An outline of my situation at the moment, or
We Either Have to Fight or Jerk Off, Because I Can't Take This Tension Anymore.
***
Lucky, shirt off, tipping the Hurricane into a Big Gulp says, you gotta treat this experience like a vacation. You'll meet a nice boy just like you, with the same problems as you, and you'll have yourself a summer romance. 24 hours later, across the state, now I'm waiting for a guy to get back to me. His name's Robert and lied about his age by five years, which didn't do him any favors. For a man of 38, he looks deplorable. But at 43, he's halfway decent. He calls himself a "white-collar hippie", which I think means a hippie who has sold out. He promises I'll the coke I could ever want, a tight ass, a fat dick, a hot tub, a nice view of the city. A good place to party. A loft in the strip where I went once at thirteen. A party at a poetry teacher's house. I don't like to sound like a whore. But I want the drugs. I tell him, I'm not looking for drama. I sorely need some recreation, chemically and sexually. I've only insufflated, which means to snort, something only once before, at thirteen, a tablet of Prozac found in the basement. All I can remember is that it burned. Now, painfully sober, I'm thinking back to that last night in Philly, starving, numbed by one joint, something good and chronic cut fifty/fifty with what Sebastian can squeeze out of a cigarette, I remember how good it felt when I walked into a Popeye's and my vision started to go. A haze, and then total blindness for a few minutes. I smelled grease and I heard voices. I waited for my food and my eyes to come back to me.
***
I didn't see that man, I didn't do the coke, and I'll step back a few days now.
***
I come to Philly Saturday, Aug. 22, 6:30 in the morning after a three week stint in Pittsburgh following my grandfather's funeral. Sleepless, giddy, bored, I cruise a gay site and find a boy at U Penn with more 2C-E than he knows what to do with. I go see him around noon, we drop together, and venture out into the city, as it is best to do when taking these things. If you stay in constant motion during the come up, you miss the body load, the nausea, and the trip comes up on you as a nice little surprise.
***
Hours later, we're sitting in an upscale frozen yogurt place, at the counter, gulping mango and watermellon flavors, staring out at the street. And the street starts to melt. I gotta be vague about my description of this trip, because it is the nature of the drug, and most hallucinogens, that time does strange things. You can sit for hours, or cover vast distances on foot, and you are neither tired nor completely awake. The world works by a logic which is most comparable to that of a dream.
I felt like a super hero, given the gift of strange electrical impulses, everything buzzes and tingles. Have you seen True Blood? The trip is comparable to the effects of V, the blood of vampires, without all the hoodoo and drama.
***
When it's over, around three in the morning, I feel dirty and exhausted. I sleep through most of Sunday, wake up very early Monday morning, physically and emotionally drained, facing the reality of my situation...
***
I won't describe my symptoms, the plague of some "mood disorder", for I've done that entirely too much that last few days, and I'll have to do it many more times.
***
I fucked up miserably my last semester at school, failed several classes, consequently have now lost a significant portion of my financial aid. In order to regain this aid, a counselor at temple tells me, I'll have to go home, seek treatment. I gotta go home. My mother acts as if I'm personally trying to spite her with my actions.
***
I have one last night, described before. Then I go back to Pittsburgh.
***
Now I'm seeking that treatment, ambiguous, invisible. I'm yet to be told what I have, except by my mother, who has interpreted my coming home as my surrender to her. I couldn't feel any more different about my situation. I'm not able to give up my independence. This clash has created more stress in my life than anything else in recent memory. I'm not exactly happy.
***
***
Lucky, shirt off, tipping the Hurricane into a Big Gulp says, you gotta treat this experience like a vacation. You'll meet a nice boy just like you, with the same problems as you, and you'll have yourself a summer romance. 24 hours later, across the state, now I'm waiting for a guy to get back to me. His name's Robert and lied about his age by five years, which didn't do him any favors. For a man of 38, he looks deplorable. But at 43, he's halfway decent. He calls himself a "white-collar hippie", which I think means a hippie who has sold out. He promises I'll the coke I could ever want, a tight ass, a fat dick, a hot tub, a nice view of the city. A good place to party. A loft in the strip where I went once at thirteen. A party at a poetry teacher's house. I don't like to sound like a whore. But I want the drugs. I tell him, I'm not looking for drama. I sorely need some recreation, chemically and sexually. I've only insufflated, which means to snort, something only once before, at thirteen, a tablet of Prozac found in the basement. All I can remember is that it burned. Now, painfully sober, I'm thinking back to that last night in Philly, starving, numbed by one joint, something good and chronic cut fifty/fifty with what Sebastian can squeeze out of a cigarette, I remember how good it felt when I walked into a Popeye's and my vision started to go. A haze, and then total blindness for a few minutes. I smelled grease and I heard voices. I waited for my food and my eyes to come back to me.
***
I didn't see that man, I didn't do the coke, and I'll step back a few days now.
***
I come to Philly Saturday, Aug. 22, 6:30 in the morning after a three week stint in Pittsburgh following my grandfather's funeral. Sleepless, giddy, bored, I cruise a gay site and find a boy at U Penn with more 2C-E than he knows what to do with. I go see him around noon, we drop together, and venture out into the city, as it is best to do when taking these things. If you stay in constant motion during the come up, you miss the body load, the nausea, and the trip comes up on you as a nice little surprise.
***
Hours later, we're sitting in an upscale frozen yogurt place, at the counter, gulping mango and watermellon flavors, staring out at the street. And the street starts to melt. I gotta be vague about my description of this trip, because it is the nature of the drug, and most hallucinogens, that time does strange things. You can sit for hours, or cover vast distances on foot, and you are neither tired nor completely awake. The world works by a logic which is most comparable to that of a dream.
I felt like a super hero, given the gift of strange electrical impulses, everything buzzes and tingles. Have you seen True Blood? The trip is comparable to the effects of V, the blood of vampires, without all the hoodoo and drama.
***
When it's over, around three in the morning, I feel dirty and exhausted. I sleep through most of Sunday, wake up very early Monday morning, physically and emotionally drained, facing the reality of my situation...
***
I won't describe my symptoms, the plague of some "mood disorder", for I've done that entirely too much that last few days, and I'll have to do it many more times.
***
I fucked up miserably my last semester at school, failed several classes, consequently have now lost a significant portion of my financial aid. In order to regain this aid, a counselor at temple tells me, I'll have to go home, seek treatment. I gotta go home. My mother acts as if I'm personally trying to spite her with my actions.
***
I have one last night, described before. Then I go back to Pittsburgh.
***
Now I'm seeking that treatment, ambiguous, invisible. I'm yet to be told what I have, except by my mother, who has interpreted my coming home as my surrender to her. I couldn't feel any more different about my situation. I'm not able to give up my independence. This clash has created more stress in my life than anything else in recent memory. I'm not exactly happy.
***