a thing for folding

It's a $20, I swear...
I’m pretty sure I have what Freud referred to as an “oral fixation.” Wait, it’s not as bad as it sounds. Despite what a Google search turns up on the term (porn rules the internet, it would seem), a latent (or adulthood) oral fixation manifests mostly in things like nailbiting, smoking, chewing on junk, etc. Man do I have that. I gnaw on everything. Straws, plastic bottle caps, my own cheek, etc. I don’t typically chew on pen caps, and I don’t bite my nails. I’m more like a goat, just munching on whatever happens to be around. Yesterday Wes came in my cube and asked what I was chewing on… and I wasn’t really shocked when I said “I dunno… I found it on my desk.”

I also have a thing with folding and/or crumpling. If there’s a piece of paper, or any foldable material for that matter, in my hand – I’ll subconsciously fold and crumple it. I do it with stuff that I shouldn’t too, like balling up a receipt while I’m standing in line to return the item that I got it for. I usually only realize what I’m doing when I look down at it. As a kid, I remember being fascinated by repeatedly crumpling and smoothing paper until it had the consistency of cotton. Jeez, maybe my dad was right… maybe I am crazy.

Frank wrote me again, and said he would be doing the gas chamber on what was this past Monday. Man, that must suck. Glad I’m not brave enough, or called by some crazy sense of duty, to go into the Army. No, really, I’m quite proud of him. He and Angela are planning to get married sometime around Christmas, so strange to think of my bro being married. What are those kids gonna be like?

This is the 58th blog entry I’ve done. I don’t think I’ve missed a day yet (not counting weekends). That’s insane.

Dave out.

what doesn’t make the cut

it's like my water...
Still sick, altho possibly on the mend today. TheraFlu comes correct with mediciny goodness, making me feel much better. Fixed the sprinkler yesterday… dug it up and re-piped the whole thing. I couldn’t have broke it better had I been aiming with the assistance of ground-penetrating sonar. I ended up smashing right through a 3/4″-1/2″-1/2″ T joint which connected two different pipe sizes and a sprinkler head. I had to replace the whole junction… ugh. Glad that’s done.

It’s crazy what kinda stuff your brain commits to memory, and what stuff doesn’t make the cut. For instance, I can recall the lyrics to what must be hundreds of random songs… … I brought you a crate of papaya, They waited all night by your door… – but I have trouble remembering stuff I went in debt to learn. I can remember where the 5th Tri-Force was in the Kingdom of Hyrule, as well as how to knock out Don Flamenco and King Hippo in under 30sec – but I can’t for the life of me remember how to balance a chemical equation… and I took exams on that shit. Wanna know how to make Mario get crown-triangle lives by hopping on a turtle shell?, I got ya. What’s that? You say you’re interested in a word-for-word retelling of the “foot massage” scene from Pulp Fiction? I’m your man. You want to know what? No, I’m sorry – I forget exactly where Kentucky is on the map… I’d need a book for that.

It’s like Laplace Transform goes into my brain, attempts to take up residence, and Don Flamenco says “Sorry, me and King Hippo got this space reserved; you might wanna try moving in next door to ‘up-up-down-down-left-right-left-right-B-A-select-start’ or that 6th grade gym locker combination over there.” Poor Laplace, seems like all my available brain space is taken up by completely useless knowledge.

Friday’s party is creepin’ up slow. Ended up reserving a keg o’ Honey Beer from Beermann’s for the soiree. Should be a good time. Expect pictures from the goings-on sometime early next week.

Dave out.

thank you mr. axworthy

cough cough sneeze sniffle
I’m sick. I feel crappy. So today, you get a break from the 3-page blogs while I rest.

I put my old camera up on Ebay, hopefully I can make some cash. I didn’t get to work on the yard or the Halloween stuff much this weekend. I did have to repair the FCG on Sunday, because the blacklight fell from where we mounted it – and was swinging by it’s cord. I also finished a few tombstones and set them in the ground on Sunday, while I had a bout of feeling well. Equally as rad, I discovered Sunday night that while securing the graveyard fence in the front yard, I had managed to pound a piece of rebar through a sprinkler pipe. So, today I have to repair that so I can get the lawn watered again. Not a very productive weekend.

Oh yeah, speaking of the crank ghost – I took some video last night so you can see just how awesome this thing looks. Remember, the final effect includes a haze of fog that obscures the ghost. I didn’t have the fog running for the video, but I still think it’s pretty impressive. Judge for yourself below:


FCG movie for broadband users.
       
FCG movie for dialup users.

I think it looks pretty good! Hope ya liked it, I’ll have more pictures of Halloween night sometime next week. Everyone’s costumes are sounding really awesome, so there should be some good snapshots of the whole affair. Oh yeah, more blog stuff in the news… see, I’m not that crazy…

Dave out.

your bathrobe smells like assault

so I did do some growin' up here...
For some reason, the “blog_ideas.txt” file is blowing up. I’ve got a queue of items I want to write about, but this entry doesn’t contain a single one. Seems I’ve caught onto the “blog craze” or something. Steve said he’s afraid that the blog is starting to take over my life… I hope not. But I do enjoy writing it.

I went through a phase in college where I started writing one-paragraph “memory” things. I would try and write down a memory I had from when I was younger. I wrote these down on September 1st, 1997. It’s really freaky to me how many details that I’ve forgotten between now and when I actually wrote these down. The story about giving the bird to the retarded kid… I had completely forgotten that until I just read it. In the six years since 1997, it was effectively erased from my mind. Maybe I should keep writing things down… lest I lose ’em all one day. Anyway, for your enjoyment (maybe), here are some of ’em.

Some reference for these stories. From about 1st grade on, my family lived in Lompoc, California, at 613 North Y Street. Looking at that map, my house was on that street with the little red pin. The big tree-lined property almost directly underneath that was my school (yeah, I had a long walk). The fields to the north and east of the picture were our playgrounds for dirt clod wars, the big empty looking lot to the right is a church where we would make “tunnels” in the long grass out back. Now on to the stories:

I used to have this fantasy back when I was in fifth grade. There was this kid named Joe who I didn’t like because he was going out with Kristina. I remember thinking that it would be so cool if I could walk upside down on the roof. Like on the walkways around school. I thought about hitting Joe in the head and him not being able to reach me. I thought that everyone would think I was so cool if I could walk on the ceiling. I guess it’s kind of dumb now – but man it sounded so good back then.

We had this huge cardboard box like from a new fridge or something, and we put it in the backyard and climbed inside of it. We drew with markers all on the inside to make it look like a spaceship. It was supposed to be the Millennium Falcon. We put blankets down and drew fake windows with stars and planets in them. We would take those little cheese and cracker things and go inside and eat them on our way to Mars. One day the spaceship got hit by a meteor while my friend Shawn and I were in it. We started cussing and swearing at controls and beating on them. We used lots of bad words like they do in the movies when things break. The box was right under my mom’s bedroom window and she heard us cussing. That night I got in big trouble, and I had to get rid of the spaceship.

We used to have to go to this kid Jason’s house after school because mom and dad were at work. We would walk through the alley behind my house and through the fields to get there. One day I found a book in the alley, it was a very pornographic romance novel. No pictures though, just big words and lots of smut. I wish I could remember the name, something to do with a boat – like “Anchors Away” or something. We hid it way out in the field (we walked that vertical dirt farm road on the left to get from school to Jason’s) under a bunch of dirt clods and we would tear out a new page every day to read on the way to Jason’s house. There were about ten of us that Jason’s mom watched. And one girl told her mom about the pages, I had to go out in the field the next day and bring back the book for my mom to tear up. I got in trouble for that.

We would go over to Jonnie’s house across the street. His sister was in fourth grade and I was in fifth. We were gonna go kiss in the backyard. She said her mom and dad were in the bedroom “humping.” We started rolling around and looking at each other. Like some real movie love scene. Then her dad called all the kids to come in, I had to leave out the gate – no kiss.

There was this Asian family next door to Jonnie’s house and they had a kid who was retarded I think, he didn’t go to school and I think maybe he was in a wheelchair, or couldn’t move or something. All day long they would set him in front of these big sliding glass doors and he would just sit and stare outside. He had really short hair and we always looked at him. He would try to say things to us when the door was open, but he talked funny and you couldn’t understand him. It was all mumbled. I think he must have probably had cerebral palsy or something that I didn’t understand. He was trying to talk to us, and Jonnie’s sister Tina said he was calling me names, she said she could understand what he was saying and that he was calling me mean names. I got mad and gave him the finger, not really even sure what it meant I’m sure. His mother saw me. They told my parents. I cried and said that they made it all up, I cried so hard and so long that my parents believed me. I lied about it so many times that night that I almost believed I didn’t do it either. I said “Why would they make that up about me dad? Why?” I learned then that if you can make yourself believe your own lies, you can make anyone believe them. Probably not the life lessons my parents wanted me to learn. I wonder who that kid was, and what was wrong with him. I hope he didn’t know what I was doing.

It was about a week and a half before Christmas I’d say. My whole family packed into the station wagon and went to get our tree from the lot downtown. We picked out a really big one, we weren’t sure it would fit in our living room. When we got home my dad and I started pulling the tree out of the back of the station wagon, it was already hanging out a little because we couldn’t fit it all in. I remember having jackets on because it was kinda cold. Mom and John had gone inside and John was in the bathroom. My mom came back out the door to help us, we hadn’t quite got the tree out of the back yet. Then I heard a woman screaming for help. There was a new couple that moved in across the street only a few months ago. I looked over and there was this lady running out of the house with only bra and underwear on, she was kinda fat. She was screaming for help, and “he’ll kill me, he’s trying to kill me.” She ran straight for our driveway. My dad and I stared as she ran past us to my mom. We didn’t know her very well, but I remember when she ran past that she had all these big ugly bruises on her legs and back. Then we all went in the house and my mom had given her her bathrobe to wear. My mom called the police for her. After a while she went back across the street. After that my mom’s bathrobe smelled just like that lady. I told her a hated that smell, that it made me sad – it reminded me of that lady. She washed it but I swore I could still smell that lady. Finally she threw the bathrobe out and got a new one. I had never seen anything like that before.

I think James Kokobaker smoked pot in the fifth grade. He thought he was so cool. He went out with Kristina. I hated him, he lived across the railroad tracks from me. One day he asked me to come to his house after school. He was much bigger than me and I thought he wanted to fight me. But for some reason I went anyway. We went inside and played Olympic Skiing on his dad’s computer. I had a great time, and from then on he and I were friends.

Ryan Lopez was sort of weird, but I liked hanging out at his house ’cause it was right next to the park and had a great alley to ride bikes in. His parents were never home. They were always somewhere. He had a big brother that he idolized, he had been in the army and he played guitar and rode a motorcycle. He was really cool. He would tell us ghost stories and give us advice. When he wasn’t home we would go in his room and sit and talk, we thought he was the coolest. Ryan and I used to spray WD-40 on the fence in his backyard and light it on fire. We would draw pictures with the fire, like peace signs, smiley faces, and bad words. I used to have a pretty good time there. But we stopped hanging out that much when I met Shaine. Shaine and I got pretty popular and I guess I kind of ditched Ryan. I used to see him running around the playground while Shaine and I swung on our swings. They played Voltron, and we even sometimes made fun of them. It had been about two years since I’d even talked to Ryan. I was in fifth grade and I was looking outside my living room window. I saw Ryan riding his bike down my street, which was a long way from his house. I remember wondering what he was doing so far away from home, and almost at dinner time too. I went outside and called his name. He saw me and started to pedal faster and went right by me like he didn’t know me. He was wearing his brother’s black wind-breaker jacket with his brother’s name on the back.. He totally ignored me. I remember being mad. I went back inside. The next day I looked for him at school to ask him why he ignored me. When I asked Kristina where Ryan was, she told me. She said that his brother got in an accident on his motorcycle last night, he was dead. I felt sad for Ryan, and bad that I hadn’t talked to him in so long. Maybe he would’ve stopped and talked to me about it. He really loved that guy.

They asked me if I wanted to take the “gifted test.” I was in third grade. I had to put a puzzle together and look at some pictures and tell them things. I don’t remember it being too hard. They told my parents that I was gifted. They said a I could go to this all new gifted school next year. The school was far away and I had to take a bus to get there. All my friends were at my old school. The only person I knew at the new school was Ryan Lopez. He introduced me to his friends Sky and Blue. The swings sucked there, and the classes were weird too. I started to miss all my friends. I told my mom I didn’t like it. I got to go back to my old school in about a week, I was very happy that I wasn’t gifted anymore.

I got my new digital camera yesterday, man it is so awesome. I think I’m gonna sell the old one on Ebay, maybe make some cash. Oh, and even tho I typically don’t like Guided By Voices, I am really digging this song lately… just thought you’d wanna know that.

Dave out.

ego death

sorry, this whole entry should be enclosed in those <begin tanget></end tanget> thangs...
OK, I’m gonna go ahead and get the crazy-talk out of the way before I move on to more regular blog ramblings. Prepare for a full-on URL linkfest, you could read for hours on the links I’m giving you here… For those who want only blog-style goings-on, fast forward a few paragraphs and read the bottom junk. Thanks.

At various times in the past 4 or 5 years, I have been intrigued by the idea of so-called “ego death.” Unlike some of the ideas that get stuck in my brain, I can actually pinpoint how my thoughts were directed to such a seemingly obscure subject:

It all started with an interest in classic alchemy. Spurred, believe it or not, by a Smashing Pumpkins album several years back. Alchemy is the process whereby early “chemists” tried to change (“transmute”) base metals into gold. I read a lot about the processes and ideas of these early chemist-cum-get-rich-quick folks, and was fascinated. Some of the theories and ideas put forth by people like Hermes and Paracelsus just sucked me in and and made me want to learn more (and vintage alchemical imagery is just engrossing to me for some reason). From there, I got interested in “spiritual alchemy,” which led to reading a bit of Jung’s thoughts on it. “Spiritual” alchemy is just the appliance of classic alchemic ideas to the spiritual: the belief that a “base” human can be transformed into a more spiritual being (gold) through a series of transmutations, or refining steps. Somewhere in there I got tangled up with the origins of religion as we know it, which led to some interesting entheobotany research. I read up on that for a while. Including one book which purports (among other things) that the manna that God’s children survived on while lost in the desert was actually psychedelic mushrooms, and that the origins of Christianity were born out of an altered-consciousness “hoax.” It’s a super interesting read, if you’re daring enough to wade through it. (Here’s the Christian refuting for equal-time’s sake.)

Anyway, the entheobotany stuff somehow morphed into an interest in all kinds of Gnostic materials. But before the Gnostic phase, I somehow came across the writings of Terrence McKenna. McKenna is a kind of modern-day Tim Leary, a “pioneer” in the use and “study” of pyschoreactive substances (LSD, mushrooms, plants, etc.). I was reading McKenna when I first heard the term “ego death” or “ego loss,” which in his case was in reference to a psychedelic experience. He himself only accomplished it through the use of psychedelic mushrooms. I don’t know if I want to go eating caps to gain a greater spiritual understanding of my place in the universe, but the ego death thing sure does sound intriguing. From a website:

“It is an ecstatic state, characterized by the loss of boundaries between the subject and the objective world, with ensuing feelings of unity with other people, nature, the entire Universe, and God.”

Sounds kinda awesome. Losing your sense of self or something. Anyway, if anyone knows of some non-drug-taking way to achieve it, let me know. And now that I’ve managed to demonstrate my insanity – I’ll change subjects.

Wanna see how I got three free months of cable and internet and a personal phone call from AT&T Broadband’s VP of customer support? If my dad taught me anything, it’s that you gotta write letters when you’re pissed. It’s an old letter, but I found it while cleaning out my “My Documents” the other day, and thought it was kinda funny.

Dave out.

that show was loud

say what?
Last night was the Strokes show at the Bill Graham in SF. Anthony, Ben, Melissa, Sharaun and I piled in the Ford and headed over. This show was kind of a last-minute decision… I was of the mind that $35 was too much for the Strokes, when I was underwhelmed with their last performance – but Sharaun was persistent and we ended up going. Well, I was wrong. The show was great. The show started at 7:30pm but there were two opening acts we didn’t care to see – so we took our time getting there, stopping for some good Chinese food in Davis. It was in Davis that I realized I didn’t remember how to get to the Bill Graham, and I hadn’t printed out any directions. Undaunted, we headed toward the city.

After getting off near where I thought the venue was, I took us on the scenic tour of SF trying to “home in” on the place. Sharaun eventually broke down and called Pat, who internetted us up some directions from the cross-streets. We showed up at the venue, found some free parking, and picked up the tix at will-call. After clearing the security pat-down, we took a short bathroom break and then hit the general admission floor. The 2nd opening act, The Kings of Leon, were just closing their set. We heard their last two numbers (which sounded pretty OK to me, even tho I didn’t like the album when I downloaded it recently). After a 45min break, the Strokes took the stage. By that time we had managed to push up pretty close and secure some pretty awesome spots. You know, the kind that don’t require head-cranking and toe-bobbing to see well.

The band sounded better than last time (possibly due to a better setup or equipment, which is a direct result of success), Julian (the lead singer) seemed more personable and “into” the show than last year too. He only ended up dropping the F-bomb about 12-13 times (we lost count), which is also a considerable reduction over last year. Plus, I think he was only about half as wasted as he was last year (which, don’t get me wrong, is still way wasted). They played a mix of songs from the new and old albums, favoring the new stuff. It’s a bummer that the new album isn’t out yet, because the crowd excitement lessened on the songs that were unknown (to them). Of course, we’ve had the album for nearly a month now, thanks to the wonders of the internet – so we were rocking right along to every song. The set was a good length, and even though they don’t typically do encores (they are soo rock-‘n’-roll), they fumbled half-heartedly through “Is This It” for us; announcing beforehand that it was “the last F’ing encore we do on this F’ing tour, and you get to hear it.”

The show was LOUD. I mean, so loud at points that the sounds blended into some kind of indistinct warble sound in my right ear (we were to the right of the stage, right in front of the stacks on that side). Man, today my hearing is about 50% on the right side, and I’ve still got that fuzz-hum noise obscuring stuff. It was one of the louder shows I’ve been to lately. However, that said – it was a rockin’ show! The energy was good, and I found my self singing (screaming) along to nearly every track. The band was good, and Julian was in a good mood – making jokes about the band and at one point even announcing the next song as “Diarrhea in Your Mouth” before following up with “… no, not really. Who said that? Did I just say that out loud?” I got a kick out of that.

I think last night was my first night really noticing what I predict to be an upcoming huge concert trend. Looking over the crowd to the stage, there were so many people hoisting their cell phones in the air. They were taking pictures, video, and even grabbing sound clips. I swear one guy got a video clip from each song they performed. What a great idea… how easy it would be to grab some stills or video, and then use that stuff to punctuate a blog entry on the show the next day. Too bad I’m still a cell phone technology holdout, having just upgraded to a color screen myself. I’ll take internet and multimedia on my cell phone when you can assure me that I can make a phone call 100% the time without getting dropped or breaking up.

Oh, and for those who were curious – yesterday’s entry was a true account of an incident that I lived through in 9th grade. It was my first experience with any mind-altering substance, including alcohol. What an introduction, huh?

tea with a lot of caffeine

clicka clicka click
Authors Note, added 2007: Later on in this entry, you’ll read about a drug I took as a teenager. While you may read this and think it’s cool, Angel’s Trumpet contains several highly potent alkaloids that, if taken in too great an amount, can kill you. If you’re considering trying this, or any other entheogenic, plant as a recreational drug, I suggest you do some research. “Angel’s Trumpet” (scientifically known as Brugmansia, and sometimes confused with its close relative Datura) can, and has, killed people before! I would never try this drug again, even in well-metered doses.

I taught myself my own typing method. I mean, I took typing in middle school for like a year – you know, where you learn to use the “home keys,” and all your fingers and junk. I never could get my pinkies to behave, so I developed some kind of hunt-and-peck scheme that has evolved into me being able to type relatively fast without needing to look at the keys. I only use the 1st two fingers on my right hand, and the 1st three on my left. I have about a 5 keystroke to 3 backspace progress ratio. I don’t know what that is in words per second, but it must suck pretty bad.

I’ve been keeping up writing to Frank. I actually sent him some excerpts from the under-construction “Cast of Characters” page. Wow, that’s the first time I’ve actually linked that page without masking it. That must mean I’m getting more confident that it’s nearly ready to go. I only need a few more pictures and hyperlinks and it will be completely finished. Anyway, I copied my section, as well as his and our folks’ into the latest letter – hopefully he’ll get a kick out of it. If it’s your first time reading the page, please forgive me for it’s incompleteness.

The Strokes show is tonight, should be a good time – but a late night. I hooked the FCG up to a timer yesterday, so that she comes on from 7pm to 9pm each night, whether we’re home or not. At least that way the neighborhood can appreciate the sweetness that she is. I don’t know what to write.

I guess it was about 4 or 5 in the afternoon and we had been talking about this all day at school. The other day a friend of my friend had prepared the Angel Trumpet tea by boiling the flowers and plant parts in water. I have no idea how much was boiled, or for how long. The resulting white liquid was poured off into an empty wine bottle. The stuff didn’t really have a smell, but it looked mucous-like, so not appetizing enough to drink straight from the bottle. We decided to mix it with some Sunny Delight. Sunny Delight is very syrupy to begin with, and I think the tea was also somewhat syrupy – so the resulting drink was disgustingly sweet and extremely thick. I filled a medium sized glass about a quarter full with the tea, and the rest with Sunny Delight (I wasn’t sure how much to take, but figured that would be enough to judge for later attempts). Downed the whole glass and a little leftover from my friend’s glass.

Next, it was off to the football game. I felt nothing at all for the entire first half. Around halftime I began to feel very tired, and eventually laid down on the bleachers. I may have fallen asleep, but I am not sure – it seemed like a long time that I was “sleeping,” but it probably only lasted about 10 minutes at the most. When I finally sat up, the tea was starting to work.

Things from this point on are fuzzy at best. I can recall events from this point and a few hours later, but after that I have NO recollection of anything – and rely on others’ accounts of how I was acting, mixed with fleeting memories, fragments.

Immediately I felt “high.” Stoned more like it, although not as mellow. At first very “bouncy,” like having too much caffeine. Soon, I began to experience hallucinations. Small things at first, way off in the distance. The glint of the field lights off the marching band instruments across the field became “dancing stars.” Already things are beginning to get hazy in my memory. The game ended with me still experiencing small visuals and chattering away, talking non-stop about everything I saw.

In the car on the way home, I continued talking. I was now seeing hallucinations on a grander scale, and beginning to interact with them, i.e. holding pens that did not exist, grasping for butterflies that weren’t there.

Once out of the car and at home, my motor skills and balance began to fade. I tripped over a baby-gate blocking the hallway entrance and fell face first into the carpet. At this point the carpet began swirling up around me, and I was sinking fast into it – continuing to fall downward completely surrounded by carpet. Only my telling myself that it isn’t possible to swim in carpet made me get up, and I was still trying to play this off in front of my parents.

Kind of faint here, but I remember sitting in my room with my friends and them trying to convince me to shut up and stop acting so conspicuous. I recall going into the living room with a cassette tape and trying to insert it in the wall and press the imaginary play button. At this point I realized there was no tape player. It would play out like this for most of my memorable portions of the trip – me doing something, and then sadly realizing that it is all a hallucination, not real.

By this point, my parents have called poison control and I am back in my room. No more coordination, can’t tie my own shoes – but I have to go to the hospital they say. Someone ties them for me.

Remember singing loudly and yelling as we leave the house and get in the car to go to the hospital. Parents telling me to be quiet, but I am not really listening, or can’t really stop. No recollection of the drive to the hospital. Next memory I am in the parking lot with Kyle, asking him if he feels this, did he drink enough, why he is not tripping like this?

Fast forward to the last memory that I can place in a timeline. Next memories are all blurred together in time, and fragmented. I can place them in two groups, “hospital” and “home.” I remember getting the little hospital bracelet, and looking at my mother cry. I remember seeing my mom cry a lot that night, and feeling so bad.

It is somewhere at this point that I realize I am no longer in control of my actions/thoughts. I have become a non-active participant in whatever the drug decides to do with me. I recall feeling frustrated, thinking how I should be acting, but then acting the exact opposite. No chance I could play it off. My mind could think how to act, but it could not follow through.

I remember sitting in a room with my dad, and the lady asking me questions about things. What’s my name, what year is it, who is president. I got most of it wrong, saying it was sometime in the 70’s and that Reagan was still president. Strange thing was that I thought I was right, my mind did not tell me I was wrong. Coming close to the peaking hours of my trip. The woman asked her questions, and it seemed like an eternity happened between each word she spoke, so I assumed she had stopped – and kept getting up to leave. My dad would grab my arm and tell me that she was not finished, I kept asking why she was taking so long then.

No more memories that make sense. Aware of doctors talking about the drug test results, aware that I was in one room for a while then switched to another. Bed had high metal rails on either side. Remember mom and dad sitting on chairs in the room, mom crying – dad looking like dad. Recall writing a letter to Robin, and dropping the pen only to have it melt into the rails on the bed – then realizing there was no pen or letter.

Had to take a pee test at some point. Remember flowers on the wallpaper. Remember being VERY thirsty, and begging dad for some water from the fountain – he said there was no fountain. But I insisted I saw the fountain by the flower wallpaper. Remember being given some type of container to pee into – my mind turned it into a large gallon container like milk comes in, and I somehow thought that I was supposed to fill only the handle portion. Remember a doctor saying “This is water.” I must have filled the thing with water – don’t know how I ever did give any pee – but obviously I did, most likely with dad’s help – poor dad.

Total loss of memory here. Don’t know how long. I’ve been told stories of how I acted, but I don’t remember directly so I’ll leave them out. I am still at the hospital and I hear people talking about stomach pumping and other things.

Next memory is at home, it’s still night – but I have no idea what time it is. They must have thought I was coming down enough to go home. My mom and dad let me go in the room and go to sleep, but I don’t think I slept.

I remember so many hallucinations at this point. I considered the “peak” to be the hours that I can’t recall at all. And this to be then slightly coming down side of the trip, but it is at this point that I have the most hallucinations (or perhaps it’s only that I can recall them all at this point).

I see my cat sleeping on the bean bag, she has had a litter of kittens and she is licking them clean – they are newly born. I think this is actually a memory from childhood when my cat actually did have kittens at the foot of my bed while I slept. I climb off the top bunk to go pet the new kittens. But when I touch them, they explode and shower the room with confetti – which makes me sad for killing them.

I remember roaming the house thinking Kyle was still there, and that his mom was coming to pick him up. I remember going outside and saying goodbye to him as he left. I think I was outside, I am not sure. I remember opening the freezer and seeing a frozen face screaming at me. I remember doing pull-ups on my bunk bed.

At one point I tried to make a phone call but realized I didn’t have the phone. So I figured that the phone had somehow “melted” into my hand. I proceeded to map out where the numbers would be on my palm and try to “dial” someone with my hand.

No more memories until morning. Don’t know if I ever slept or not.

In the morning I am still hallucinating, but I now realize that the things I see are tricks of my mind. Now I have become a little more in touch with reality. I remember eating a bowl of cereal and talking to someone on the phone, with my head cocked to keep the phone crooked at my ear like you do when you’re using your hands and can’t hold the phone. The phone dropped into my bowl of cereal, and I jumped – realizing there was no cereal or phone.

Remember not wanting mom and dad to find the remainder of the tea in the wine bottle, and surely not wanting to take any more – so I stuck it in the front of my pants and went outside, against my parents warnings. I think they sent my brother into the yard to watch me. I only walked to the corner of the street and poured the milky liquid in the grass, dropping the bottle and walking back home. Hallucinations continued as I saw my dog, flying with wings, swooping around overhead.

Sometime in the morning the police came, and asked me questions – did I want to press charges against JJ – no, of course not – I willingly took the stuff. I was pretty composed at that point, but could not stop my mouth from asking about the people with “stars on their head” that I saw in the back of his cruiser. I think the “stars” from the football game the night before had been ingrained in my trip as a reoccurring theme. At the hospital I saw little “gnome” people on the ceiling with stars rotating and spinning above their heads.

The rest of Saturday is blur. Nothing really to remember. The drug was wearing off. At some point my father and I went to visit Kristina in the hospital, she had her tonsils out or something. I was almost normal, but everyone and everything seemed to be covered in a think coating of green slime. This hallucination was persistent the whole time I was at the hospital visiting Kristina. I really don’t have full memory of the day, pieces are missing and out of order.

I think the trip was gone completely by early Monday morning. A near three day trip, with hallucinations that were so real I could not distinguish them from reality. I was immersed in another world, and could not get out – even if I had realized there was an “out.”

Never, never try this drug.