“Calm down” he shouted at me as he spat out teeth and blood.
But I didn’t care. I didn’t care about the vomit that stuck to my sweaty skin. I didn’t care about the thick red lines of blood that ran hot down my clammy hands. I didn’t care about the bitter taste of acid that had its self soaked into my tongue. I didn’t care that I could feel my flesh go black under his hard fists. I didn’t care that I could see his manic fear, and I didn’t care that the walls on every side of me were melting. The only thing I cared about was the fact that it was over. Calm down, calm down, calm down, was all I could breathe through shallow, jagged breaths.
And as I pushed my broken blood drenched fingers deep into my bloodshot eyes, in hope that I could stop bad thoughts spilling from my fucked up mind, I realised that it was over. It was all over. Down below me sat a boy on the now tainted linoleum of my kitchen floor. His naked body trembled fiercely as life crawled out of him. A man twice his age lay stiff beside him in a pool of crimson slumped over face down, his fists bloody and bruised, anger stricken across his demented expression. And as I rose above them, floating away like the insignificants that I am, I realised something.
It was the summer of 1969 and the only thing I cared about was getting high. Sex, drugs and rock and roll. You got that right. But please, don’t think of me as someone who lived their life selfish and stupid. I was far from selfish, and I was far from stupid. I was far from someone. What I was is something I need a few more thousand words to tell you. I was something unexplainable and something that was far from my reality and far from any reality at all.
It’s certainly clear to see that the 60’s is a time of revolution for all who live it no matter where you live it. I saw the world around me change through out my little life and I was lucky enough to have lived in this change as it happens in the United States of America, New York City as a young and screwed up teenager like the rest of my society. When I say screwed up, I certainly don’t mean to generalize. What I mean, is that I may was not of good health physical or mental and that I did not, and still do not belong anywhere. From the day I was born I suffered a condition of severe depression and anxiety most probably brought on by my mother’s use of LSD or “acid” during her pregnancy. Although I was never diagnosed with these disorders by a medical man, I knew deep down inside that my mind was not right and that these words, cold and empty though they are, were among the only definitions to explain the feelings I possessed. Sometimes I look back and wonder if I induced the bad feelings that would pollute my thoughts with the way I lived my life, but I guess I’ll never really know. Then again, no one really knew how I felt. Not even those I lived with. But then again, they didn’t know much.
My parents are and were incredibly strange people and I feel inclined to tell you that I personally cannot wait for the day that my mother drops dead like a fly and frees the earth of her flawed existence, which come to think of it has about as much meaning as a fly. She and my father met in school and married without true love due to my conception and there being in the 1950’s when physical love was not so open. The only thing that did connect them was their mental love of drugs and the hallucination created by them. I was birthed by a drug dealer, and became reliant upon drugs myself later on in life. But I’ll get back to that later, first let me explain something about my family to you.
I was an only child, and it is a wonder that I made it so far in life and also a wonder why my life ended up like this. My parents made their dirty money by selling semi-synthetic drugs like LSD and other things that should have never graced God’s unholy earth. No wonder that God is taking his time at the moment and has left me here to talk my empty thoughts. Come to think of it, I shouldn’t even be thinking at the moment… But back to my point, my paretns were and are not good people. Although I guess it may be unfair to lable them for their profession, after all the rest of our society is just as messed up as they are with their morals and their “freedom”. The only freedom that I ever seeked was from my mind and from my surroundings, but I never did and still don’t have that.
I never had many things. But I shouldn’t complain. There are many others in the world with lives less and more full than mine. I would label myself simply as an average person, but that would imply normality. One of my clearest memories that incidentally fill my mind currently in a piercing way is of the day my father first spoke to me about my conception. I was fifteen years old at the time and the year was 1965. Controversy concering contraseptives was apparent. One morning in autumn I woke late Sunday to find my parents by the kitchen, seated casually at our old and rusting aluminum table. I made my way by crooked steps to the bathroom in hopes that there was some acid tabs or weed by the basin like there normaly was. My father looked up from the crumpled newspaper and spat a sarcastic scoff in my direction.
“Getting high already? Or just having a piss?” he smirked through his nose.
“Like you care” I replied softly, somewhat hurt.
“Leave him alone, it’s not like the kid has anything else to do” my mother laughed sligtly as she talked. Her fakely coloured proxide hair stuck down to her ugly face with sweat and orange foundation, her dark eyes wandered as she looked me up and down. I felt dirty. Being in there presence and the filth of the room made my life seem so pointless. I turned to walk away.
“Hey babe look at this” my father pointed with his index finger to an article in the paper, a look of sarcasim and irony upon his face “…following the Supreme Court’s decision in Griswold v. Connecticut drugs which halt human reproduction between fertilization and implantation are now named contraceptives instead of abortifacients and will be more widely available in all 50 states…” my father stopped reading and looked up at my mother who stood by his side, a cigarette in hand. “If only the pill had been legal when we were screwing around, then we wouldn’t have had to get hitched because of this little buger” he motioned towards me smiling a big grin, yellow teeth on display.
My mother lauged, “ah well, it’s not like I didn’t try to get rid of him. Remember all those trips? They weren’t just for a hell of a good time, you know that. I was trying to kill the kid before he could fuck us over the way he has”
They laughed through the mucus in the back of their nicotine lungs as I left the room. Tears were already staining my pathetic face as they corroded down my cheeks.
From that day on I always hated them for bringing me into this world. I may have been young and should have been rebeling and having a good time, but all I was and all I still am is lonely and unwanted in a world of idiots. But I suppose I should try and forget the past and explain to you why I am here telling you this at all, admitadly you must be just a bit confused.
It all started four years late of that Sunday, in this summer of 1969 at the festivel that still at this moment rages in my mind and probably in the world, Woodstock. Drugs are all but illegal and love is “free”. That’s what they said. That’s what my parents believed. It is Friday afternoon of August 15th in a simple little U.S town, called Bethel a few miles south from the heart of New York. My mother and father were excited for Woodstock, the whole town was. Drugs were fun, love was fun, music was fun and nothing else mattered to them. Woodstock had all these things and it was all free. Free like everyone wanted to be. I wasn’t excited about it though. Maybe it was my negative mind set towards society or maybe it was the fact I didn’t have anyone to be excited with or anything to rebel against. I was alone, just as I am now. But I was alone in a different way. I was alone in the world, left behind from all its change. My parents had fled the house early, undoubtably still stonned from the night before and ready to share their halucanagenic high. They didn’t notice little me crouched in the bathroom corner crying big sobs, chest heaving, as they went about getting ready for the day. But there I was, crying away like an idiot, naked and alone on the cold tile floor encrusted with its gunge and the smell of chemicals from cleaning products and other things not so clean. I was still coming down from a bad trip the LSD I took the other night had induced and I had extreem nausea. I must have vomited at least twice in the past ten minutes all down my chest. Just before my mother had left the house she shouted something at me about not using so much acid when I couldn’t pay her for it. What a heartless woman, why is she leaving so early in the morning anyway? I remember thinking. Woodstock starts in the afternoon.
Hours passed me by, and after I passed out for hours, and had collected some of my normal mind back, I walked into the living room still somewhat disoriented and in search of a room that didn’t smell quiet strong of drugs and human shit. Artificial light spilled from the tiny room fresh into my blurry vision and the sickly bright orange colour of the carpet hurt my stinging eyes. My father sat forward on the piss stained lounge, his hands busy cutting up some cones as he made joints with rusty scissors.
“Hey” he grunted at me in his normal hoarse voice after a few moments.
His presence angered me, and I felt strange with tingles and jolts all over my skin. Was I still stonned or was I just angry? I wondered.
“Where’s mum?” I asked through shallow breaths, eyes searching as I supported myself against the chipping yellow paint of the brick wall.
I rubbed the vomit into my skin.
“Out” he answered after a pause in his cutting.
I groaned, eyes clenched shut. Why couldn’t he just go away? His existence seemed to fill the room with horrible things. Was it just the fact I was still coming down from my trip and left disoriented with feelings of distress, or was this man who gave me life actually giving off an energy of pain and evil? Pain and evil that he had made me into.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, “did you take more? I told you not to for gods sake one of these days you’ll OD you idiot”
The room was spinning. My pressed my feet deep into the worn down carpet in hope to find some balance, but still everything around me danced with motion.
“…What?” I rubbed my eyes, the walls were melting and so were his words.
“You look like hell and you’re swearing your head off over there, what the hell have you done? What are you doing?”
Was I swearing? What was he talking about? Why were my surroundings so strange?
I still don’t know. All I remember next was a feeling like no other that I have ever had, regarldess of my state of mind. I felt anger and agression, I felt depressed, I felt incredibly disconnected and I felt alone. I felt as though I was melting away with the ground beneath my clammy feet and now I feel as though I have melted away to the ends of the earth where I stand now drenched in his blood and in my own.
So I’ve been talking to you awhile for now, could you please tell me something? Tell me what I have done and tell me where I am. Tell me if I’m still stonned, tell me if I’m dead. Tell me all the things that I don’t in this moment know. Please tell me. Or don’t, because I know the truth. Even if my hands are soaked in the blood of the man who gave me my sad little life that is now inevitably over, I do know one thing. And in the end that’s all that matters, because I don’t matter and neither does he.
What matters is the freedom. On this day, August 15th, and at the time of 5.07 pm in the afternoon in the summer of 1969, Woodstock has started and our fists have become bloodied and his face bruised. The freedom has started. The music and the love, the drugs and the death. It’s all screaming in my lonely mind and so are the shouts of my fathers dying distress. So even if I am still high or stonned or whatever it is that my hallucination made me, and even if my fathers dead and so am I, freedom is still alive. One last question for you though. Was it the drugs that made the revolution so? Was it the love? Was it the change? Or was it the fact that everyone was high on stupidity and the idea that freedom is real?
Information about what influenced my story.
- LSD was widely adopted by the hippy culture of the 1960's.
- LSD (lysergic acid diethylamide, street name: “acid”) is one of the major drugs making up the hallucinogen class of drugs. Hallucinogens cause hallucinations—profound distortions in a person’s perception of reality.
- Under the influence of hallucinogens, people see images, hear sounds, and feel sensations that seem real but do not exist. Some hallucinogens also produce rapid, intense emotional swings. One of the most potent mood-changing chemicals is LSD.
- Users refer to their experience with LSD as a "trip" and to acute adverse reactions as a "bad trip." These experiences are long; typically they begin to clear after about 12 hours.
- Some LSD users experience severe, terrifying thoughts and feelings, fear of losing control, fear of insanity and death, and despair while using LSD. Some fatal accidents have occurred during states of LSD intoxication.
- Many LSD users experience flashbacks. A flashback occurs suddenly, often without warning, and may occur within a few days or more than a year after LSD use. Flashbacks usually occur in people who use hallucinogens chronically or have an underlying personality problem.
- LSD can lead to birth defects if used frequently.
- Cannabis or Marijuana (street name, “weed” or “cones”) is the most commonly abused illicit drug in the USA. It is a dry, shredded green/brown mix of flowers, stems, seeds, and leaves of the hemp plant Cannabis sativa, and is usually smoked as a cigarette (joint).
- It wasn't until the 1960's that marijuana became popular in the United States.
- Some of the immediate effects of using cannabis are thing such as feeling anxious, panicky, depressed or paranoid, a change in breathing, loosing track of time, having a dry mouth and a faster heart beat.
- Smoking marijuana during pregnancy can increase the chance of miscarriage, low birth-weight, premature births, developmental delays, and behavioral and learning problems.
Woodstock and the 1960’s
The Woodstock Music and Art Fair in 1969 drew more than 450,000 people to a pasture in Sullivan County Bethel, New York City, USA. The music began Friday afternoon at 5:07pm August 15th and continued until mid-morning Monday August 18th. "Three Days of Peace and Music" was the slogan of Woodstock. It was believed that Woodstock was a countercultural event that brought together open minds through freedom, peace, drugs and love. Woodstock, like only a handful of historical events, has become part of the cultural lexicon.
Contraceptives in the 1950’s and 1960’s
In 1965, following the Supreme Court’s decision in Griswold v. Connecticut declaring a constitutional right to contraceptives, the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists (ACOG) issued a controversial medical bulletin declaring that drugs which halted human reproduction between fertilization and implantation were contraceptives instead of abortifacients.
Throughout the 1960’s birth control became more readily available in the U.S and excepted in society as a method of prevention rather than an abortion of life as it was seen in the 1950’s.
...hope you enjoyed reading it. I didn't enjoy writing it haha.