Yesterday morning, my dope head neighbor was arrested for taking a shit down a garbage chute on the top floor at a Ramada Inn somewhere near Pensacola Beach, Florida. Then, last night around nine o’clock, my criminally insane neighbor’s wife tried to get me involved, and I politely brushed her off. I don’t know why she thinks I can help her. She knows I have no money and have never even owned a GameCube—my highest gaming achievement is almost surviving an entire round of Pac-Man at a pizza parlor on a field trip in 7th grade. So, how am I supposed to help her navigate drama at the law firm, courthouse, and country club? And good lord, why am I suddenly the neighborhood scapegoat?
After slamming the door and locking it on her with an attitude, I told her to have a wonderful day. This made her very angry, she sounded like an ill-tempered hyena with some kind of mood tick. She threatened to run me over with a Harley Davidson motorcycle. I went into the studio and started blaring BAD TO THE BONE. I could hear screaming and sobbing over the insanely loud studio monitors… Then about two minutes into the song I heard a vehicle accelerating at top speed out of my gravel driveway.
This made me want to pull the hair out of my head. The day went by like a blur until I remembered my leather bag—the emergency stash with mysterious medicines tucked safely inside. One of these medicines is ketamine. I decided to take some for purely medicinal and therapeutic reasons; to help me settle down and get some sleep. It tasted rotten and smelled really strange—kind of like a bad breakfast at a friend’s house, but you still have to eat it anyway, cabbage pie comes to mind.
I am fixated on writing and have a list of goals I want to hit. And After ten years on a treadmill, having to start over twice, loved ones and friends dying… It becomes hard to relax. Perhaps the beers I drank before triggered a negative perception of the situation and heightened my tolerance to the Ketamine, which I had not taken in six months. So I decided to take more.
Sniffing sounds. 1971 Smith Corona Coronet typing Noises
My nose abducted almost a gram, and I barely felt it. Or wait, maybe it’s finally hitting me now. My muscles feel strange, especially in my face, like everything is pulling tight. It isn’t the nicest feeling. Perhaps another beer will help balance this out. Uh-Oh… I have to go through the agony of loading another sheet of paper into this huge typewriter in this insane state that is getting more intense, though I can’t seem to stop writing about this experience, even though it’s pretty confusing.
Let it be unfortunately known that all I can do right now is type and piss after ingesting those heinously strong chemicals. Surprisingly, I’m not making many mistakes in spite of my lack of motor function, hovering outside my body and having to watch myself type backwards and upside down. It’s so strange how I’m typing so fast and I have never seen myself like this, FREAKY. . .
I still feel in control, even though the rate at which this is climbing is incredible and there is no peak in sight, it’s extremely intense. Some people who use this stuff a lot tell me it’s usually better if you’re doing it with someone else. They say doing ketamine alone isn’t as fun, and I now strongly agree. Right now, though, this is feeling really weird. Maybe I need something else to help me calm down. This is definitely stronger than I expected. Now, after finishing the whole container, it’s hitting me pretty hard. Everything can be fractals if I let my eyes cross like they want to from the potency of the effect by choice, floaty, outside and inside myself, and it’s tough to see clearly. I feel like I’m watching myself from outside my body from outside my soul. This feels kind of cool but also terrifying. My mind will ask questions later, I feel like a child going on their first EXTREME Roller Coaster.
Again I’m floating around the room, again, watching myself typing this down. It feels bizarre yet oddly interesting. Okay, now things are getting clearer, and I think I’m getting back to normal. It took an hour to type up to here on page three. Nope. That was 20 minutes. WOW I need to stop this because this is becoming fun. I understand why people like this, I am glad I did not mistake or confuse this for a spiritual experience, I recognized that it’s a chemical induced hallucination.
The most fascinating note I must enter before I wrap this up is the fact that I wrote more like myself than I have since I started writing. There was no anger or anything, I didn’t even use much humor, though I haven’t looked back on it yet. I simply wrote—I feel as if my writing mask need not exist. Not because I am thinking that or using intellectual reasoning, it’s just gone. I feel more in touch. It’s a net positive gain from this experience, one I’ve felt from the drug once before and the reason I still have it. I’ll not take it again, unless my neighbors keep showing up asking me for legal help! Then I guess I’ll just have to go down a K-Hole forever.
Take care,
-Daniel O. Bailey