ARR 1988 - Flipbook - Page 138
it real or is it Memorex? Wheat Chex. Gag reflex. Never leave home without
it. Click. Squealingtires:::gun shots:::car chase:::this dude's bad, check him
out. Click. Our Prayer Hotline phones are standing by:::miracles for
money:::God the Extortionist. Click. Hey, Vern come on down to John L.
Sullivan and put a second mortgage on your home in order to buy a BRAND
NEW CAR!!!
Everything that came on that tube was connected in some barely
understandable way, pieces in a puzzle, nearly inexpressible, coming
together to form an over-all picture. Something so obvious, it seemed the
producers of these nighttime networks had planned it this way. I was
glimpsing the greedy, heartless American way oflife; the lies that make up
our days, that society is built on. When the Star-Spangled Banner came on
at the end of one station's programming, like the final confirmation, I
laughed out loud. A revelation. I cried a little too, I think.
Bang! Door slammed open. Chaos... three people, friends of
Gretchen's, unexpectedly entered. I was repelled by their entrance. Repulsed. It felt like an intrusion on something almost holy. There was
something happening here and these new additions to our little group were
simply not part ofit. I didn't want them here, and I think the others felt the
same way.
The tall guy with scary eyes kept jumping small jumps outside the
door, while his friend and friend's girlfriend pulled out baggies filled with
chalk-white powder.
"Candy anyone? A little blast of the fast?" and various and sundry
sniffiing snorting sound effects to accompany the offer. They were making
me physically sick. I wanted to tell them to get their shit and themselves
out... but I couldn't. I couldn't get up on a soap box and preach about idiotic
abuse of drugs and burnt brain tissue and twisted personalities and the
whole nose-candy lifestyle, the Lie that was part of the Great Lie I had only
moments before uncovered.. .! couldn't tell them these things. Not while I
was under the influence ( ifthat term can be applied) ofone of the BIG drugs,
one of the real baddies; who was I, to rant and rave about drug abuse? The
Psychedelic Nancy Reagan? After all, what's a little speed compared to
Ell ... Ess... Deeee? Intellectually, I agreed with this point, but...
This was different. And I couldn't find the words to explain why.
The thought was a bitter paradox, a hypocritical contradiction. The
feelings I was experiencing and the thoughts I was forming during my bout
with the Dread Drug LSD seemed totally incongruous with these scenes of
jumpy, spoiled upper-middle-class maggots with rolled dollar bills stuffed
up their noses, eating up white lines of crystal meth.
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