I think you're missing the timeless wonder of the experience. See, nobody was actually murdered, yet vicariously, we were able to experience the full range of ... well, y'know. It totally rocked.
Gotcha, gotcha... just pulling your leg...
I once thought shadows were following me over the sides of buildings on the Upper East Side at 2 o' clock in the morning... the streetlights birthing vague, impotent demons who cackled silently while they chased me through the streets.
Hee hee... that reminds me... so the night of which I was speaking just now... I had gotten high on DXM and acid, so was very hallucinatory and disembodied... went off to a deli (corner shop) to get some beers... it was about 1, 1:30 am and the streets were empty. I should recall, outloud, that I was 17 or so, still in high school and with a face that bespoke sweetness and massive insecurity, but certainly not adulthood. So I enter this deli and walk to the back... my heart is rattling the cage of my ribs... and I walk to the counter with a six-pack of beer. There, standing there, eyes slatted with sleep, is a Chinese man who's probably wondering why he has to deal with an underage drug-user. So he looks at me, sizes me up, and asks:
"That is it?"
"Y-y-y-yeah... that's it, that's it. uhum..." I clear my throat, flick my gaze to the door leading out into those cool, dark streets, and look back at him.
"Let me see ID."
shit... this fucker... so i don't know what to do... my high school ID card clearly shows a birthday that would work out to my being 17... but something about the haze of my high stops me from simply saying, oh forget it, and walking out. I hand him the card.
What have I done? Why? Why bother with prolonging the rejection? Why give him something that is proof-positive of the illegality of the transaction? He's not going to send me to jail or anything, it's not that... but I know my chances are shot the moment he cards me...
He's squinting at the card, grasping both ends and peering into picture and text, bringing it closer and closer to his face... as if attempting to divine something that lay deeper than the mere outward forms of the letters, perhaps looking to the glimmer of my soul that was captured by freak-accident in the flash of the camera which bore its cycloptic gaze into my nervously smiling face, way back when I had first joined high school.
well, I've built up the suspense long enough. He handed the card back to me, accepted my cash, and nodded me, beer in hand, out of the store.
WHAT?!??!?!?! WHAT the bloody hell just transpired here?! He called my bluff, he knew I wasn't 21... so, unwittingly, I called his bluff.... this guy couldn't read English.... there's no other explanation.
Talk about weird circumstances feeding into an acid/dxm high.
For the next two hours, I gallavanted around the periphery of Central Park, drinking merrily (marry, sir, nose-painting?) and dancing with the demons flickering on and off the walls of the apartment buildings and townhouses of the Upper East Side.
Last edited by Samuel De Mazarin; 07-22-2008 at 11:55 AM.
Madman's azure lie: a zen miasma ruled.
Realize us, Madman!
I razed a slum, Amen.
unlike 'regular' folk, you thought the experience (at least in retrospect) was kind of awesome... as opposed to "oooh.... it was terrible... I'm going to go become a perennially self-fondling teetotaler."
That was my sister's reaction to her first and only ever joint
Ils se d�merdent, les mecs: trop bon, trop con..................................MY BLOG!
"When it all comes down to dust
I will kill you if I must
I will help you if I can" - Leonard Cohen