My parents read this blog, so if the rest of you will just give us a second…
Hi, Mum! Hi, Dad! (blows kisses to parents). I know you’ve heard lots of my bad girl stories from high school and beyond, but I’m not sure whether you’ve heard this one, so let’s go over here into this little corner of the internet while I tell you that I took some drugs in high school you might not know about yet. I’m sure you assumed (correctly) that I occasionally drank liquor and maybe smoked some pot. And I’ve still never snorted cocaine or taken speed or been to one of those parties with a punchbowl full of pills. But I did (okay, here it comes now) drop acid about half a dozen times or so.
Okay, whew, there’s nothing like a little public confession to really put a Saturday in a whole new light. And in front of all these other people!
Hi, everyone, thanks for waiting, I’m back now and I’m pretty sure my folks survived (blows more kisses to parents).
So, yeah, when I was a junior in high school I discovered blotter acid, courtesy of the So Cool girl next door in the dorm who decided that I needed to expand my horizons. I never had a bad time at all. It was always pretty easy for me to yank my mind back from wherever it had wandered off to, if it was necessary.
One necessary time was out in the woods one Sunday afternoon with a group of about eight or so. One of the girls began to unravel around the edges — she couldn’t remember her own name, she was convinced her identity was melting away. She didn’t know who she was. So I blinked and the shiny edges around things dimmed a bit, and I gave her a hug, and took her for a walk, and told her everything I knew about her.
And then at some point she was okay (time gets pretty funny on acid), and I was okay too, but she had, as we sometimes say in our house, harshed my mellow. So my friend Matt and I wandered back to campus and went to the cafeteria for dinner.
But we were too early (that time thing…), so we sat in the common room where, sadly for those around us, there was a piano. Matt and I commandeered it.
What’s your favorite song? he asked.
The Low Spark of High-Heeled Boys, I said.
Holy shit, me too! he said, eyes bright. And without further discussion, we launched into a duet of Low Spark. I played the actual piano line and he played the melody. I was hugely impressed that he knew it.
And we sang. I’m sorry, but we did.
And we played.
For 45 minutes.
Until finally, another kid came over to us and said, in the tone of someone on her last nerve, Could you guys PLEASE STOP PLAYING THAT SONG?!
So we did. But I’ve never forgotten that time in the common room on a spring afternoon. And Low Spark is still my favorite song. It still delights me, moves me, describes me. Still takes me right into myself.
So I thought maybe you’d enjoy it too. I’m off now to make banana bread for my sweetie, and I feel a long (good) way from my baby acid-queen days, but it’s nice to remember the time when I was discovering what music was for — that songs could be about me, could make me see more clearly who I am and who I’d like to be.
Happy Saturday.
And enjoy The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys. (Traffic, 1971)
Shocking! I remember a few times having to try very, very hard to remind myself what was reality and what wasn’t when having to venture out in public after dropping a few tabs….
That is a great song – totally takes me back. Some of my Traffic albums never made it to the CD transition. Maybe I’ll remedy that now.
Ohhh mannnn… That was great. That is one of my favorite pieces of music. Maybe even number 2 or 3. . Blotter acid, yeaahhh. But mescaline and Ripple. Passion Pink. that was sweet.
Of course I was young and naive then. The memories are probably better than the trip. But the music is still fresh.
Thanks for that, Kelley.
duff
I can just hear that piano+voices on an endless loop (to you and your friend, a merry-go-round; to the outsiders, torture). When your mind works like a movie-editing machine, most of the memories it holds come with a soundtrack. My favorite is a tie between Tori Amos’ “Cooling” and Tim Buckley’s “Song to the Siren”. One has a piano, the other a guitar. I don’t think I could play either of them on acid, though.
When offered acid as a kid, I replied, “no thanks, there’s already insanity in my family,” which there was. I did read Chrome Yellow by Aldous Huxley though. I did tune in , turn on and drop out for a while, but my trips were fueled by alcohol and music. Still, blessings on you all.
That’s my girl…..Sure do love you. Someday I’ll tell you my secret.
Dad
Here’s an oldie by Van Morrison that got me rocking today.
Hey Dad! I love you too. Your secrets are always safe with me (grin).
@ Jennifer — Thanks for “Domino” — what a great song. Nice to hear it again. Had me dancing in my chair…
As for you and Duffy both, shocking indeed! You bad things!
@ Barbara — We all go there in our own way (grin).
@ Karina — You know, you’d be surprised what you can do with an altered sense of reality. I actually think it was the only way I could play the song…
Okay, thatâs it. You dance AND you gave me a chance to hear the Low Spark of High Heeled Boys. You get my vote for whatever you are running for.
Meanwhile, since we are sharing drug stories: Arenât we?
My brother, the real druggie in the family, was studying to be a teacher at Memphis State and since I hadnât seen him in a while, I lived in Cali at the time, I decided to drive across country to see him and visit my old haunts on Beale Street. Iâd tell you about my first suit , a pleat and roll zoot, but thatâs another story.
Anyway, Jim, my brother was living in an apartment off campus and when I arrived had just gotten ahold of some righteous hash which we did right by and . . . well, you know how that goes.
Next thing I know we gotten into our basketball shoes and added a little half tab of something to our mix.
It was the most amazing game. I remember guarding this guy but it was like dancing. He moved so did I. Fluid like sorgham molasses on a hot summer day, I stuck to every fake. He and I were one. By gameâs end it was clear, no one was ever going to win. But so what?
Sometimes I miss those moments of insanity, hilarity, freedom.
And the music that went with them.
Thanks again.
Drugs were pretty prevalent when I was a younger version of myself. Pretty hard to get away from because they were everywhere. At outdoor concerts people passed the wine gallon or the empty watermelon half and dropped everything they had into it. Alcohol and drugs, and then passed that. Sometimes I can’t believe I survived that decade between “66 and ’76.
duff
@ rhbee1 — A zoot suit? Too cool. And yes, sometimes it really is all about playing the game, rather than winning.
I think the trick is to find the moments without the drugs. Every once in a while the magic happens.
@ duff — Wow. I never had that experience — I didn’t get started on stuff until about ’76 — and I can’t imagine having that level of trust in strangers. It must have been nice in a lot of ways. Different days.
I think that finding out the way with the drugs created a way to find it without. They loosened up my head. Taught me that experimenting with ideas and playing with realities were good things to do. Dance, shooting hoops, riding my bike out and away from the crowd, and writing are my now natural ways to find those druggie spaces. Of course, there are still times when my friends can’t understand what is so funny and they look at my like I am on . . .
Meanwhile, Duffy, you and I were hanging with the same sorts.
BTB, is anyone in this meme watching Weeds?
We are not watching Weeds, but have just started with a BBC show called Skins (a UK term for rolling papers…). If the meme fits (grin)…