A pleasant journey to the Hash Hut

As we floundered around in Huguenot, I began thinking back to last summer.
The summer of 1981. During this time, I experimented with large doses of mescaline,
carefully documenting the experience as always in my mind. I had not taken it since,
and honestly thought I would never be taking it again. I can remember clearly, the sun
was descending over Oakwood Heights. I had just purchased four large nickel bags
of weed at the station, along with six hits of double barrel purple mesc. Upon doing
this, I decided to pay my friend Richie a visit, and so I hopped on the train and got
off in Huguenot. Rich greeted me at the door and from there we shuffled upstairs to
his room. I showed him the four bags and his eyes widened. I then proceeded to unveil
the worlds smallest pills. They were 1/16 in diameter, and looked quite harmless under
the warming glow of a 40 watt table lamp, cast in the delightful shape of a little red train.
I would say his room had not changed a wink since he was five years old. Such a calming
effect it had on me, I could have almost stayed there. Rich knew better and would not agree
to have any part of them. I was now in a precarious situation, for the night was at a standstill
until the little dots were gone. Why was he being so stubborn? Did he not trust me? Were we
not friends? Eventually, he would agree to the taking of three as would I, and all seemed to be
on an even keel from that moment on. Some time elapsed before we gathered what we needed
for the journey and left. As we carried ourselves to the station, I would begin to ascertain in no
uncertain words, a mild feeling of intoxication followed by delight. Then a disoriented mood
accompanied by sluggishness and impaired judgment.

An angel crossed my path with amber eyes and a low cut dress.
She was as beautiful as an evening primrose in the dying sun
and while her image left me like a falling tear,
her perfume stayed behind to tantalize my senses.



I now felt as though I had no name.
I was alive but had I ever been born?
Similar to a blade of grass that grows slowly,
or an ant peeking up through a crack in the concrete;
tonight, I would be traveling incognito.

                                                                               Pg 132
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A dazed and confused feeling turned to self awareness as I boarded the train.
When the conductor came toward us to stretch out his hand, my first impulse
was to shake it, and I like a fool almost did. I stuttered and bumbled my words
before grappling for change in my pocket. Rich began laughing uncontrollably
and nearly fell to the floor, while the conductor appeared to be growing more
impatient by the minute. I was finally able to give him the desired amount in
silver coins which he immediately deposited into the rapid change dispenser
attached to his waist. Rich had a harder time for he was debilitated by laughter.

As I watched the conductor pull open the door and enter the next car, I looked
around before coughing into my hand. This action brought about no response
from any of the other passengers, and I began to feel almost invisible.



As I looked around at all these strange yet interesting people,
I thought of the prospect of one day living a normal life.

There was a venerable woman alongside of us sitting next to an Asian man who had between his
legs a tan briefcase. He was reading a newspaper and I assumed it was stocks, but what was in that
briefcase I wondered? I suppose that will forever remain a mystery. Sort of like, what was it exactly
that was thrown from the Tallahatchie bridge? An elderly couple to the right were holding hands
and seemed so genuinely happy together it made me feel as though I could have cried.

How long were they together?
Could they have been in love since high school?
The more I found myself observing them, the less happy I became.

A sadness had begun to well up within me, and in no time at all it was
boiling over into my subconscious thoughts. A sadness I could not control.
A sadness that would take hold of me and consume me if I were to let it.

Two rotund women dressed in black were seated together at the far end of the car and
seemed to be communicating with each other solely by using their hands. There was
a bald man whose head appeared to be filled with knowledge. A timely gentleman who
resembled an aged Dr. Martin Luther King and a quiet young boy who adhered to the
hand of a beautiful brunette, while looking patiently out a dark window. Who is this
fashionable woman with a widow's peak and why is there no wedding band on her ring
finger? Better still, who is the subdued young boy cleaving unto her? All these questions
that needed answers would eventually be long discarded. Meanwhile, however, in my heart
I was vicariously yearning to be that boy again. I then realized something was missing from
this train car. Reduce the amount of wall space by having fewer windows. Now add some
paintings to the wall and a lengthy elongated mural on the ceiling to make all the passengers
feel the comforts of home! I didn't find it necessary to tell anyone about this interesting
idea of mine. This profound revelation! Not even my insane friend melting!!!

                                                                               Pg 133
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Everything was now coming together in such a blundering way, I wasn't sure I could stay on
the train a minute longer. My emotions were scattered and so we exited the train at Oakwood
Heights. One stop shy of our intended destination. Stepping across the gap that separated the
train from the platform was like reaching out to step over a small creek, while trying not to get
one's shoes wet. Waking life had suddenly undergone an intense transformation and was now
overblown and baffling. While the ascension was somewhat taxing, the view from the
moderately enclosed walkway was rather pleasant.

As I continued my analysis of man's perception in its moot order, the very night itself
which seemed to be pulled from the sky was now falling. So terribly thick, so viscid was
that spectral haze that lined e'er pleasant things. Things no human being should ever fathom,
but in this current plane of time, inceptions had already danced around the deja vu.
Two parts logic; a breath into the overture of madness.



Impulsively, a clan of children began taunting each other while laughing forcefully.
I threw my mind's switch to the ON position and jumbled a phrase in my head.
"Be not deceived by the jeering of the procacious." 

A leaf scuttled near my foot before stopping, and I froze in anticipation of its next move.
It then made a run for the trees down on Guyon, and I was relieved. I knew that by hurting
the thing would have brought God's wrath down upon me faster than a harlot with a
hankering for obliquity, and so I allowed him the dignity to continue leafing.



I then breathed a sigh of relief before motioning across the street where my friend followed. 

Suddenly, he let go a burst of laughter where he stood teetering in the mild breeze!
He then looked dispassionately at his feet, as if he was staring down the precipice
of a tall building while attempting to meld within the housing of a dream! Rich come
on man, focus! He did as he was told, and together we walked the portentous road.

Lifting my head like a whooping crane, I gazed up into the tunnel of trees. Pointing at them,
I stood staring. Entranced in a setting so magical! Ever since I was a young boy, I loved it
when trees on one side of the street connected with trees on the other side of the street to
form one joining. I used to call them tree tunnels, but that was before the city changed the
streetlights in the mid 60's from a white luminescent green to gentle amber glow, and I found
my attention shifting toward more delicate matters. On some exceedingly narrow streets,
you will find they can even blot out the sun.



Rich looked up into the fabric of time, ever wondering. Ever knowing what lies ahead.
Hampered by nothing and empowered by all, his mind dripped in a dreamlike setting.
He appeared to have a vested interest in things which had no purpose being, such as I,
and I tried to ascertain if he was learning. Without warning he began twirling round and
round, 'neath the limbs which skirted the sky! When he stopped to look at me, I must
have been everywhere as his equilibrium shifted, sending him down to the fading tarmac.
He looked at me, his face in awe, as if I had just materialized before him and when he
stretched out his arms, it was like he was on a beach in Aruba!  Trying to locate my shirt,
he reached out and grabbed only air. After this we proceeded to walk to Master's.

The difference between one and two hits was enormous.
It is the difference between that of night and day.
The difference between two and three hits is beyond logic.
It is the heart of delirium. It is madness redefined.

                                                                               Pg 134
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As I bathed in the glow of a red neon sign, I watched people enter from afar. I observed
the anomalies of life that craft and shape to create exact duplicates. Strange prototypes
of beings unlike their former-selves walk alone and seem to be preoccupied with living.

Those too small need to be carried, or they would simply lay by the curbside and wail.



As I tried to piece together the puzzle of life between parent and child,
I only became more confused. The land of biology had me baffled!

Indeed, we are comprised of thoughts and ideas we need to process in order to function;
today, however, we remove part of that equation. Looking out from my upright casket,
where I stand like a decaying mummy, I see a world of bitter consciousness. What if I
never moved again; would they build dwellings around me or would they push me aside?
Perhaps they would not even notice I was there. What is real and unreal in the land of the
mentally disturbed? Perhaps it is the difference between normal and abnormal. Or perhaps
we must go mad to actually comprehend the degree of sanity we possess. Maybe the only
way to truly cherish life is to know exactly what we are about to lose. . .

Whatever lunacies floated around in my head like feathers, I collected. Trying to sort out,
so my brain may compute on a higher level. As I approached the store, I released these
thoughts into the night air and away they drifted to light up the evening sky.

Staggering into the department store, I found it to be as long as an aircraft carrier and as
wide as an airplane hanger! I marveled at it quietly for I was totally impressed! While my
outer appearance was one of pure contentment, inside, I was struggling to comprehend
the majority of everything that was going on around me.

We walked through a wide maze of clothing until I found I had gotten the both of us lost.
I listened to the instrumental version of a Diane Warwick song being piped in through
inconspicuous air vents in the ceiling. I then asked my friend if he knew the way to San Jose.
When he asked me who San Jose was, I knew it was going to be a very long and enduring night.
At which point I figured, why bother explaining something to someone who was slowly slipping
away and would soon be gone completely. Follow me, I said to my deranged friend who was
now more lost than even I, "we're going to San Jose!" We never quite made it there sadly
and ended up somewhere in the tobacco aisle.

Considering that the place appeared to be deserted and knowing full well that I was never
going to find a bathroom, I had to think fast. Feeling an intense urge to urinate, I looked
around carefully before unzipping my fly near a tall black column. I was in a state of complete
disorientation as my penis came out. "Am I crazy? Have I become an animal, to stoop so low
as this?" Not as long as I still have a shred of moral fiber left in my being and an ounce of
intelligence, for that matter! With extreme caution, I slipped the dark adder back into my
pants and zipped up before turning to my friend who was found gawking at a mannequin.

Let's pull out. . . We're pulling out now.

I hastened from that building leaving a trail of electro-charged static in my ardor! Rich followed
behind me in pace, unknowingly collecting all the lost debris for it clung unto him like a magnet.

We then began the brief walk to my father's house where I was living. At a time when my
sisters were still very young and my step mom was really cool. As we walked, I noticed
all the phone poles were reclining back as if they were all playing a lighted jazz horn.
How mellow was everything now in a grotesquely deformed kind of way! Not wanting
to go into the house as of yet, we went across the street to the rotting facade of the old
Calabrase house. Some people called it the haunted house, but me and my friend Steve
had nicknamed it the hash hut. Do I have to explain why? I didn't think so. On a vacant
stretch of land sat this dilapidated shack and to me, it looked like it would soon collapse.

                                                                               Pg 135
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Like it was trying so hard to keep itself fastened to the earth for fear of falling.
Its sovereignty had long since moved on, never to return. Leaving it to fend for itself
and from a distance, it resembled an evil doll house. How daunting it looked toward evening!



When I asked my grandmother about the house, she told me that Pasquelle and Mira
moved there in 1932 and left in 1956. She said they were very quiet people who always
kept to themselves and never bothered anyone. No one knew anything about them, and
they were rarely seen outside the premises. That was all she ever told me about the
Calabrase's. Why the house still stood, I could never know.

From the street we entered, moving the trees and shrubs aside and walking carefully to
the entranceway of the house. The door was not facing my father's house, but to the left of it.

We walked in white shadows of ominous street lamps glowing to a deafening stillness
within the portal of a dark domain. What a weird layout, I thought as I made my ascent
up the stairs. Oddly, the stairs were not mounted to the floor, but rather to the side of
the house! Like the house was a big block of redwood that the staircase was chiseled
out of. Not built from single layers! I then told myself that nothing would be as it
seemed tonight. Richie remained behind me the entire way until we reached the second
floor. The big wooden table was still in the center of the room and there was an empty
keg 'o colt six pack just sitting there. Beside it was a piece of cardboard with strange
words written on it. I couldn't make anything of it because of the darkness, and so I
held it outside the house to where the light was shining brightest and the message was
revealed. "I must have just missed you guys. Went to the Monkey Woods today and
had three beers in thee ole' tree fort. Then I had a beer in the park by the rocket swings
before coming here. Don't know where anyone is today, so I will finish my last two beers
before riding off into the sunset. Adios amigos! *8* 6 *81. It was signed, your friend Pete.

I thought of the Monkey Woods then as it flourished in an abundance of green.
Such a wonderful escape was it from the sun and the heat. Populated with yellow
snapdragons, orange jewelweed and heavenly blue morning glory's sprouting like
weeds. What adventurous souls were we, living free and according to our own will.
Going wherever our feet would take us, and then returning in the evening hours to
sleep. There was nothing wrong or oppressive about respecting and enjoying that of
nature. Or did we have to leave the state to put a bullet through a deer's head to justify
ourselves through our actions? Ah, that wonderful place. What went wrong?

                                                                               Pg 136
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Today it is overrun with oriental bittersweet and has become a tree graveyard. Whenever
you see trees with no boughs or branches on them, but yet rather, what looks like a rounded
green tombstone or a cluster resembling a cenotaph, it is usually this. Not to mention those
cursid thorns! They grow in bushes, as do roses in a garden while circumventing everything
in their immediate path! Me and Peter used to go back there in the early 80's with machetes,
pruning sheers and a small hand saw to cut them. Some of the individual thorn vines had
a diameter of a large orange and a length of over forty feet.



We would frequently leave covered in blood,
but at least we killed something that deserved it.

Oh man, I must have just missed him on Thursday! Do you remember what you were doing on
Thursday? "Thursday?! I don't know what I'm doing now!" In a fit of laughter, he banged the table
three times and almost broke a blood vessel in his neck. This is the effect of someone injected with
laughter, I thought! I was trying not to laugh, but he just looked so silly! Gazing around at everything
thrown horribly out of perspective, I started to claw the air with my hand. The simple pattern created
a stairstep effect that resembled a series of animated frames that were put one after another! Cool,
I thought as I imprinted the air with my own unique design! It only remained for a moment, and
I was happy, because otherwise we may have gotten tangled up in the colours.

Yes, I said colours, because I am feeling very Scottish today!

I suddenly envisioned bagpipes, kilts and curtains made of plaid.
Then shingles made of plaid, and windows made of plaid!
In the forest made of plaid there are birds made of plaid,
and it didn't take long before everything was plaid!!!

What the fuck, I retorted in disbelief! I was overwhelmed
and in shock that I managed to go that far inside, and felt
a wee bit strange that I could have actually gotten lost
inside my own head. I was on a dangerous wave.

Before panic and desperation set in, I better think of something and fast.

I left the table feeling like a scolded child and wasn't sure
if I should crawl up on that rotting bed and become insane.

I felt as though my brain were being vacuumed and my face
had grown so long it was beginning to pick up thumbtacks
and screws from the floor. I brushed off my chin, just to
reassure my brain that it was following an illusion.

My emotions were shattering like shards of broken glass and
there was everything around me but body parts. An upheaved
home cannot care for itself, and the extraordinary mess left
behind was making me feel even more unsettled.

I went into the other room where I kept a bottle of Passport scotch.
I knew that by taking a shot or two could alleviate some of my troubles,
but considering I had nothing to chase it down with, it would feel as
though I were igniting my intestinal tract on fire and that would be
an even worse nightmare!

                                                                               Pg 137
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I stumbled into the kitchen and nearly fell. I reached my hand behind the rusty brown stove,
and there it was! My bottle of Passport scotch! I clutched it as though it were the holy grail,
and then I held it above my head. I was almost sure lightning was going to strike it and make
me immortal! Just holding the bottle made me feel as though I were conquering something!

Psychologically, I had thrown myself off course. I was figuring out what had caused the problem
and I was solving it at the same time. Before I even entered the room it had subsided.

If you're taking a trip, I have your passport, I walked into the room saying, like a Vaudeville act that
was sure to get rave reviews! "I'm already gone!!!" he bellowed in an octave lower than a contrabass!
It's not easy to utter words while you're laughing yourself to death. . . Literally. As Richie calmed
down, he began to readjust his jawbone. Laughing will do that you know! Care to bang one down?
"No thanks," said my friend with great effort as this withered, pathetic, tired old home sighed through
its exposed plaster, as if trying to accentuate some hidden emotion. As I began to touch gently the
wounded interior of its wood lath, I must have disturbed something in its temporal lay-out, because
like a wooden sloth, the whole house stood up on all fours and slowly began to move down the street!
Let us out first, I screamed, without thinking!!! I then looked out the rectangular hole where a window
had once been set to find that the house had not moved at all. It was simply a dead tree limb slapping
against the side of the house, but for that one brief moment, I was truly terrified!

How would I have been able to explain it to the authorities, I thought? If the house
had actually decided to shlep over to the next block? I cannot imagine the face
of Phil Martinelli waking up in the morning to see this weather-beaten old home
resting its britches on his front lawn! I think his face would fall off!!!



It now seems I was trying to analyze and apply logic to a situation that was so overblown
it lacked the coordinance to redirect itself. So high was I at this point, it was getting difficult
to distinguish that which was real from that which was not. The logical from the illogical.
I placed the emerald green bottle down upon the old wooden table and looked at my friend.



Didn't it just feel like we were on Jumbo the elephant? Then with a Moroccan
accent, I bounced swayingly like a limbo dancer while balancing both arms in
the air, as if I were on the giant beast! I then sang a strange and melodic tune.
Ga-nna ride Jum-bo, ga-nna ride! I Ga-nna ride Jum-bo, ya wa-nna ride Jum-bo?



Rich immediately screamed out and began kicking the table! The mann, he's unstoppable!
Please go easy on the laughter, we're gonna wind up in the hoosegow!
"Whose Cow? A boozecow!!!"

                                                                               Pg 138
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Shhhhh damn it, we could get arrested for being here. Keep it down! So much was this laughter that
he was now drooling on the table. "I can't help it," he cackled as he thrashed and knocked over my
bottle nearly breaking it. He then began stomping his feet loudly, and I warned him about weak spots
in the flooring! Never again God! Never again!!! Oh boy I said, scrambling for a place to stash the
bottle. This was a bad idea. A really bad idea. He's gonna fall through the floor, I just know it! Let's
go, I said, overflowing with panic at the thought of seeing cop cars and wailing ambulance sirens!
Being hauled off to prison was now the worst thought I could think of. Aside from my friend going
through the floorboards and becoming impaled or devoured on whatever was down there! Or even
worse, if the floor gave out, and we were both trapped in that sinister darkness! Living bait to become
a hollowed out carcass for rats. Under this side room was no floor for it led straight to a locked cellar.

Hide the bottle! Gotta hide the bottle!!! A car is coming, what am I to do with this bottle?
As I scurried about the room like a distressed hamster looking for an adequate hiding spot,
I felt like I was becoming more disoriented as time went by, and the confusion was twisting
my delicate brain into a pretzel. This of course, made my friend laugh even harder!

At that exact moment, I felt like a complete and utter horse's ass.



Are you happy now? I said, you made me nervous!

He just kept on laughing and laughing and laughing. We have to leave, I said panicking. You're going
too far now. As Rich went to stand up, he abruptly threw himself back down into the chair. The only
thing I could see was this crazy bastard going straight down into a basement full of shovels!

I hid the scotch bottle in the kitchen behind the stove where I had last put it, and upon entry into
the main room, I lit up a brown Grenadier! So soft were these cigars, so fresh! Ah the pleasantries
of home old chap, I said in a Sherlock Holmes voice that seemed to reverberate through the entire
house. How about a smoke there laddy? I was very much enjoying the air I was creating, and truly
enjoyed speaking this way! Would it be wrong of me to speak this way forever? Would my parent's
frown upon my newly adopted tongue? Why should I care what they thought?

You can't boss me around now
and make me adhere to your ways now!!!

"I'll take one of them," said Richie Boy, and so I calmly peeled the cigar band in a circular motion
and slid the cigar from its thin cellophane wrapper. I then lit it up for him. "Here you go and be
careful; that's the live end." With this he exploded, falling off the chair and crushing a perfectly
good cigar. I helped him to his feet and escorted him carefully down the stairs, so that there
wasn't a tragedy. All the way down those stairs and all the way out of that house, he guffawed!!!

                                                                               Pg 139
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Reviews for chapter 28

John Barone - I have read this chapter five times already!

Manuel Gottlieb - I do love the way you remove the animation from the LSD
and inject it into the veins of your readers. The words are a drug in itself!

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PG 132) Different balls by Gyuri Lohmuller

PG 133) Descent to the Mediterranean by Vladimir Kush

PG 134) Chamber of earthly delights by Tomek Sętowski

PG 134) Love confession by Vladimir Kush

PG 134) Tree tunnels

PG 135) Born of the sea by Vladimir Kush

PG 136) Dark House - Matte painting

PG 137) Small Bite by Ilene Meyer

PG 138) The Progression by David Ho

PG 138) 1975 vintage ad for "Passport Scotch Whiskey"

PG 138) The Elephants by Salvador Dalí

PG 139) Panic attack by Aidan Brute Hughes