Getting Weird with It ... Yet Again

"Always the last, to see the moment has passed, and I need to admit my defeat ... Try as I might, I can't stop, until I've squeezed out every last Drop."

-Frank Turner, I Really Don't Care What you Did on Your Gap Year




Sipping a Mojito at 2 am, watching people break dance to house music, I couldn't help but wonder what I could be doing at that instant infinitely more productive. Something meaningful like writing, curing cancer or even sleeping. I never drink trendy cocktails with exotic names. I'm usually a Bourbon and beer kind of guy but Matt, my bar tender, assured me they were his specialty. I can't lie, they were fucking outstanding. The concoction was 80% rum but smooth with little or no burn. Four down, plus beers and I was knocking on Mr. Blackout's door.

Inebriated or not, Bristol Bar isn't usually my scene. Well, not unless I'm on some serious drugs. Luckily on that fine evening I was and very much into the trance, electro, dub step spirit. Acid is probably my favorite drug to do on rare occasions. When feeling frivolous, some people break out a fine single malt scotch or a Tawny Port that's been aging longer then I've been alive. Not me. I just place a piece of blotter paper on my tongue and kiss reality good bye for awhile. Maybe to some people this makes me a bad person; a drug addled flunky. They probably aren't the people I would want to spend a Tuesday night carrying on with anyway.

The evening had started normal enough, with the usual suspects. Janis, Georgina, Shea and I had planed on heading to Bristol for a few drinks. But before the bar, we stopped by Oldfields parking lot to score four hits of LSD. A friend of Janis' had extra and was looking to get ride of it cheap. I'm an opportunistic drug user. I rarely seek out the hard stuff but never shy away from it either. With Bonnaroo coming up, I considered my shenanigans "Drug Camp" training.

We procured the narcotics and ate them immediately. It was the second time in a week I had taken heavy drugs in that parking lot (see Weird With It post). A month ago I didn't know this place existed. Now I was popping pills and taking doses there on the reg. I couldn't help but laugh to myself. Many will ask: Why do mind altering substances? To which I reply: Why do people climb Mt. Everest? Because it's there.

With the black paper dissolving on our tongues, we headed to our destination. Road to Nowhere by The Talking Heads was playing on the radio. Very apt. Bristol is part club, part bar and ultra trendy but not in a negative or unoriginal sense. It takes up the first floor of a very old apartment building. However, the inside has been totally remodeled. New hardwood floors, walls covered in sheets of bamboo, clever lighting, high ceilings with exposed air-ducts and framing. Stainless steel bar tops, chairs and tables fill the first entryway as you walk in. As you turn to the left you enter the club portion; a very large open area with a square of cushioned seats in the middle, a few places to sit around the perimeter, an expansive DJ booth to the rear and floor to ceiling windows facing the street. The decor screams modern with a obvious LA overtone.

Not surprisingly the crowd was small. This spot is relatively under the radar of most. Average Joe isn't ready for the raver, hipster, cyclist, candyflipper demographic. One wirer kid was in tight cut-off green denim jorts, a brown wife beater and fatigue colored baggy slouch. He was bounding around, hips gyrating frantically, his reddish brown hair matted to his forehead with sweat. When he bent over we could see the faintest hint of lace connected to a pair of woman's underwear. He was a characture of the stereotypical effeminate gay male. We decided that his attire, mannerisms and boyish face reminded us of Peter Pan.

An hour in the drugs started to take hold. Acid is a different beast then it's club-drug cousin Ecstasy. Much more intense, the high coming to you in waves. X is a more ever present, pulsating with each pump of the heart. Both give a heavy body buzz but LSD also has the added advantage of visuals. I've never seen little green men or pink elephants but any light, pattern, or random occurrence gives the tripper an out-of-body like experience. Are those bricks trading places? Is there a halo around those purple lights? Did that chick really just take her tit out to show her date a tattoo? At least that's how it was for me ... Both are great when a DJ is involved. You can feel ever bass hit, ever tweaky high note, every word, as if they came from inside of you.

DJ Moxy Martinez was tearing through her set while we danced and pounded drinks. Her transitions were flawless, easily the best of any DJ I had ever seen in real life. She played 50-Cents In Da Club before splicing it into Dub Step infused version of Feel the Noise without anyone even realizing what the hell had happened. She combined songs perfectly, never missing a beat. This was not your kid brother dicking around with turn tables and a mixer in your parents basement. She was a professional and had earned major respect in my book. I was a former hater, now converted lover of house music.

The words I had been writing seemed to wriggle and worm across the bar napkins. I began feeling very excited and anxious, like when your climbing the lift hill of a roller coaster in anticipation of the drop to come. I went out back to regroup. The cool night air felt good on moistened skin. Peter Pan was out there too and obviously rolling even harder. He kept approaching me and telling me how beautiful I was. He aggressively tried to lick my face. It took most of my strength to keep him from coming in for the kill. The butterflys in my stomach were flapping their wings faster. I felt nauseous. I was starting to loose my cool.

"Ummm I wouldn't do that," Shea said, coming to my rescue. "He's not gay and he's tripping"

Peaking and drunk (you have the drinking ability of 10 men when dosing) we decided it was time to leave. We walked to Georgina's apartment and crept to the basement, trying our best not to wake her roommates. Safe at last. No more crazy ravers to worry about. Mr. Blue Skies was playing and we were all giddy with laughter like school kids staying up past their bed times on the first night of summer. "This is my selection," Shea said. "I hope you like it, but I don't care of you don't." She was making crazy designs on a laptop art program. It looked like vomit. "This isn't for you," she said. "You don't understand. Your not abstract enough."

At the drop of dime the drug can turn on you. One second everything was perfect sitting inside. The next we craved action and the outdoors. We were too confined in the basement. We were inmates in a prison of our choosing. We dashed back outside as if we were being chased by the devil himself. Wide open spaces; safe once again. Splashing in parking lot puddles we were beside ourselves with good vibes. Out of nowhere Georgina and Janis took off.

"Fuck it, we'll go skiing!" they said as they wondered off. Shea and I followed, beginning or three hour outdoor LSD odyssey. We wandered around Victorian Village. Each large tree that lined the cul-de-sacs seemed to have a lifetime of stories to tell. Shrubs were lost souls who longed for life outside the city. Old vacant estates beckoned to us, begging to be explored but they were all locked. It was past 5 am by this point and the newspaper delivery people were out, hard at work. Shea become convinced they were following us and up to no good. Bad, ugly vibes. The acid had turned on us yet again.

We ended up at the Gothic church on King Ave. It's massive oak doors and five story bell tower reminded me of Medieval Times. We explored the court yard awhile longer before heading back. The girls sat on the bed, eating bananas and I was gripped by an uncontrollable fit of the giggles. Me laughing made them laugh and we were all a total mess, rolling around on the floor and clutching our bellies.

Laying on the soft shag carpet, the last thing I remembered before drifting off was Janis dancing above me to Wipe Out. She looked like the bouffant B 52s lady, hanging ten on an imaginary surf board. One moment I wanted to laugh, the next I wanted to sleep. I couldn't do both at the same time. The moment was passing, the drugs waning but I didn't want my adventure to end. Eventually, exhaustion won and I passed out. Another evening of getting weird with it. Dancing green fairies and castle like churches filled my dreams.


-J.R.