Dream of: 31 August 1997 (2) "Tripping"

When I awoke in the morning, I realized I was in Portsmouth. I recalled that I had been at a party the previous night, and had run into my old buddy Phil Lane, whom I hadn't seen in many years. Now, the next morning, thinking back on the previous night, I regretted that while I had been sitting on a couch talking with Lane, I hadn't asked him more about his life, hadn't inquired about what had become of him over the years. I knew in the past I had had several dreams about Lane, and I had always thought I would like to run into him again and see how he had made out in life. But at the party, instead of talking about his life, we had only talked about my buying some drugs from him. After all these years, Lane was still dealing drugs, and at the moment he just happened to have some for sale. I had been interested in buying some marijuana from him, but had been galvanized to learn that he had some LSD. He only had two hits left, two small round white tablets about the size of aspirins. He was saving one hit for himself to take the following morning; but he said he could sell me the other hit for some paltry sum, a dollar or two. He said the acid was particularly pure and highly recommended it. Without hesitation I had bought the acid.

I had ended up spending the night at Mike Walls' house on Jackson Street where Walls had lived with his parents when we had been in high school. And now, the following morning, lying on my back, I was contemplating what I would do with the hit of acid which I still had. I had recently met a woman who had never tried acid, and I was thinking of letting her have it – or of taking half of it myself, and giving her the other half. The more I thought about it, however, the more I wanted to just take the whole hit myself. I finally pulled myself to my feet and walked to the shelf where I had laid the tablet the night before.

Shock and surprise. Somehow the tablet had been smashed, and all that was left was a little pile of powder, with part of the powder blown away from the center like the tail of a comet. Obviously there was nothing more to think about: I needed to take the acid immediately before something happened and all the powder was blown away. I quickly began dipping my index finger into the powder and putting the finger into my mouth, wetting my finger each time so the powder would stick to it. Once, I noticed that some dried white paint was near the powdered acid, and afraid I might get some of the toxic paint in my mouth, I carefully avoided the paint. When I had almost finished, the area of the powder turned brown, muddy-colored. Apparently some dirt had been near the powder, and when my wet finger had moistened the dirt, it had turned to mud. On my last try I stuck my finger into the mud, trying to get the last little bit of powder, but it looked as if indeed I had reached the end.


I was driving my car, headed for the Gay Street House where I had been living lately with my father; he would be there. I usually came home at night, but he wouldn't be upset if I had stayed out all night. I would tell him I had stayed with Walls. However I was a bit ashamed of that. Walls had become such a reprobate over the years, having accomplished nothing with his life. I hated it to be known that I had again been associating with him. But, for that matter, what had I done with my life? I wasn't working anymore. I had debts to pay. I wasn't a reprobate like Walls, but I had precious little to show for my life. Feeling deflated.

The acid was beginning to take effect much quicker than I had expected. I should have anticipated as much; since I had taken the acid in powder form, of course it would react quickly. Already beginning to have trouble driving, uncertain of my speed, and unable to judge distance well.

At the same time the feel of the drug: Sensational. I was driving west on Gallia Street, the main east-west artery through downtown. The vista ahead of me seemed to be pulsing with life. I only wondered if I had taken enough acid. When I tripped, I liked to get the full effects. I wondered if it might be possible to call Lane and try to buy the other hit from him. Maybe if I offered him $10 he would sell it. But I doubted he would, or that I would go to the hassle. Hopefully the one hit would do.

I knew I was on the verge of hallucinating, and I just wanted to reach home before things got out of control. Not much farther. I turned up the street behind the post office and headed down the two blocks toward the stop sign. But suddenly I realized the acid had already had such an effect on me, I couldn't judge just how fast I was going or how far away the stop sign was. I began putting on the brakes, but the sign kept coming at me. I was almost ready to panic when suddenly the car came to a stop right in front of the sign.

The House was only a half black away and I slowly and safely made my way to it. I was hoping that once I went inside, I would be able to cope with seeing my father. That might be difficult. What if I started hallucinating while I was around him? I got out of the car, up to the back porch, and walked through the back door into the kitchen, where my father and another person were standing. They were talking to each other and they didn't seem to pay much attention to me. That was all for the best, because I didn't feel as if I could talk. As if my tongue were frozen. I just wanted to get past them and back to a room by myself.

But suddenly I remembered something: my pet Dalmatian Picasso had been with me. I vaguely recalled that he must have been following my car, running along behind it. That meant he must still be outside. I hurried back out, my eyes skittering up and down the street. Failing to spot him, I feared he might have strayed into the heavy traffic on Gay Street. If he were killed I would probably just flip out. I couldn't imagine what it would be like if I were tripping and I found his body in the middle of the street. Probably would not be able to handle it.

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