Chapter 8

11/25/05

Perspective

Level 1

The high is kicking in—that intense rush of whatever.

I’m walking along Broadway passed the continuum of lights—luminous, incandescent. The burning disco that is New York City taunts me; it dances across my peripheries, leaving me mystified, mesmerized.
An industrial Babylon.

My friends are laughing and pointing as if they were Asian Tourists as they pretend to take pictures of billboards and monuments.

Me, I’m just standing there, breathless, amazed by the ridiculousness of it all, the absurdity of such relentless pretentiousness.
We are America! We are bigger and better and flashier than every other country.
And I’m starting to feel it.

Level 2

The lights become even more alluring, more effervescent, more vain. They begin to pulsate as if they are breathing. Inhaling. Exhaling. With a blink of an eye, everything illuminates. Three-dimensional patterns flicker past my pupils. My eyes begin to throb, in rhythm with my heart.
Dub dup. Dub dup. Dub dup.

I’m looking at my friends, looking at me, looking at them. And their yelling, and I’m laughing, and Rams is crying, and I’m thinking. I’m thinking—
What can I do to give myself purpose in life? I need something to help take the pain away, this overwhelming, compelling truth that I am nothing. I exist merely to expire, subject to this disease called mortality.

The Purpose of psychedelics for man is to divulge to himself that which is impossible to expose while in a lucid state because these latent truths are unconsciously imprisoned by fear. It is a sort of deconditioning. And fear is but a knave, unscrupulous and brimming with vices, hiding in the shadows and ready to strike whenever it deems necessary. The problem with psychedelics is that sometimes fear is rational.

And I’m thinking—
I love myself too much to commit suicide.
I worked too hard for this body to allow it to wither and decay.
And I’m thinking—
Does this hat make me look high?
And I’m thinking—
Why not take another. Mask the truth. Get perspective.

Level 3

And I’m looking through this kaleidoscope I call my eyes and I’m seeing colors; I’m seeing figures and shapes—triangles and rectangles and quadrangles—twisting and turning like motivated wheels as my pupils continue to pulsate. And I’m looking at Deemo, and he’s peeing on Rams, who’s crying.

And Deemo is yelling, “I’m not a fag!”
And they’re all looking at me, looking at them, looking at me. And I’m thinking—
Who do I have to fuck to get some perspective around here?

These shrooms aren’t doing it. I’m not coming to any conclusions. I want something that satisfies me. Death satisfied me. It gave me perspective—the forcing of deception, the stealing of someone’s innocence—it all made me content.

And I’m thinking—
I cried for weeks after Diana died.
She could’ve had a nice thrown in heaven, but now she’s lying in a bed of fire in Hell. Don’t worry Diana, I’ll be with you shortly.
And I’m thinking—
Who do you have to blow to get a drink around here?
And I’m thinking—
I hope God is entertained.

Level 4

And I’m looking at my feet, and they’re melting into the ground.
And the taxicabs are whizzing by, and yelling at me, “Hey kid, your feet are melting!”
And the buildings are yelling at me, “Hey brown eyes, you’re making a scene!”

And I’m looking at Teez, and he’s grabbing Deemo's ass, and Deemo is peeing on Rams, who’s crying.
And Teez is yelling, “Hey! Watch it!”
And Deemo is yelling, “I’m not a fag!”
And Rams is just yelling.

And I’m looking at them, looking at me, looking at them.
And I’m thinking—
Look is such a weird looking word.
And I’m thinking—
I need a new objective.
I need some purpose in my life. I want something that satisfies me. And I’m thinking about Rosa, my housekeeper. I’m thinking about having sex with her and convincing her that I can show her freedom. I can liberate her. I can make it seem as though this country has something to offer. And then I’d be content, and then I’d have perspective.

And I’m thinking—
This bridge is too high for me anyway.
Why jump when I can fly?
And I’m thinking—
Are these Shitake?
And I’m thinking—
Why not fuck for the sake of living?

Level 5

And I heard this story once. This kid and his friends took shrooms and they started to hallucinate. They found a lawn gnome in the middle of someone’s yard and decided to take it home as a souvenir. They took it to their friend’s house and locked it in the shed. And after level 5, their highs started to diminish, that intense rush of nothing. And they forgot about the lawn gnome. A week later one of the kids went into the shed to get his lawnmower; and there, right there in the middle of the fucking shed was a little black girl, dead.
True Life: I’m a drug addict.
And he finally understood the power of perspective.

And I don’t know who I am. I feel one with the buildings and the streets and the lights. I feel one with the taxis and the vendors and the crackheads. I feel their pain, their truth, and I know that it is the only thing that is real. I know the only way I’ll be fine is if I have sex with my housekeeper. And I’ll destroy her life and her abstractions of love—story tale, counterfeit love.
And it’s all coming into perspective.

And I’m looking at my friends, looking at me, looking at them, looking at me, just drowning, dying.
And Rabbit is pushing Teez, who accidentally grabs Deemo’s ass, who accidentally pees on Rams, who’s crying.
And Rabbit’s yelling, “My bad.”
And Teez’s yelling, “Hey! Watch it!”
And Deemo’ yelling, “I’m not a fag.”
And Rams’ just yelling.

And I’m thinking—
It’s all about perspective. A little black girl in a shed.
And I’m thinking—
I’m never doing shrooms again. That is a lie.
And I’m thinking—
Why not destroy someone else’s life? Just to give them perspective. Just to give me perspective.
A little black girl in a shed.