Stormy weekend and beginning of this week. Saturday had less freshman orientation shit than Friday. In my UNash 1000 there are two “hardcore” kids, one from Madison & one from Gallatin. I will try and convert them to August Fools enthusiasts. They sit there and talk about breakdowns and how well certain singers scream and I tell them I just like rock music. They like me tho, see me as a laid-back funny person. I guess that’s how I like to be seen.
That night Jordan came up from Wilkinson County to spend the night. Sean & I waited on the balcony for him. I had just woken up from a nap. In the SLC Lobby, it was Student Life & Leadership Game Night and they had free pizza & drinks. We sat on the couches watching everybody; some Invader Zim–loving freshmen made quirky smalltalk next to us. The girls wanted to touch our hair. Not exactly our types, tho [right now across the library, beautiful redhead with angled hourglass stomach, hand in pocket and holding coffee, fiery locks clean and spilling over shoulder, goshDAMN] we sat with them outside and they were nice enough; the punkest guy, with checkerd leggings and bondage strips and painted sleeveless shirt, named Blake, invited us to his dorm to show off his “three-person slingshot,” but after checking both his room and his beat-up car he concluded that his brother must have snatched it before the family left campus the day before. The four of us wanderd around looking for any kind of party activity. A Kappa Sigma party was over on Belcourt; however, we’re too young to drink and didn’t yet know anyone who wasn’t. Some country kids down by room 302 saw us playing guitar and introduced themselves. They shared booze later on. It’s dumb what alcohol can bring out in people. Overheard: “Can I have a cigarette?” “Will ya suck my dick for it?” “Maybe… no! Fuck you, man.” A drunk black nerd named Sparks showed up: “Shut up, I ain’t black, I’m whiter than your mama.” These are real things that people said. The sophomore who lives in 302, blond dude named Tayler, told us he’d smoke us out but an RA told us to shut the hell up & go to bed before we could get to it. We thankt him anyway & retired to our rooms.
Sunday I was awoken by Jordan singing. He & Sean went to the SLC and I releast myself from the dirty dreams plaguing my slumbers. When they returned, Jordan went home and Sean & I grabbed some breakfast in the cafeteria. That afternoon was quiet; that night was fun. We went to the Muse in order to practice with Ceejay but Sean got a stomachache, so he drove back to campus while I stayed & drank a few beers, lookt at the pretty girls, and bought some acid. Another batch had come thru to Ceej, same guy as before, same stuff, “family fluff” it’s cald. Ceejay was fronted 2 sheets with 100+ hits on each. He dropt 5 on the spot, added a sixth later, gave Tiger (new flatmate since I left) three hits, and I bought 11. Ceej & Tige both said it was strong & kickt in quickly. Ceej was even concerned about the amount he had taken, but I kindly reassured him that he would be OK… as if I had any proof. Tige took me to Exxon to withdraw $50—I was originally only going to buy a tenstrip but I had to rip another off in order to get an even ten, so I said “what the hell” and stuck the eleventh on my tongue—it was still twelve hours until my first class so I knew I had enough time. Tiger was suddenly horizontal, and Ceejay told me to give him the rest of the money later, so I started walking in the direction of the dorms, about fifteen or twenty blocks southwest, listening & watching for signs of acid.
I swear I could feel it within ten minutes. Nothing intense, just a tingling on my back & neck, and a slight shift in vision. My route took me down Mulberry to Sixth Avenue, under the interstate, a right before the cemetery, over the railroad tracks & into the premises of the pyramidal science museum at Fort Negley Park. Skyscrapers & dilapidated Greer Stadium loomed behind the pitchdark trees. Then a right on Chestnut, over the interstate this time, passing maybe the most recognizable view of downtown there is, the 65 Split beneath the skyline with its “Batman” building: a southern Gotham City. Nashville has the uncanny ability to seem quiet and rural smack in the middle of heavily populated, brightly lit city sprawl. It wasn’t raining but it was wet, and windy. I walkt quickly knowing it was only a matter of an hour or so until I’d really be tripping, and to lessen the chances of anyone trying to talk to me. Each block brang new marvels to my eyes: the historic Rose Park & Edgehill Homes, the corner-store coziness leading off down Villa Place, the southern edges of Music Row opposite—it all lookt so beautiful and dangerous and haunted.
I probably reached the quad around 1:15 a.m. Tayler & another dude were out on the balcony, sitting on those padded wooden chairs that all our dorm rooms have that lean back, almost like rockers, which they had dragged from inside. Other dude (Chad) went back to his room, and after I had stowed the strip of blotter paper wrapt in foil in the freezer compartment of my mini-fridge, Tayler & I went to his car to smoke a joint. I told him I was tripping, didn’t say exactly what until later on, but he was cool with it. Halfway thru in the gravel lot behind Killebrew we spotted a campus cop (or did he spot us?) so we jetted out of there, quickly scooting into Metro territory to escape the lowly flatfoot’s jurisdiction. When we got back to the hall a guy named Kenan (room 306) was drunkenly knocking on Tayler’s door.
So it was me, Tayler & Kenan chilling on the balcony in those chairs and that warm, wet wind until about 3 a.m. when the acid started hitting me so hard I couldn’t hold a thought long enough to speak. I didn’t want to freak either of these guys out (I was paranoid I already had but Tayler assured me I was cool; Kenan was redfaced drunk and paid me no mind) so I carefully stood up and said goodnight. I was surprized one single hit was so potent. My initial guess was that my brain recognized the stuff from the previous thirteen hits taken over a 48-hour period last month, which made it intensify the effects. But then I recald Ceejay & Tiger seeming so anxious when I left the Muse—now I understood why. I spent a few hours gripping the bedsheets in my dark dorm in a state of complete mindfuck, trying not to wake Sean, feeling my insides get ript apart and sewn back together over and over again as spacey noises filled my ears. I got comfortable at last and fell asleep for maybe half an hour, then woke up feeling halfway back to normal. It wasn’t unpleasant, really, but it was certainly intense. There were times tho when I wished I hadn’t taken the acid.
I finally slept from about 7:15–9:00, took a shower, then slept another hour until I had to go to Music Theory & Sociology. Both professors are cool: Prof McIntyre is a smiley hippie-ish lady; Dr Owusu is a witty gentleman from Ghana. In my sociology class are two impressively attractive girls, one petite and frilly, the other sporty and brawny. So if I get sick of one I look at the other. Ha ha. Towards the end of class I had a nosebleed (which I get sometimes when I’m sleep-deprived) and, too embarrast even to get up, was somehow able to discreetly contain it until dismissal. It was a strange rainy day, and I was a zombie thanks to my rough night. Later in the afternoon I ran into Tayler and apologized for my odd behavior the previous evening. He replied: “Like I said, main, we’re good—I was high as fuck and Keezy was drunk as a skunk, so.” So we are good.
Something interesting: Ceejay moved back home to Echo Hollow yesterday; something happend while he was tripping to cause him to not want to be at the Muse anymore. Neither Sean nor Jordan nor I know what’s up.