Hey readers, I tell you what, please ignore all that stuff I wrote about wanting you to take acid. I had the worst stomach ache of my life for five hours and I was a right old mess. I re-read what I’d written and, wtf? What a load of old bollocks! I’m embarrassed, to be honest with you.
Hello to my new follower Kate, btw. Nice to see you but, take my advice, steer clear of Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds!
The thing is, this arts project is getting a bit out of hand. But when it comes to Dippy, I’m just a guy who can’t say “no” and the sixth drug of Christmas was quite something else. I’m not sure exactly what though. Jesus drugs are quite dangerous, dangerous but quite the experience.
And I have just had quite the experience, I can tell you that for the price of nothing. I am just back from what is known in the parlance of those who know as the ‘K-hole’. I did intend to blog about my first experience of ketamine, otherwise known as K, as it happened, but I was too fucked to type. Actually, out of my face doesn’t even come close – I spent 20 minutes thinking I was nothing but a little white box with the letter P on it. WTF?!
Madonna was wrong by the way – K is no way better than ecstasy. Then again, she is about 70 or something and has probably done the 12 drugs of Christmas more than once, especially since she used to go out with gangsters like Ice T.
Anyway, I digress, I was going to tell you about my experience in the K-hole. It was actually pretty scary from start to finish. Dippy reckons she’s done K loads, so I followed her lead. Apparently K is quite hard to get hold of on the street these days, but Dippy said we’d be able to get some at this squat party. It was one of those ones where you have to phone a mobile number an hour before it starts to get the address, which was some disused warehouse on the A406, near the big Staples.
It was like that party where I met Dips, it was like a drugs sweet shop. Everyone was fucked out of their minds. There were tramps with dogs on string smoking crack out of beer tins, prossies touting their wares and little kids of about 14 running around selling acid, I’m not touching that again in a hurry. There was even a stall set up in the corner, just selling drugs openly. It was brilliant, just a great big two finger salute to The Man, like we were all saying, “you can’t keep us down, because we’re free thinkers! You can’t keep us boxed up, because in here, we are no longer in your world and we can access the truth!” So we bought three grams of K from the shop and Dippy was all like “let’s just do it now,” but I didn’t want to taint my first experience in such a weird vibed environment, so I said we should go home.
Lucky we did too – the pigs were outside waiting for the party to die down enough to charge in and beat everyone up probably. I thought they might shake us down, but I outsmarted them. I hid the wraps of K in an open packet of smoky bacon crisps I had. They didn’t stop us but it would have been ironical if they had – smoky bacon – pigs. Lol!!
So back at home Dippy racked up two fat lines of K. Apparently you can’t die or overdose on K. It’s actually a horse tranquiliser, and they used it as a field anaesthetic in ‘Nam, for that very reason. That you can’t OD on it, not that it’s a horse tranquiliser. They didn’t have horses in ‘Nam. Probably because they were all eaten by the Viet Cong.
Anyway, K is a dissasociative, which means it makes your mind feel as though it’s outside of your body. Far out man! But [your]God that stuff is awful! It hits you pretty much instantaneously and you just lose control of your motor functions. It’s like you’re a passenger in your own head, watching your body move around like a Thunderbirds puppet. It’s a really disorientating experience and it makes you feel sick. I had to crawl on my hands and knees to the lav so I could worship the porcelain altar, because I swear to [your] God I thought I was sitting on the ceiling. Dippy didn’t even make it that far, she puked down the side of the sofa. It was like the room was spinning so I just had to ride out the rest of the trip laying on the bathroom floor. I don’t even know how long it lasted ‘cos time just seemed to loop in on itself, like it was infinite or something. And just as I was coming round again Dippy said we should do another line, and then she said that having sex on K is a really weird experience. So I saw my chance here readers, I said we should try it then, you know, for the sake of research ;-) afterwards we could always say it was the drugs talking. Dippy was up for it which was brilliant because I’ve been wanking like a trooper lately and I really needed a chance to properly clean out the pipes. But as soon as we got our kit off (Dippy has amazingly pert knockers BTW!) it all went wrong… Now I’m not talking brewer’s droop, everyone knows that happens often after a night on the sauce and it’s nothing to worry about, but this was different. Suddenly I felt as though I was in the centre of a Roman amphitheatre, about to do the deed with thousands of people watching from the stalls. And the crazy thing is that I could see myself from the crowd’s eye point of view, and there at the front of the crowd was Dan, looking at me all accusingly. I know none of this was really happening but it was like I was a passenger in my own nightmare, while myself was acting of its own accord. It gave me stage fright, my knob shrunk to an acorn, Dippy got the hump and the moment was ruined. I needed a couple of Cobras to get myself back together but it’s a bit awkward with Dippy still.
I’m never doing that again.