Diane doused the shaggy tobacco in the oil. Then she rolled it up just like a normal cigarette. Only there were wet patches of the oil showing through the thin rolling paper, which made it look less than appealing. She handed me her creation along with a lighter and motioned for me to light it. I looked at the other four for support and they all concurred with similar gestures. I placed it between my lips, already a faux pas as the normal procedure is to hold it over your lap and light the twisted ‘touch paper’ with the lighter in the other hand. And then, and only when it is well lit do you bring it to your lips. This, as I’ve observed, is the social etiquette for lighting such things. But no, I was cocking it up, sucking hard to ensure an uneven burn. I could see, in the moments before I sank into the fibrous jungle of the living room carpet, their barely masked looks of disapproval. Not the ideal way to enter into one of the most severe hallucinogenic encounters of my life, as the others set about chasing me murderously through the rug.
Chapter one of my life on drugs had started with a flourish. Chapter two ended with fear. And I couldn’t see beyond the limitations of a handful of tiny crystals. I thought it would help my writing. It didn't. Although, it definitely ignited my imagination. My mind was alive with symbols and characters moving across their fictional landscapes, running into the monsters of my own invention. But I had no drive or discipline. I got lost.
Somewhere on this trip I was at home (at my birthplace)looking out the window... The small plastic windmill on the balcony started to turn slowly in the sea breeze. As I watched it, the windmill got faster and faster, whirring speedily and knocking an inquisitive hoverfly out of the air. It was a good day to get the yacht out on the open water. I shook Diane but she wasn’t to be roused so I set about making coffee in the kitchen. I melted a slice of butter then cracked eggs into the pan and enjoyed the sizzling as they cooked. The coffee bubbled up the spout of the cafeteria as the milk broke its skin and the toast popped almost simultaneously. "We can fly the kite today" she said from the safety of her slumber. I looked through the window and Diane was already out there near the breaking water. The kite was dancing high above her. The wind was westerly. It was like I was joining her in a picture and I could feel the eternity in one moment. And the kite wasn’t dancing in the air, but, instead, resting on the swarms of existence that fill the universe.
Journey's end
Hours later still scared for my life, I discovered myself in a cupboard with Diane fencing me in. Or rather she was holding me in a protective embrace. I buried my head instinctively into her chest. I was determined to find the suckling nipple. And before I was allowed to pitch my wail at a high enough level to alarm the others, she produced it voluntarily and I began pacification in the most satisfying way. We were still there together, Diane’s left nipple all raw and tender, as light broke over the mountains and flooded into the house.
Solutions # 15: Don't be deluded by TV experts. Realise you're on a war footing (click here). Make yourself recession proof.
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