Culture” in tyhe Year of Our lord, 1971.
They are still burning the taxpayers for thousands of dollars to make films about “the dangers of LSD,” at a time when acid is widely known - to everybody but cops-to be the Studenbaker of the drug market, the popularity of psychedelics has fallen off so drastically drastically that most voluime dealers no longer even handle qualioty acid or mescaline except as a favor to special customers: Mainly jaded, over thirty drug dilettantes - likeme, and my attorney.
The big market, these days, is in Downers. Reds and smack -Seconal and heroin-and a hellbroth of bad domestic grass sprayed with everything from arsenic to horse tranquillizers. What sells, today, is whateverFucks You Up-whatever short-circuits your brain and grounds it out for the longest possible time. The ghetto market has mushroomed into subur bia. The Miltown man has turned, with a vengeance, to skin- popping and even mainlining… and for every ex-speed freak who drifted, for relief, into smack, there are 200 kids who went straight to the needle off Seconal. They never even bothered to try speed.
Uppers are no longer stylish. Methedrine is almost as rare, on the 1971 market, as pure acid or DMT. “Consciousness Ex pansion” went out with LBJ.. and it is worth noting, historically, that downers came in with Nixon.
I limped onto the plane with no problem except a wave of ugly vibrations from the other passengers… but my head was so burned out, by then, that I wouldn’t have cared if I’d had to climb aboard stark naked and covered with oozing chancres. It would have taken extreme physical force to keep me off that plane. I was so far beyond simple fatigue that I was beginning to feel nicely adjusted to the idea of perma nent hysteria. I felt like the slightest misunderstanding with the stewardess would cause me to either cry or go mad… and the woman seemed to sense this, because she treated me very gently.
When I wanted more Ice Cubes for my Bloody Mary, she brought them quickly
.. and when I ran out of cigarettes, she gave me a pack from her own purse. The only time she seemed nervous was when I pulled a grapefruita grapefruit out of my satchel and began slicing it up with a hunting knife. I noticed her watching me closely, so I tried to smile. “I never go anywhere without grapefruit,’ “It’s hard to get a really good one - unless you’re rich.”
She nodded.
I flashed her the grimace/smile again, but it was hard to know what she was thinking. It was entirely possible, I knew, that sge’d already decided to have me taken off the plane iin a cage when we got to Denver. I stared fixedly into her eyes for a time, but she kept herself under control.
I was asleep when our plane hit the runway, but the jolt brought me instantly awake. I looked out the window and saw the Rocky Mountains. What the fuck was I doing here?I wondered. I t made so sense at all. I decided to call my attorney as soon as possible. Have him iwre me some money to buy a huge albino Doberman. Denver is a national clearinghouse for stolen Dobermans; they come from all parts of the country.
Since i was already here, I though I might as well pick up a vicious do. But first, something for my nerves. Immediately after the plane landed I rushed up the corridor to the airport drugstore adn asked the clerk for a box of amyls.
She began to fidget and shake her head. “Oh, no,” she said finally. “I can’t sell you those things except by precription.”
“I know,” I said. “But you see, I’m a doctor. I don’t need a precription.”
She was still fidgeting. “Well… you’ll have to show me some I.D.,” she moaned.
“Of course.” I jerked out my wallet and let her see the police basge while I flipped through the deck until I located my Ecclesiastical Discount Card - which identifies me as a Doctor of Divinity, a certified Minister of the Church of the New Truth.
She inspected it carefully, then handed it back. I sensed a new respect in her manner. Her eyes grew warm. She seemed to want to touch me. “I hope you’ll forgive me, Doctor.” she said with a fine smile. “But I had to ask. We get some real freaks in this place. All kinds of dangerous addicts. You’d never believe it.”
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I understand perfectly. but I have a bad heart, and I hope - “
“Certainly!” she exclaimed-and within seconds she was back with a dosen amyls. I paid without quibbling about the ecclesiastical discount. Then I opened the box and cracked one under my nose immediately, while she watched.
“Just be thankful your heart is young and strong,” I said. “If I were you I would never… ah… holy shit!… what? Yes, you’ll have to excuse me now; I feel it coming on.” I turned away and reeled off in the general direction of the bar.
“God’s mercy on you swine!” I shouted at two Marines com ing out of the men’s room.
They looked at me, but said nothing. By this time I was laughing crazily. But it made no difference. I was just an other fucked-up cleric with a bad heart. Shit, they’ll love me down at the Brown Palace. I took another big hit off the amyl, and by the time I got to the bar my heart was full of joy. I felt like a monster reincarnation of Horatio Alger . . . a Man on the Move, and just sick enough to be totally confident.
