Life Fading Makes Living more Vibrant

written for a class final due on March 13, 2002

The sun was bright, cascading down through the rich green trees that lined the Clovis streets. The air fresh and crisp danced on the tip of your essence with each inhalation of youth. I felt vibrantly alive and bubbly with the optimism only the young have. Uncharted territories unfolded before me in a whirlwind of experience and life, college swooping me up and rushing me along, entrenched in its rapids of adventure and experimentation. We drove along merrily, just the four of us, excited for the events to come that night. We were children of MTV, “Sesame Street” blessings of no attention span. Pop culture fanatics with mounds of useless trivia overflowing from promising minds. Politics took the backseat to the latest “Friends” episode, hour-long discussions about the “Big Leobowski” or childhood cartoons. Mindless minions of corporate America. Shaped by heteronormativity and cultural propaganda. Sinning mortally every waking hour, blasphemy and rebellion, projecting an image to separate ourselves from the masses of a.d.d. Flunkies. Putting forth well read intelligence with a hint of sarcastic humor, balanced and likeable, dressed up, clean and presentable, clueless and afraid of the future, affection starved, committing amoral actions, atom bombs of youth, desensitized yet appreciative. That was us, or at least that was me.
The driver was Derek, a fanatic at the wheel; he terrified me every time I got in the car. We took a road trip to Riverside once, to visit our friend Howie. The whole time I just tried to fall asleep in the back of his unstable, top-heavy, Isuzu trooper as it skimmed along the freeway at tops speeds of 110 mph. I figured being unconscious when we slammed into the family van or Aztec that Derek was tailgating like he was an extension of; I would feel no pain, the realization of my death would never occur. The best way I could imagine to go out, unaware. I could picture it all, him laughing or telling a story taking his eyes off the road, like he always does, while the brake lights of the car in front of us flash red and redder. You feel that gasp of fear just when Derek realizes that the car is braking, he looks forward yells, “whoooa!!” like he always does, and then resumes his position of not watching the road and laughs about the fact that he had almost killed us again. I thought about this stuff all the time, fear of death and not living. They aren’t the same thing.
Derek was quite the character, he was white but thought that he was Asian, having grown up with them. He even spoke Japanese when he was really drunk, always trying to speak eloquently while in reality rambling endlessly. He was always aloof unfocused on the obstacles in his way, flamboyant with large hand gestures and dignified superfluous words commenting on everything and every argument with a skewed view. He was the kind of guy who when watching a movie tries to figure out the plot way in advance and constantly asks questions instead of just watching. Piecing together shards of information to conjure up a fantastical version of the story usually way off base, yet he still tried.
Also along for the ride were Eddie and Jay, both from Clovis and old friends of Derek’s. I didn’t know them that well but the night would bring us all together. Eddie was tall for an Asian and way too nice. He had a habit of asking very politely for things he did not have to ask for. He would never tread on anyone’s toes and down to the core was one of the most decent people I had met. I got along with him perfectly. Jay was quiet but behind his silence he had a vast knowledge of music and everything else burrowing beneath pop culture. He would introduce me to the most obscure but enjoyable gems from Hong Kong cinema to Icelandic singing groups.
We had all been brought together in the first place because of three things: a girl, Phillip Morris and weed. The girl was Setsuko and she introduced us. She was the kind of girl that every guy fell for. There was something about her that drew you to her. She was beautiful and enchanting; you chased her while knowing that chasing her would only ruin you in the end. I knew this, and I tried to forget her but when I would think myself close to escaping her grasps she would lure me back in with a simple phone call or drunken flirtation. For most of the year I was trapped in a twisted game of push and pull with her, wrangling my emotions and draining my spirit. She inspired morbid poetry with the pain she caused me. She left behind her, a wake of broken hearts and wounded admirers. She was a full on she-devil but I loved her despite all this and maybe because of this. At the time of this story I was wholly in her grasps, bowing to her every whim and living to share the same room with her.
Philip Morris provided the cigarettes that we smoked constantly as we socialized and bonded, and weed brought us all even closer together. Long days spent on the grass smoking and relaxing, hours of listening to music and lounging around. Stoners have to be the most relaxed and down to earth people you can meet. The term stoner carries with it certain misperceptions and a stigma of unintelligence, due mostly to Cheech and Chong. In reality we were all college kids, maintaining good grades, even making the Dean’s list. The drugs never effected us perversely they only enhanced our pleasure while we still maintained model citizen appearances. We were living with the mantra of “no effort” and were content to sit for hours listening to underground hip-hop while playing videogames. The truest pacifists you could find. Nothing could upset my little world. Life for us consisted of short periods of studying and hours upon hours of enjoying life. Not stressing over little things, the unchangeable was left as just that. I laughed at people who tore themselves up over little things it just all seemed so pointless. Or at least that’s the way I felt. I constantly used the catch phrase from “Donnie Brasco”, “Fuh-ged-aboud-it” which is along the same lines as another one of my favorite responses, “Eh, what are you gonna do?” This statement is then followed with the shoulder shrug and look that conveys so eloquently the attitude possessed by all of us, “fuck it.” So with this set of values, and invincibility running through our veins, we headed to Derek’s. Young and rampant, devious and laughing we were untouchable, in our prime.
We were arriving at Derek’s early, getting ready for the party that was going to be there that night. This was to be a momentous night; it was the first time I was going to take shrooms. I was making the leap to the psychedelic, venturing past the gateway drug and into the realm of hallucinations and long hours of a new reality. We had become so desensitized that we didn’t even think that shrooms were a big deal. I remember as a little child saying that I would never get a tattoo, do drugs or start smoking. I have fallen short on all those goals and looked back at myself at that age as way too innocent and naïve. We smoked weed everyday and drug use was a natural part of our lives, I had been briefed earlier on the delicate balance shrooms entailed. I had to approach calmly don’t stress over it and feel only good vibes. You just have to realize that it is only a drug and that after it is over reality will return. It was frightening but exciting at the same time. An anticipation and fear cowered in the back of my subconscious. Flashes of losing control and leaping towards the unknown and unexperienced, this was the desensitized generation. I was sure that I would be fine though and I felt comfortable with everyone that was going to be there and as I was told being comfortable is the most important part of a shrooms trip.
His house was pleasant; it looked like the stereotypical gated community house. The kind of house where you expect to see a Mercedes Benz on the driveway and a young 30-something father mowing the lawn while his ten-year old daughter rides a scooter on the driveway. It stood before us perfectly capturing the essence and totally embodying the image of suburbia. Clean cut lawns, minivans, flower gardens, receding hairlines, cubicles, water coolers, and block parties all of this was suburbia, and this was where we would set up shop. It was a pretty new house with hardwood floors and an outside-enclosed patio. This is where we plopped down for our cigarettes when we first arrived, outside the sun danced on the pool water. It glistened and surrounded by the backyard plant growth it looked almost tropical. Our smoke wrapped around the room in enchanting swirls of white and gray, shifting with the wind enticing us to play. As the sun began to set over our little corner of the universe we laughed and talked through clouds of heavy smoke enjoying the hell out of being alive. We began to light tiki torches and set them up around the backyard creating a festive environment for the crowds expected later that night. Everything was serene and the night looked to be on the right path, the flames flickering in the light breeze of early May, lighting the concrete paradise of the backyard.
Pretty soon people began to trickle in, mostly the ones that were going to embark on the fantastical voyage that awaited us. There was Brad from Nebraska, he was hilarious and a leader among the Clovis Asian crew that I was partying with that night. He was like a stand up comedian constantly on the mic, the spotlight always raining down on him. Yet he never ceased to entertain and was likeable from the start. There was also Vince from UCLA a large Asian who had wrestled and worked as a manual laborer in high school. He was stocky and quiet but a genius undercover. He wore glasses but they didn’t fit his personality they only commented on the studious side of Vince that was unseen to the naked eye. Finally there was Sam; he was a baseball player, large and muscular. He was loud for no reason seeming to have only one volume or the inability to adapt to new environments. He would carry out a personal conversation with you across a check out line yelling for all to hear the intimate details of your life. He was lacking in social skills and had an outcast aura around him. I didn’t know him very well but he was the guy that would walk up and punch you in the stomach or hit you on the arm just to get your attention. He made me jumpy; he was best described as a non-experienced, asocial, unconfident, entanglement of humanity searching for acceptance through rebellion and drug taking. Operating on the outskirts of the social circle managing to worm into the center occasionally but a more recent addition to the crew and not fully accepted by all. So this was who I was going to rebel with. Together we would cast off the chains of reality and transcend into a whole new level of imagination and chaos.
The house now teemed with people as the moment of consumption lurched closer and closer. Everyone was there, alcohol was everywhere like a scene from an idealistic college movie. Kids laughing and taking shots raging on through out the house, everyone cheerful and exuberant. Brightness and cheers abounded, the night ringing with festivity and friendship. It was Asian American Pie at Stifler-san's. When finally the time arrived. It was 8:00, the moon shone bright outside; the air was chilly and nipped at you when you ventured out. We were ready for our shrooms. I was raring to go, along with Brad, Jay, Derek, and Vince. They had all done it before and were my mentors for the night. The only person who was hesitant was Sam. He wasn’t sure that he wanted to take them but with “gentle” coercion by Vince something like “Take those shrooms, don’t be a bitch!!” he relented his grasp on reality and joined us on our adventure.
The shrooms were harvested from cow shit and they looked like dinosaur bones hard and pale. Not appealing at all but the magic that lurked inside of them electrified the air. We crumbled them up and put them in Jack In The Box tacos. They were cheap, concealed the taste better than pizza, and were more easily accessible and less effort than making tea. It was the stoner mantra at work; it leads you to the path of least resistance and the most utilitarian choice, ninety-nine cent tacos. We each had a whole 8th of shrooms, which is a good amount; it’s enough to produce serious hallucinations and a trip that can last several hours. For the first time it was the way to go. Tacos consumed and the party raging, the waiting began.
You know when shrooms first hit you because you think that the lights have been turned down a notch. Like the Italian restaurants with the mood lighting and those light switches that are dials. Imagine the lights being on full blast and someone just turning the knob down. Knowing all this I was prepared and anxious to see the drugs take effect. I was sitting by the side of Derek’s pool the shrooms already making my stomach upset. They’re a poison and the natural way to react to them is for the stomach to try and reject them. You just have to make sure that you don’t throw them up before they take effect or all of your money is wasted. Sitting with my upset stomach not sure what to expect, the possibilities were boundless. The stars decorated the glass ceiling of existence, twinkling as they glimmered in distant galaxies, a modern wonder of decorative design, simplistic yet forever enthralling. The dimmer switch was tripped and the lights faded quickly and surprisingly. It is something that you can’t be prepared for, and from that moment on everything was different.
All of us were reverted to little children. The amazement that one felt when touching the ground was indescribable. Pavement never held such wondrous beauty. Jay and I ooohed and ahhhed as the ground slithered before us, and the reflections of light on the pool wavered in the darkness of the night. My cigarette twisted and turned towards me the orange cherry turning a fluorescent color. Everything I looked at moved and the joy I felt was overwhelming. The shroomers had this policy of keeping kind of separate from the people who were not on shrooms. The problem with too many people was that you could start to feel bad vibes and this could send you into a tailspin and you could lose control of your trip. Besides you wanted to share the events of the night with people who could understand you. Jenn who had drank maybe a couple beers or shots was not seeing the ground slithering like Derek or I was. Brad wandered off by himself, escaping the madness of the party inside, Vince was just chilling downstairs, while Sam had to lie down because he wasn’t taking it too well. We were concerned about Sam but we were also all on shrooms. I knew that I did not like being asked questions when I was tripping so I asked Sam once if he was alright and then left him figuring that lots of people hovering over him asking is he was okay would freak him out. Derek, Eddie, Jay, and I all escaped to the levy that lies behind Derek’s house. We ran along happily, laughing, and entertained by all of nature and its abundance. We settled down on the path and began to smoke a bowl. It was windy and the water around us looked black and far away. Eddie was not on shrooms but he was granted acceptance to our little world. He served as an anchor to reality, when I wasn’t sure if things were actually as they appeared I asked Eddie. Frightening hallucinations were subsided by asking for a reference. Eddie had brought along a flashing red light used to make bikers visible when on the trails. Never has a light been so magical and enthralling, everything carried with it a sense of wonderment and excitement. I can picture Jay seeking refuge from the wind, while trying to light the pipe. He hid inside Eddie’s jacket; they looked like mother and son birds feeding on the nature channel. We laughed and talked in the cold night for a rather long portion of time, though time is pointless when you are on shrooms. The only time that matters is when you start shrooms and when you finally are returned to society. The hours in between pass by without notice or that’s the way it should be.
We returned to the house and sought shelter from the party in Derek’s room. This room was truly magnificent to mushroomed eyes. Derek being the huge Asiaphile that he is had plastered his room with anime posters and Gundham wing models. Swordsman danced on the walls and Japanese girls swayed back and forth, everything was alive and I could feel it all. I just lay on the floor watching all the posters dance for me, occasionally getting up to take a toke from one of the many pipes that was being passed around. We moved from room to room consuming mass amounts of weed in a repeated cycle of conversation and bewilderment. Lying on the floor watching the walls pulsate, Latyrx playing loudly from an old stereo. It was all so surreal, and I had trouble remembering what life before shrooms was like. We were constantly laughing, and everyone was in a good mood. Eddie must have been stoned out of his mind because he could feel all of the effects of the weed. The shroomers smoked just to smoke, it didn’t make us any higher but we consumed and enjoyed anyways. We had discussions that flowed from one room to the other, it all felt like a TV show, guest stars would run in and out as a laugh track constantly played. Eddie popped his head out of the bar like a sesame street puppet to uproarious laughter and smiles.
I was enraptured by the presence of Setsuko; in my state she appeared to have sparkles. Her black hair and entire body were surrounded by beautiful glints of light. My yearning for her visually represented around her petite figure, my favorite guest star on the shrooms sitcom. Good vibes overflowed from her and the warmth of her presence elevated my state of euphoria. Complete insanity yet still based in reality. We had a thing for following the rules of reality and maintaining good vibes. These rules can be forgotten when you are tripping as hard as we were. At one point we all ran outside with pipes full of weed before realizing that we were breaking the rules of reality. Wish as we might Marijuana was still illegal. The night progressed like this, a jubilee of ecstasy and the greatest time of my life. The images so vibrant and warm, bright colors of memories so soon to be tarnished by the events to come.
All was well in our little world but this was not the case for Sam. We had left him on his own for quite some time. We were all prancing around like school children basking in a perpetual circle of good vibes and merriment while he was flat on his back wishing for his trip to end. His condition progressed more and more and no one was prepared for the final transformation. He was saying weird stuff to himself as he lay in the dark away from everyone. At one point he grabbed Eric and told him to stay with him, but all of these acts were shrugged off as him just tripping to hard. We all figured he would shake it off and enjoy himself with the rest of us. This was not to be the case at all. I was standing in the kitchen talking to my friend Dick when I first saw him. He walked by us stark naked, his whole body muscular and swollen like a game bird flaunting his feathers. His eyes were large and piercing, black as obsidian. Dick and I were astonished and I knew that Sam was not following the rules of reality. It only got worse from there on. He attacked Brad and Vince. He pounced on them from across the table swinging at them and busting open Vince’s lip. He grabbed our friend Jaime by the neck and held her against a wall shouting, “All girls must die.” The good vibes vanished and we all turned into raving lunatics. Darkness enveloped the night as things spun more and more out of control. Sam ran through the house jumping through open windows and diving in the pool while we scurried to get out of his way. We feared for our safety or sanity, an end to the destruction. Spiraling, swirling, the darkest of places distraught and unable to function. While Sam possessed super human attributes, ranting and raving, massive and menacing. Derek, Eddie, Jay, Jaime and I huddled in the garage fear griping our strung out minds. “What do we do?” “Can we knock him out?” “No we can’t do that what if we hurt him” “well we can’t just let him run around the house” should we tie him up?” “Can’t we all just leave?” “No we can’t leave him here who knows what he will do?” All of us had lost it; our pristine night of experimentation had produced the worst possible outcome.
All I could think of was the cops coming and arresting us all. I pictured, “American Me” and the Mexican mafia, shower rape scenes and stabbing people on weight benches. My whole life crumbled before my eyes, I reminded myself over and over that I was a student in college and that when I woke up the next day everything would be normal. I had convinced myself that this was all a virtual game and I just had to find some way to end it. I had to unplug or find the key moment in the night where this all started and reset time. I frantically splashed water on my face in the bathroom, the mirror staring back at me dazed and confused, disoriented and struggling to find a key to reset this game that had gone so wrong. Hallucinations and pure horror got the best of me. Sam paraded around shouting, “Mommy Daddy Jesus Christ!!! I have a small cock look at my cock!!!” Our happy sitcom had become a way too dramatic TV movie. It was like an Eminem song and I had no way to control anything in my state. Derek had come up with an idea to all leave the house so that Sam could realize what he was doing and when we would return he would be normal again. We all doubted this and just continued to run around in circles depraved and frightened. I tried to jump the fence and escape but there was nowhere to go and I couldn’t leave the problems we had created.
Finally after at least an hour of him parading around aimlessly and naked, some of the more sober guys jumped Sam in front of the front door. A pile of bodies dropped and everyone scrambled to pin him down. They held him as he continued to scream gibberish or subconscious phrases that had no relevance to us. I wandered through the house; blood splattered on the floor, weed and tobacco was strewn on the counters. Beer bottles and shot glasses adorned the set of our shattered existence as Sam still moaned in the background. I called for Sets (Setsuko) and sought refuge in her arms. Her holding me, everything was alright though I could see that she was really traumatized. Lying there in her arms I asked over and over if I should go to sleep. Sleep was going to restore everything, my sanity, the order of reality and the craziness of the night, but sleep never came. I would close my eyes hoping to drift away from the house and be peaceful at home in bed, but the voices echoed loud in the recesses of my mind.
I could hear everyone talking about Sam, “He just lost it” “It sucks that someone has to ruin everything for everyone else.” I heard all of this and thought they were talking about me. Still in Sets’ arms I could see that she was crying and I thought it was because I was dead. My mind was diluted and the thoughts ran rampant and senselessly. The loss of control and the fact that I could not change anything around me only lead me to believe that I was dead. It was like I didn’t exist in the same world or dimension that everyone else was in. I had let go of the rules of reality and I tumbled into the depths of madness playing out the rest of the night in warped fantasy and contorted visions of the truth.
I pictured myself taking the shrooms and then impaling myself on one of the windows of the enclosed patio, I heard the broken glass as I stared at the scene of my fall. I must have lost it I thought to myself. I was in the aftermath of my death, and I looked deep into Sets’ eyes and asked, “So my whole life added up to this?” The acceptance of your own death is something that most people never have to deal with. Surprisingly it was easy enough for me to take. I went out in a flash of rebellion and drugs destined to be in the papers or documented for an anti-drug campaign. In accepting my loss of life I felt freer to exist. I sauntered around the suburban house untouchable and content with my afterlife. All around me were my friends and I figured that it was heaven. My version of heaven being the replaying of the good times of your life. I had the best time of my life in that house just a couple of hours ago and so I tried to play out some of the more enjoyable times by asking Eddie if he wanted to go have a smoke. He was not on shrooms and had been jolted back to sobriety with the events that had transpired and responded somberly, “Now probably isn’t the best time.” Alright I thought to myself everything in heaven doesn’t have to happen just the way you like or does it? I was perplexed that my family was not around, I had some of my fondest memories with them but they weren’t permitted to my heaven? All of this was insanity and it had to end. Someone began to act responsibly, contacting someone's father who was a doctor. We had to let go of our absence of authority; we needed a dad or a mom. Too long had we been running in circles just lost children scared and helpless against an enemy that was our friend.
Dr. Kumora walked through the door and his eyes swelled in disbelief. Sam was covered with people trying to keep him down and quiet, the house was trashed and teary-eyed children watched from afar. He had entered our world to help set us straight. He immediately called the paramedics who arrived to cart away Sam. Policemen showed up and neighbors shuffled into the house yelling and lecturing at us for being irresponsible and out of control. Belittling us as we already shook with the resonance of the night’s emotional bombardment. All of this I viewed through a tinted lens of disbelief. The actions taking place were not entirely real to me as I still thought I was dead. I responded to the cop’s questions like a normal person and he had no idea that I doubted his existence as he sat before me. The house emptied and the madness subsided. We had to leave and search for Derek, as he had bolted as soon as the paramedics arrived. We wandered through a park the grass swaying violently in the strong gusts of wind; it was so green as the sun shone bright in the early morning. I still had no real perception of what had occurred, I had the best and worst time of my life. I had died and now existed in a heaven where cops and neighbors stormed through your door and chastised you. It was a murky reality that I would soon be rid of once I could get to sleep. Sets drove me home and when I began to recognize streets around my house the pieces began to fall into place. Slowly I realized what had happened and found tremendous happiness that I was not deceased. I stumbled through my door and lay exhausted on my bed, thankful to have survived unharmed. Released in sleep, at last able to recuperate and let my tenseness ease into the comforting clouds of unconsciousness.
When I awoke the next morning Sam was in the hospital, all he needed was to relax and let the shrooms run their course. They had tied him to a bed for the night and he was released that day. Derek never got in trouble by the cops and everyone else was disturbed but alright in the end. It was a horrendous night of drugs, happiness, madness, and rebirth. We had to reconsider our views, change because of what had happened. After that night I wrote the following passage.

Life Fading Makes Living More Vibrant
An epiphany brought on by chaos one night changing lives forever, fear and uncertainty, emerging from darkness and facing the world sober. The world canvassed in a dark sheet of night is beautiful to new eyes. Stepping forward towards the unknown together we heal. Alive and young we are not invincible, desensitized and jaded reality is faltering, a generation with little inhibitions and fleeting morals, unabashed youth fragile and weak, halting evil ways and forging a new path to redemption, old habits lost and new lives begin, changing and restructuring, picking up pieces of a shattered existence, drugs and rebellion halting for the sake of sanity, too long have I traveled down the road to destruction. A page of life has turned and the blankness of the next page frightens me. Life fading makes living more vibrant, I face the next day with hope…



Sorry I haven't been writing on here, but you guys understand, I am at work remember? haha anyways this is an old story I wrote in college, It is more personal, maybe a little less crafted more of just a rehashing of a particular night, if you read my other stuff you will see some of the same stuff repeated in here. Oh and the writings may get even more scarce because I just got a new job with better pay, worse hours, and monotonous and boring data entry duties. I will also have to take the new job more seriously so I don't know when I will find time to write, since I just dabble on here when I am bored at my present job. All person represented in this story are works of fiction any and all resemblance to actual persons or actual events is purely coincidental. Don't take it personally if you read this, it's in the past fuh-ged-aboud-it...