I was hallucinating like a proper bastard. I was completely off my head and no mistake. It wasn’t like when you hear people reminiscing about their experiences in the seventies or eighties when they would talk about the patterns they could see in their jeans and how cool it was. Or how cool the patterns were. Jeans? I didn’t even have legs never mind jeans. I didn’t even have the concept of legs. I didn’t have the concept of anything. There were no faces coming out of the wall or any of that shit. There were no walls. There was no anything. Just vibrations of pure electric energy reverberating around the place, oscillating to and fro like crazy. That’s a sign of the good shit, as I’m sure you know – when everything dissolves into patterns of pure vibratory energy.
That energy was going right through me. That energy was me. I was wired for sound. I was earthed to the ground. I was plugged into the Cosmic Grid, and I can tell you that was some buzz alright. That was the business. That stuff was going through me like a million volts of pure orgone energy. I felt like Jesus Christ on the cross. Only it was kind of like an electric chair too, if you know what I mean. I was the Buddha. I was Metatron – the Man of Light. I was the dismembered Osiris. I was Adam Kadmon. I was the Alpha and the Omega. I had no name and yet I had all names.
This was the good shit alright. No doubt about that. This was the fucking business. I just wish I had taken two of the tabs and not just the one. Then I’d really be riding the wave. Damn it I wish I’d taken the lot. Then just as I was thinking this it all started to die down. Everything calmed right down and before I knew it everything was pretty much back to normal. I was only a few hours into the trip and it felt like it was all over. I was back sitting in the chair in my bedroom looking at all the collection of dirty jeans and socks and underwear and tee-shirts that I had strewn all over the floor. I was back in Reality Street, as the man said, and that was a bummer. I went downstairs and proceeded to make myself a cup of tea, reflecting as I did so on how much of a pisser this was. What a let-down. What a windup. I sat there at the kitchen table trying to work out what I was going to do next. Absentmindedly smoking another number. Shaking my head in disbelief. And then it hit me, the trip wasn’t over at all. It had just changed gears on me, like Hunter S Thompson says. It had shifted into another gear. The way really good stuff does. The way the proper stuff does.
As I looked around it dawned on me that nothing was real. The kitchen table wasn’t real. The number I was smoking wasn’t real. The cup of tea in front of me wasn’t real either. None of it was real. I wasn’t real either… Nothing was real. It was all just a hallucination. Everything a hallucination. “Oh fuck,” I thought and the words came out of my head and hung over my head like a cartoon speech bubble. Or thought-bubble, more like. Slowly, like. In a totally ridiculous slow motion way. “Oh fuck,” I thought again, unable to help myself, and the thoughts “oh” and “fuck” emerged slowly out of my head again, making two more thought-bubbles floating around ridiculously above my head.
Everything had slowed down so much. So very much. Time had stretched out to such an extent that things couldn’t seem to happen properly anymore. They kind of got stuck. Time wasn’t time anymore. The briefest event seemed to take an eternity to unfold. “Oh fuck,” I thought again – only very, very slowly. “This is heavy shit.” I thought and wished I hadn’t as it took me so long to think it. Seemed like hours. Seemed like a large part of my life. “Fuck, man” I thought and the thought oozed slowly out of my head like psychedelic cartoon slime. Felt like someone could be watching this and laughing because it was like a piss-take only I wasn’t laughing because the joke was on me.
“Oh man” I thought again and I had lost track of how many times I had thought this. “This is heavy shit…”
Then the acid seemed to change gears yet again and not just my thoughts but everything – the whole of everything – was a cartoon. My whole life was a cartoon – a kind of high-speed Micky Mouse type cartoon full of frenetic stupid activity but nothing happening. Like all cartoons. Not real. Just froth. High speed empty babble. A speeded-up tape reel. I could see the whole of my life in one go and I could also see that it had never happened. It wasn’t real. It had never happened. It hadn’t ever happened. Part of me found this hugely hilarious, the funniest thing ever, but the other part of me couldn’t help thinking that this was very heavy shit indeed…