From: pez@manhattan.com (Gizmo) Subject: The Adventures of Smacks Past (Part 9) (Gee How I Wanna Go Home) Date: 1996/09/20 newsgroups: alt.drugs.hard Well, it's been a while since I posted any further "adventure" stories. This one is not a heroin tale, but it's worth including for it's entertainment. Enjoy. Gizmo ############################################### In 1975, the year I got married, my ex-wife & I took a detour from heroin and started doing some LSD. I had scores of LSD trips in the mid to late sixties before I got seriously addicted to smack. This was a brief return to those "stellar days." One Friday night, as was becoming a little ritual for us, we got in my car and headed to New Paltz College, in New Paltz, New York. The campus always seemed to have a ready supply of LSD, and it was pretty damn good. We liked to take the 40 minute drive upstate, get the LSD, then park somewhere in the wooded areas of upstate New York, and let it hit us. So on this night, with just enough money to buy 16 hits of LSD, (enough for the entire weekend) we started the drive. We reached the campus, and sure enough, scored the 16 hits, which left me just enough money for tolls on the Tapen Zee Bridge coming home. I was broke! Anyway, after scoring we drove off the campus and found a deserted road out in the middle of nowhere, and took one hit each of acid. Kicking back, and putting some music on, we waited for the acid to hit us. As the initial colorful visuals started to happen, I noticed through my rear view mirror something that I was not sure was part of the hallucinations. I looked a little more closely and sure enough it was the bubble gum flashers of a police car! Oh shit. Shit, double shit. You see, just six months ago, I was arrested on three felony counts of drug possession, and was out on bail. So I had every reason to panic. Okay, be cool, be cool I said to myself as the cop approached our car. Rolling down the window, he asked for license and registration and what we were doing there. Holding back the surge of LSD, I told him my wife and I were just out for a drive and having a nice chat. He went back to his patrol car to check my license I'm sure. While he was in his car, I started to panic big time. "What if he checks my name and finds out I'm out on bail?" What if he wants to search the car? So I asked my ex-wife, where is the LSD? She gets it out. Do we throw it away or do we eat it??? We decide to split the other seven hits and eat it. My wife convinced me!!!!!!!! That's a total of eight hits of LSD each. I must have been stoned. Anyway, the cop comes back, and tells us to move on. By now, the first hit of acid is taking full effect, and I'm shaking with fear and relief. I ask him for directions back to I-87. I make a big conscious effort to listen to him, because the way I was feeling I was sure I was going to get lost if I didn't. After telling us where to go, and leaving us, me and my ex both realize we didn't remember or "hear" what he told us. So off we go, on instinct, to try to find the interstate. Well, we find it all right, but it's not I-87. Somehow we ended up on a highway that put us over into New Jersey. Now I'm really panicking. I realize that I have only so much time to get back home before the other seven hits kick in!! Fumbling around, and making a U-turn, yup, you got it, another cop car pulls us over. Now I'm sure we are going to get busted. So we go through the same routine again. The same coda with me asking for directions. By now, the other seven hits were burning up my spine. Again, we try to "listen." Again, we hardly could remember what he said. Again, we head off. Again, I'm freaked. By now, I'm crying, literally. I'm saying, "I wanna go home." "Please god, I want to get home." My ex-wife is getting blitzed by the way. Panic again. I look at the gas gauge. I have about an 1/8th of a tank of gas! Will I make it home? I only have $1.50 for the toll bridge. Anyway, we are heading down the interstate. I'm trying not to focus on the hallucinations that are happening now. Got to keep it cool. Got to get to the toll plaza. Gotta get home. Wanting to go home is the overriding theme of the evening. Finally we make it to the toll plaza and somehow I swaggering reach out and hand the toll clerk my last $1.50 like I was a millionaire giving away a million bucks. My ex-wife is howling at this bold move. Down the interstate we go. Twenty more minutes to go. Holding back the acid. Waiting to go home. Home, home, home, om, om, om.... It was like a mantra. Amazingly enough we get home, park the car and get up to my apartment. Plopping down on the floor of my bedroom, we can finally relax. Soon the seven extra hits we took have no more resistence from us. So off we go. I have done several hits of acid over an entire weekend, but never all at once. So this little voice in my head says, "this is going to be interesting." Well, interesting could not describe what happened after that. Perhaps I can write about it in another "adventure story." But for now, I can tell you that the "theme" of "wanting to go home," now took on a cosmic significance. The big home or OM in the universe was soon within our grasp. It was ours. We owned it, and it permeated every fiber of our being. Like they used to say in the 60's, "we saw/became one with god." Consciousness lept from it's narrow confines of body to merge with the universe and it was beautiful for the next 48 hours. Wowwwwwwwwwwwwwwww. Copyright 1996 Gizmo