Memoirs Of A Bush Doof.
Remember old school bush doofs? The ones where you rang a 1800 number on your mates parents land line that was charged out at a very modest $12.95 a minute. But, once you got through the 14 minutes of muffled happy hardcore/ psytrance some sketchy sounding dude using a 10 dollar vox box gave you the location that more often than not you missed the first time. So, after 4-6 more attempts, some times with your mate on the other land line catching the 2nd and 5th words you finally get the address, jump in the car and drive for 3 hours only to find out it's down some muddy embankment in the middle of a torrential downpour in the back of some one horse coastal town.
Once you make it down to the bottom, with about 1/3rd your original crew, you make your way over to a tree covered in neon paint with a sorta hot, (well you'd do her for her spirit and her love of the music), type of girl wearing nothing but short fury carpet pants, a glitter bra and a mouth filled with a child's pacifier.This lovely specimen of a human then asks you for a 5ver as a transaction for an acid tab the size of a postage stamp.
You take the postage stamp and for three days you disappear. Eating nothing other than a bunch of $15 cucumber sandwiches.
OH FUCK YEAH!!!! VIVA LA DOOF!!!
Then after the 3 days.
Usually, by that time you kinda wished you knew how you were gonna make the 3 hour trek home because you're pretty tuckered and your new friends who you originally thought were so much cooler than your old friends have proven themselves to be a bit further left in their position on life than yourself.
It may of been the light of day, the lack of sleep and sustaining food or the butt fuck comedown you see imminent. But, in one moment that changes the course of your life, you realise that you could never hold down a successful and proper friendship with these nut bags. After locating yours, or some footwear you trapse it up the embankment, holding onto the infant trees in the ground. Occasionally slipping over and walking past a bunch of folk who either want you to continue or ask you "how good was that?"
You have no time for this. You want out. In your head, every gap of air and physical instance in front of you and your bed is your mortal enemy. Your desire to "chill out" has taken over.
So after whatever adventure you decide to take to get you through the space between you and your middle of the day, curtains drawn, unmade bed. That was on you. No one wanted to know and you didn't want to tell them. The simple response "fuck that was a hike" was plenty good enough and got more likes back in the day than a Biebs status.
As you shower, you realise the dirty acid skin disgusts you and you make quick fleeting thoughts to pockets of memories that you had before you left that were telling you to stay a little longer because you knew that when you ACTUALLY got home, showered and lied in bed it would be the worse time of your existence. YOU KNEW what it was like, you always knew what it was like.... YET YOU STILL DID IT.
Like having a bong on an acid comedown. The thought was strong, but the reality was weak. So, after 5 hours of trying on different clothing options in pursuit of comfort, you realise it's all futile and you have to face the fact that it's something you gotta ride out. As it is dark now, you switch off the lights only to hear your roommates downstairs laughing at the latest blockbuster comedy. This creates a level of "are they laughing at me?" paranoia that defies any Dr Fucking Phil episode. Slowly you realise they are laughing at Dan Aykroyd and not you. After an hour listening to Rod Stewart and focussing on the neutral colour "brown". You gently put the demons to rest, even though you fear that when you wake up you will speak an entirely new language where you think you're making sense but yet nobody else understands you. For this is God's punishment to you, for fucking up your brain this badly.
The night passes and you wake up and run to the nearest roommate and ask him in some slow monotone voice "DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?" At first he says "No" and you freeze and try and imagine the rest of your existence from there on in. Then he says "Nah, I'm just joking". You reply "Really???!!! Oh BOY, Thank fuck!" Smiles are exchanged and you leave the house for your place of employment where you spend the next two weeks very quiet and reflective, eating nothing but fish and rice. Trying to keep yourself together emotionally, all awhile preparing your head for the next one.
Goodtimes.