Salvia Reality

The sun ripped through the sky blue curtains, violently jerking me from my sleep. Desperately trying to fend off consciousness, I buried my head into my pillow; it was to no avail. It pained me to depart from my dream, but the damned sun like a tyrant gone mad, smacked me around to an unbearable extent. Suddenly ,a tingling sensation came over my groin-Goddamned morning piss. My hand was forced and I had no choice but to leave the bed that I clang to like a baby clings to his mother's teat. Fumbling with my slippers, I stumbled out into the living room that was flooded by the sun.

Blind and befuddled I dropped to the ground as my head was ambushed by a legion of blood. One leg of my sweatpants was rolled halfway up my leg as if I were a street hardened thug out to push the likes of coke, smoke, and dope. Rubbing my eyes clean of the sandman's dust with one hand and handling my member with the other, I washed away the mud like stains that I left the night before. Taco's and whiskey seem to have a tender way of handling a man's dirty business. As my vision became clearer, I noticed that some of my recycled liquids had splattered elegantly onto my sweats. It wasn't visible but I knew it was there. Kind of like that paranoid feeling you get when you can feel sweat dripping from your ass crack, fearing that it has made a sweat stain on the back of your pants. After an eternity of a piss I awkwardly took my sweatpants off in such a manor that it was the mirror image of a fat man hopping around trying to get a pair of socks off. Still staggering around like a polio-ridden drunk I managed my way over to the refrigerator. Every morning it was the same dunderheaded routine. Open the fridge and nothing but milk and damned pizza toppings...no solid food, nothing except a fridge full of disappointment.

Closing the eggshell colored door, I was left all alone with an angry stomach and a hunger that at any moment could lose its cool and start smashing up my house similar to a loan shark coming to collect on a late payment. Pay won't be coming for another week and most of my previous paycheck went towards this past weekend's festivities of acid, weed, booze, and good ole' salvia. Salvia is a wild beast that rips a man's brain apart with the precision of a tomahawk missile...quickly causing complete destruction of reality, real and created. The reality of salvia wasn't really reality at all, just a cloud of confusion, paranoia, and rapid changes in body temperature. It is a phantasmagorical experience and it is only fitting that I use phantasmagorical to describe it. For the level of absurdity which is reached by way of salvia is deserving of an equally absurd word to accompany it.

Sitting Indian style on a cobblestone path located on the side of my good pal Myron's house, I packed up Little Red Rascal with a pinch of Salvia, twenty times extract, which was more than enough to do the job. Little Red Rascal was Myron's piece that he had obtained at some head shop awhile back. Myron was a big black brute who loved confrontation but had rays of goodness poke through the storm clouds here and there. Can't say I hate him but at times I could...didn't mean much though. Whatever meaningless problem we came across we would make up quick like all guys do; unlike our vagina-ridden counterparts, which, at times, are like emotional monsoons who carry petty differences like a mule carrying supplies up a mountain. For a little sucker, Little Red (as I called it for short) sure was a deceiving bugger; it smoked like The Iceman, Chuck Liddell fought, it hit hard and it hit quick, and without notice. With all my might I held in the rip as long as possible. The taste of burnt maple syrup floated over and around my tongue, venturing down my esophagus until I opened my mouth and allowed it to escape. In that moment of respiratory relief my other chum John scratched my back, sending me into a flurry of spinning lines similar to riding the Gravitron at the trashy state fair.

Those in attendance for this spectacle of absolute mental lapse were the lines spinning around me at warped speed. I blinked and staggered to my feet, stumbling in a drug induced trance down the cobblestones, which had a cartoonish look to them. Stopping at a big oak tree I began to wonder where they were...where the damn gnomes were. It was a Friday night and they shouldn't be spending it in the shelter of their tree homes. They should be out and about, roaming their village so I can observe them and partake in their silly gnome games. But there were no gnomes and no gnome village, as I soon would learn. Turning to my friends who I did not recognize at the time, I asked, "Where are they? Why aren't they out? It's the weekend!" They stared back at me with eerie eyes. I began to understand that these people were not the guardians of the gnome village like I had initially believed, but were my friends. Out of nowhere this glass wall appeared in between my friends and me. "No"! Proclaimed the voice inside my head, "It finally has happened, I've gone acid crazy...No this can't be happening...How? Why? Wait"!

Slowly I gathered my thoughts, and the fearful notion that I had lost my mind hopped in the backseat as a new fear took the steering wheel of this obscene adventure. They didn't recognize me, they didn't know who I was, not the other way around-or so I thought. In a moment quicker than a premature ejaculation, a sudden cold front came over me, but it was mid-summer. I rushed to my car, turned it on, and blasted the heat at full force. Once the heat kicked in I immediately began to sweat harder than a husky woman in church on a hot Sunday morning in Georgia. Turning off the car and returning to the group I was now back from the five minute vacation.