" I asked, "Like as in, more than uno, like two? or three?"
"Shit, take five bro. I got a whole bunch more where these came from."
I pondered at the thought of 5 beans. I could only handle one, maybe one and a half at
most, so I knew they would last me a couple weeks at the very least. I didn't party, I
didn't go out much, and whenever I rolled, a night at home with some music was good enough
for me. Even under the influence of Ecstasy, I was never very social.
It didn't matter which ones I took, these were the shit, these were pure bliss straight out
of Europe, so I grabbed my share, not bothering with colors.
"Rock on buddy."
I looked up at my friend.
"You sure you don't want any money for these? I could pay you back over time or some shit."
He laughed and put the remaining pills back into the little case.
"Don't worry about it dude. I get this shit every week by the hundreds."
"Damn, how did you get that hookup?" I asked, fairly surprised. It had been a couple years
since my bro had been around. Straight as a fucking dog dick when he left for the navy.
The navy.... of all places to be corrupted.
"I met someone overseas...we made nice." He laughed and I laughed as he slipped the case
into his pocket and headed toward the door.
"Look, I gotta head out. I got some people waiting for me down at the club."
"I bet."
He began opening the door and stopped short. He turned to me.
"Look," he said, " I know I don't have to tell you to be quiet."
"Shit." I said in mock disgust.
"If you find anyone with some money and a desire, let me know, okay?"
"I might know a couple people. I'll get a hold of you, aight?"
He nodded and smiled, and shut the door behind him. I saw the lights of his car
illuminating the backside of my window blinds, then silently fade out. I went to bed.
So went the day. And now, there I was, driving down 77 with a pill and a half surging
through my brain. None of the symptoms of other people affected me. No tremors, jaw
clenching, eye jiggles and what-have-you to distract me from my vehicle operating tasks.
Just the all consuming bliss of reality under a microscope.
Everything looked so clear, the lights, the night, the moon out the passenger side window
were all bathed in a perfection unbeknownst to man until this very moment. I smiled at my
insightfulness, an overpass whizzing by my Sunfire, pillars like a great Greek or Roman
architectural marvel racing on either side of me as I drove through. The world felt
ultimately surreal.
I glanced up at the sign, destination; Statesville. Mileage? 35.
A friend of mine was running a club on the seedy end of town, a friend I knew, who had quite
a bit of money. It had been a week since I had talked to friend numero uno, so I gathered
the balls to leave my wife at home sleeping while I left on my endeavour to visit friend
numero dose. I too, could make some money in this situation, and lord knows we needed it.
Lord also knows, my wife was as dead set against pilling and drugs in general as DARE on
crack. What she didn't know, wouldn't kill me.
I continued driving, watching the mirrors, the mileage, gas gauge, the meters on the stereo,
the road, and everything at once. I couldn't help myself. I did this for another 20
minutes.
My exit came, and I rolled down the offramp onto the road, yeilding for any oncoming
traffic, none of which was, I mean, oncoming. It was dark, unusually dark and I took a
right onto B. Gardner and passed three stores, before seeing the broken neon Siren hanging
in the sky. It belonged in the sky, I thought. It was Ironic, the Siren song calling me
from home. Only those who were tied down wouldn't die, I suppose. I parked the car and
exited.
The clouds above me floated past in such a graceful manner against the night sky, I had to
stop. I had to take in the world, from where I stood, and if I tried hard enough I knew
that I could.
I stepped inside the front door. I knew the guard dog, guy named Ramon, like Top Ramon. He
was the "Top Dog", I thought, and smiled to myself. Music attacked my soul as I turned the
corner.
My little japanese friend was spinning a set and so I took a seat to watch the lazers and
take in the sounds. Everything was ebbing and flowing like the tides of a great planet,
something far greater than earth. Some people were dancing, swinging glowsticks around on
ropes, or sliding them up and down there arms. I was not fortunate enough to witness what
they call "trails" or "slo-mo", but it was pretty damned neat-looking anyway, if not a bit
tired.
A guy walked up to me.
"Hey man, you got some beans?"
I turned in utter, real disgust, and then saw who it was.
"Justin, what the fuck is up?" I asked him, eyeing his candy kid persona with a bit of
leftover disdain.
"Nada. I haven't seen you in while. Where you been?"
"Home. Kids. Work. Same shit different minute. You?"
He held his hands out as if presenting me with the environment and shrugged.
"Here, I suppose. It's pretty dry around here lately though, after that big bust and all."
"Yeah, I heard about that." I felt the little bag of pills through my carpenters pant
pocket. "Anyone you know?"
"Nobody I know. Milan might know, but not me."
I could see his mouth was filled with glowing shit.
"Speaking of Milan, when is he done with his set? I need to talk to him."
"He just started."
Justin sat down, taking a big drink of his Evian bottle. I noticed the full bottles of
liqour behind the bar and thought of the dark, dingy bars back in Wyoming where I came from.
This was a whole different world, a world that every place should be like, at least,
according to me.
"So, do you have any?" he asked again.
"Maybe I do. It'll cost you." I knew Justin. But hey, If I could make 20 bucks, then I
could make 20 bucks.
We made the exchange and he stared down at his pill.
"This ain't smacky is it?"
I about choked.
"How many fucking times do I have to tell you, Ecstasy doesn't have fucking heroin in it?
This is like the fourth time, Justin. Don't you read about what you stick in your fucking
body? Erowid dot com, dude."
"Oh, yeah." He chewed his pill up, wincing at the bitterness.
I wondered. Maybe MDMA does kill brain cells.
But probably only in the common man.
[ 07 February 2003: Message edited by: illimex ]
