Where were you?

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Only God knew why I was in that farmhouse with a head full of acid. I’d been up for two nights – the first at a party with a girl, talking into the early hours, no sleep at all, smoking, cadging drinks, trying to hold it together and get our heads down in a little pink bed (which broke). After the party I’d gone home, showered, met some friends and bought the acid. The next night had been wild and crazy in a small house in another village. And for the first ever time LSD had caused a proper hallucination – a great starry dog face looming out of the night sky down at me. I’d taken some more at midday, watching tv all afternoon, laughing. Now I was coming down slowly from the trip in this farmhouse. People mooched about in the big rooms, a door was off its hinges.

The farm was owned by the parents of two twins a year younger than me. We were all at the same sixth form. They were crazy. Always fighting with each other. Really punching hard, smashing things around the home, there were fist sized holes in doors. The parents had gone away and they’d regret it when they got back.

Three or four kids were rolling joints in the kitchen, and there was talk of some amphetamine arriving soon. I was beginning to feel good again, more in control, but they saw through me and, like most morons who never understood LSD, began making weird faces and doing strange gestures with their hands to provoke someone in the early stage paranoia of a trip. I grabbed a joint and told them to chill out. The hash tasted sweet. I took long tokes, watching the blue smoke collect up high near an unmoving ceiling fan, some shit music drifted through from another room.

There is a point in a trip where you cross from total madness into a serene, calm, phase. It was the best part of LSD for me. I felt in touch with the way of things; the Cosmos; whatever greater being was tending the campfire. The come-down was beautiful every time. I always tried to string it out for as long as it lasted, make the most of things, lie down in a cornfield and watch the clouds, or put some great music on and watch the cars pass by my bedroom window. Sometimes I’d walk out to the Church and sit on the low wall and look over to the nearest town. Even the smoke from the steelworks there looked beautiful. Everything in a come-down made sense, you just needed to have the capacity to accept what the acid was telling you. Go with it.

In the farmhouse the mood was beginning to shift. People were drinking heavily out of whiskey bottles and getting macho. We were heading to a crisis point and if those other poor saps couldn’t see it then more fool them. I had been smoking for a couple of hours and now it was time to leave before the place exploded. I took a back lane home as dusk began to soak up the light. By the old air raid bunker I sat down and watched the Scunthorpe streetlights turn the horizon into a vast orange blob. The last parts of the acid were leaving my brain. I’d stay and sit it out up there. The warm night hugged tight.

 

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