The effects of an elixir catalyzed a catastrophe – all of my relations open their mouths at the same time and say “Why did you do it – you know it’s illegal!”
Still Schedule 1 as of 2013 – What some feel is the superconductive gold at the end of a contorted rainbow …
That’s a more sane survey of what happened to me in August 1997 when i thought i would end a busy work week with two capsules of what I thought were MDMA. Little did i know that it would set in motion genetic gears which would leave my normal cognition trying to pick up the pieces of the mirror struck by a rock of social defiance.
I was in California, ready with a fat paycheque to visit back home in Canada and I decided to “party-up” my last night in the US of A. This was before 9/11 and I was thinking my return to the East Coast would be a clean sweep of all my ambitions to reconnect with friends and hey, you never know I could make that important connection tonight, you never know with these things. Indeed, I made an important connection; to a responsibility for my own mind. The E wasn’t taking effect so I took the other one. The period-redoubling and recursion of the chemical cyclotron sped up, and started creating problems to solve, as if i didn’t have enough already.
Imagine you already can’t see the forest from the trees, then a lost fragment of self decides to throw in some thorny bushes. Then the pain begins – the pain and passion of a young boy who only wanted a good time – now he’s the split-brained martyr, James the hunter-gatherer looking for differences between potential girlfriends and sisters; or perhaps the differences didn’t matter. Girls first. Do I like guys? (At least I could recognize that this was a woman’s question).
Why didn’t I do everything myself? I felt the second E hit something and heard a response, in a voice sounding like it had come over the K-Mart loudspeakers “A Habit Has Formed”. Was this some new form of consumer trance-channeling?
They tell you that a real man can quit for good …
Perhaps it was, going out on a paranoid and tenuous limb here, me overhearing some American Military-Industrial-Complex “Shopper Surveillance” Artificial Intelligence entity. Or, perhaps it was just me being hard on myself as i lit another cigarette. At least it was an American Spirit rather than Marlboro (or the endless walk-a-mile for a Camel).
A lode of heart …
So the two Es in my system – system here sounding like the membranous boundaries between society, computer and self – and I wasn’t “Getting Lucky” like my Loverboy memories would intimate. Crouching, smoking, and generally appearing like a normal i tried to “see what I wanted to do next” and was only left with a feeling that i was in the middle of a personal earthquake, loss of cognitive voice – what was in those Atlantean crystals?
Now-a-days I am not smoking to get high – to get that bit of confidence from the shreds of myself which sometimes drop charismatically into my train of thought. A train-of-thought that has problems with borders and boundaries like the rest of a post-terrorist 21st Century.
Having accepted my illness as something both ingenuine to my person, as well as something I decided foolishly to speed up, I now am left old and fumbling clumsily with memories which may involve me, or maybe they are just the “News of The World” and I have to find myself, my spirit, within it.
Alone, now shy beyond belief and looking for the commensurance of social service that can arrive in my bank account guided by Angels …
Still one missing … or so say the Greeks.
eraserweb 