"You know, it's always been a big mystery to me, the way women orgasm and everything. I mean, if I understand it correctly, you can have multiple orgasms, you know, theoretically it could go on indefinitely. But in practice, it seems like a woman's orgasm is spotty, at best, and a lot of times they don't even come at all. So, in the process of getting close to someone, it's not necessarily Start out slow, Build up in intensity, Climax, The End. I mean, there doesn't seem to be any linear progression to it. You know what I'm saying?"

My girlfriend and I were both pretty far gone on acid, and I had the feeling she had no idea what I was saying, which was good, because I was probably making a real ass of myself. Whenever you're tripping really hard, you're probably going to make an ass of yourself, so it's something you just have to come to accept.

"Don't get me wrong, it's not that all I care about is getting sex from you. It's not that. It's just that, I don't know. I guess a guy's approach to intimacy is more goal oriented. At least, mine is. I really don't know any other way to get closer to someone. The reason I mention it is, acid really shrivels up my dick. I couldn't get an erection now to save my life. And I'm lying here, holding you, and I really want to get closer to you, but I just don't know how to do it."

She squeezed me more tightly and smiled. I guess she thought it would make me happy, now that we were more close to one another, but it's not what I meant.

"We can keep squeezing each other tighter, but that can only go so far. Eventually, you reach a limit. Our bodies get in the way. Eventually we'll reach a point where, if we squeeze any harder, it'll be painful."

"We wouldn't hurt each other."

"Here, I'll show you what I mean. Squeeze me as hard as you can."

"I don't think I should."

"Alright."

Two people on LSD will always have a hard time talking to each other. There's something about it that makes you take other people's comments the wrong way. If you keep talking long enough, it's bound to lead to some hurt feelings. If acid-users were smart, they'd just talk about the weather or something, but it makes you too pretentious for that. I had something else to say, but I kept it to myself.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked.

It was something we'd ask one another whenever there was a long enough period of silence. I liked the game because it seemed so honest to me. Even if you paused long enough to make up a lie, the pause would be noticeable and that would be revealing enough in itself. I'll admit, though, occasionally I cheated. Sometimes when I knew I was thinking about something I really didn't want to talk about, I'd have an alternate thought in mind ready to use in case I was asked. In this case, though, I told the truth.

"Well, I was thinking how I'd like to kiss you, because I never kissed anyone while I was tripping before. And I was trying to decide whether or not I should ask you first. I mean, it's not the kind of thing I'd ask permission for, normally. Normally, I'd just do it. But for some reason I just keep wondering if I should ask you."

She'd been laughing throughout my whole rambling, awkward monologue.

"You've never kissed anyone on acid before? I thought you said you used to do acid all the time."

"Well, yeah, but I don't just run around kissing people."

"Well, after all this talking about it, do you still want to kiss me?"

"Um...yeah."

So we kissed.

"So," she asked, "how was it?"

"I don't know. I wasn't paying attention."

We weren't even planning to do acid originally. It was just going to be a little weekend trip up to San Francisco. She wanted to come with me because she'd never been to San Francisco and because she liked spending time with me. I wanted her to come because I liked spending time with her and because I wanted one last weekend with her before telling her we shouldn't see each other anymore. I was going to break up with her because I wasn't happy with the way the relationship was going, but that wasn't really her fault because I'm never happy with the way anything in my life is going. The weird thing is, sometimes I really loved her and cared for her very deeply. But that was only sometimes, and the rest of the times I only kind of liked her. I'm pretty screwed up like that. I'll say one thing for her, I believe that she truly loved me. At least sometimes she did, and that's more than I can say for any other girl I've ever slept with. That was something I was really going to miss.

We got a room at the Motel 6 in a pretty crappy part of Oakland. It was all we could afford, and a pretty short drive to San Francisco. Neither of us really wanted to do acid. I'd given it up a few months earlier because I thought it was making me crazy. She'd had a bad trip recently and was a little wary about taking it again. But it was the only drug she could do now. She'd been busted for possession of speed and had to go get tested every week. If they found anything, they'd throw her in jail. Acid is the only thing that doesn't show up on those tests. So we brought some just in case.

The first night there, we walked around the city. San Francisco can be kind of beautiful, especially at night, when there's a light rain out. I stopped in City Lights bookstore while she stayed outside and smoked a cigarette. Everywhere I looked was a book I was dying to read. I picked one up and read a few sentences and then I gave up. Even if I spent the rest of my life in there, I couldn't have finished all those books. Fuck it.

When I came back out, she was still smoking , and she was talking to this homeless guy. On the way back to the hotel, I asked her about it. She said he was an angel, looking to recruit other angels to help clean up San Francisco. He told her to tell me this, and if I didn't believe her, she should shoot me.

I wasn't very afraid that she'd shoot me, but I did kind of believe it anyway. We both did. Any time you're in a big city, you'll run into a whole slew of crazy street people, but there was just something weird about him. It seemed like an omen of some kind. My girlfriend and I were the kind of people who were too cynical to believe in God and too idealistic to not believe in angels. Or maybe we were a couple of drug addicts too irresponsible to not believe in fate. Whatever. That's the story of why we did acid.

"No luck."

I just came back out from the bathroom for about the thousandth time. Sometimes when I'm tripping I have a hard time taking a piss.

"I think you're trying too hard."

"See, at first I'm trying too hard, but after I'm in there a couple of minutes, the floor starts moving, and pretty soon I forget what I went in there for. Taking a piss is one of those things you have to concentrate on just enough."

We started cracking up at what a ridiculous notion that was. Everything seemed especially funny to us for no particular reason. By this time, it was getting really hard to formulate thoughts, and almost impossible to articulate the few half-baked ones I had. I felt like a helpless little child. It was getting very hot, and it was only made worse by the fact that we were holding each other so tightly. But I wouldn't let go, no matter how uncomfortable I was, because I knew I'd never hold her like this again. Every once in awhile, she'd start to shiver violently, almost like a seizure or something. It had become a regular occurrence with her these last few days. I guess it was withdrawal from the speed she could no longer do. My first instinct was always to hug her, to try to comfort her or something, but she preferred to be left alone when it happened. It took me a while to learn to just sit there and watch it. In fact, it still wasn't exactly my favorite thing to see.

As I was sitting there this time, though, I felt distanced somehow. I felt like I could look at everything a little more objectively. I started asking myself all these questions. Was I really going to break up with this girl tomorrow? Was I really going to throw away the one thing in my life that made me feel like I have something to offer, the one person who would sooner spend their time with me than with anyone else? Was I really going to give that up because it wasn't living up to the ridiculous ideal I had in my head? Was I deluded enough to believe that anyone, much less a person as emotionally warped as me, could attain something like that?

i'm an idiot

And yet, I knew this wouldn't change anything. I knew that tomorrow I would no longer be distanced. I would return to my idiot ways and events would play themselves out accordingly. I would be free to wallow in loneliness and independence.

At this point, I'd like to tell you about one of my favorite books. It's called Valis and it was written by Philip K. Dick, one of the last books he wrote before he died. It's very autobiographical, and it's about how he went crazy from taking too many drugs and started to believe that God was beaming information into his brain. It's a very intricate, detailed description of the meaning of existence and the nature of God. Half the time, I didn't know what that fucker was talking about, but I knew that he was on to something. He said a lot of things, and one of them was something to the effect that all of existence is just One Mind, and that everything we perceive as matter is just information in that mind. He also said that the Mind has become irrational, deranged by grief caused by the loss of a woman.

My girlfriend bought the book, because she knew how much it meant to me. I think she thought it would help her to understand me. But I don't think she ever bothered to read it. She brought it with her, though, up to San Francisco. It was on the dresser and I was looking right at it.

"Let's have a staring contest."

I don't remember whose idea that was, but we both agreed to it. We were still both lying on the bed, so we turned to face each other and started staring.

I was staring intently into her very dilated pupils. I was so focused that the blackness seemed to take up my entire field of vision. At that moment, I saw the final outcome of it all. I saw what the entire universe would look like when we would all be dead, when all of existence would squeeze into one point, collapse back into the singularity from which it came. I was on the verge of some kind of revelation.

"What was that?"

"What was what?" I asked impatiently. This sudden conversation was really throwing off my train of thought.

"Someone's out there."

In retrospect, I suppose it's not so unusual when staying in a motel, to hear people outside of your room. Regardless, it wasn't long before we became convinced that the police were out there, waiting for just the right moment to come in and get us. I was a little foggy on certain aspects of the everyday world, but I was fairly certain that the police didn't want you to do acid. We devised a brilliant plan by which we would turn out the lights, be quiet, and pretend we were asleep. We seemed to feel that the police wouldn't arrest you if you were sleeping.

We laid there for awhile, silently and in the dark. Every once in a while, one of us would whisper something to the other, and the response would be "shhhhh". While I laid there, I continued thinking about the meaning of life. Every time I felt like I just about had it, I'd hear voices outside the door to distract me. It was as though the police could tell when I was getting too close, and were determined to bust me before I figured it out.

"I'm going out there."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. She was standing at the door, and evidently planned to open it and walk right out.

"Are you crazy? They'll get you if you go out there!"

I got up and walked over to her.

"No, I'm just going to look around, that's all. I'll be fine. I'll be right back."

"C'mon. If they get me, that's one thing. But if they get you, you're going to jail. With two felony convictions. Please. Don't go out there."

"I'll be fine."

She reached for the door and I slapped her.

"I'm sorry."

I was sorry. We've gotten into some pretty intense arguments. There were times she'd start punching my car windows, or I would trash my room. But I'd never slapped her before. I wasn't even angry with her, though. I just didn't know what to do. I was afraid the police would take her away from me and I'd never see her again.

Her eyes began to fill up with tears. She didn't say anything to me. She went over to the bed and laid on her side so that she was facing away from me. I laid down at the other side of the bed and stared up at the ceiling. I left the topic of life's meaning for awhile to work on a new question. How do you love someone who acts without regard for their own self-preservation? If anyone's ever loved me, they must have asked themselves that same question.

"Hey....Hey, baby, listen to this. I..."

"Leave me alone."

She was still pretty pissed at me. She hadn't spoken for some time now. In the meantime, I got it. I came up with some brilliant insight into the nature of existence. It was inspired by Valis, but only tangentially related to it. Everything was alright now. I didn't have to worry about the police anymore, because I knew I could explain it to them and they would understand. I wish I could remember, now, what this brilliant revelation was. I should have written it down.

"I'm gonna go outside now."

"I don't care where you go."

I was too self-absorbed to even notice her bitter response. I'd been sitting around all evening in my underwear and socks, so I put on some pants. I didn't bother with shoes, they didn't seem to matter. Pants are important, though. You can get in trouble for walking around without them.

I stepped outside into the cool Oakland air. It felt great, it was really pretty stifling in that room. It was pretty late, and there was nobody out there as far as I could see. The stars were shining brightly in the sky up above; and down below, lights were bouncing off the puddles on the asphalt parking lot, so everything I saw looked like outer space. Everything that happened from this point seems like a blur to me. I'd completely lost my grasp on the real world. It was the same two tab dose I'd always taken, but it just really got to me this time. Acid is pretty funny that way.

I started running around the parking lot. I got this sudden urge to see this friend of mine, and decided to run back to Los Angeles. I ran to the fence at the edge of the parking lot, intending to climb it and jump down onto the freeway. It occurred to me, though, that I should say goodbye to my girlfriend. She would wonder where I went. So I started running back to our room.

"Freeze!"

Cops and security guards and guys like that, they're really good at yelling "Freeze". If I were to yell it, it wouldn't scare anybody. When they yell, it damn near gives you a heart attack.

I turned around, and there was a security guard standing there, feet shoulder length apart, with a gun pointed at me.

Go ahead and shoot me. I'm not afraid of you. You can't hurt me.

I charged him. I ran straight at him. Straight at the barrel of the gun.

A second later, I was on the ground, lying on my stomach. My head was turned to the side, so I could see the security guard. He was standing right above me, one foot on my back, pressing me against the ground. He was cuffing me. It wasn't long before a whole fucking army of cops was there. I lifted my head up off the ground.

Every muscle in my body was tensed, as I was straining to break free. My jaw was sore and probably bruised, so I think he must have decked me. I was panting heavily. My hair was drenched in sweat and dangling in my eyes, which were bulging against their sockets like an angry dog on a tether.

"AAARRRRAAAAGGHHHH"

That's not really what my scream sounded like. It didn't sound like anything I can spell. It was just noise, the loudest sound I could muster, the kind of piercing sound that would make you think someone was being stabbed to death or burned alive. My out of shape vocal cords were causing it to crack and waver. A chorus of "SSHHHHH" was the response. It started to echo around inside my head and made me want to scream again.

They threw me into the back of a squad car. I was vaguely aware that the handcuffs were cutting into my skin. It didn't matter though. I wouldn't need wrists where I was going.

"What's your name?"

I wondered with an idle curiosity whether he was talking to me.

"What's your social security number?"

"AAARRRAAAGGGGGHHHHHHH"

I screamed because I thought it would somehow quiet my mind. It had nothing to do with his questions. Still, though, he didn't ask me any more of them.

I have no idea how it happened, but the next thing I know, I was in the back of an ambulance, fastened to the stretcher with leather restraints. The lights in there were very bright, but at the same time very soothing. I kept repeating--in a low, out-of-breath mumble--a little mantra. I was saying "Valis is just waking up."

I kept getting lost in these little details; an image or thought would be an entire world of its own. Every once in awhile, something else would grab my attention, and would draw me out of these little worlds so abruptly, it was like the sudden shock of identity change you get when you wake up from a dream in which you were somebody else. It dawned on me that this must be what happens when you die. You wake up in another person's life, in everybody's life--one at a time.

I would get to live the life of the girl back in the motel room, and wonder what the fuck is wrong with my crazy boyfriend. I would get to be my mom, and watch my son throw his life away. I would get to be all of the Harlem Globetrotters. I would be all of the cavemen. I would get to write every one of those books in City Lights that I used to think I'd never have time to read. And I'd write plenty of crap, too. I would get to go through life as a paraplegic and wonder, "Why me?" I would be a king who conquers half the known world and I'd be a peon that the king kills in his rise to power. I would be countless people no one's ever heard of.

I would get to go through life surrounded by billions and billions of people whose lives I'd lived before, and feel like I'm all alone in the world.

I would randomly go from life to life. At least, I thought it was random. I decided to ask the paramedic or angel of death or whatever the guy was that was sitting beside my stretcher.

"Is it all completely random?"

He just sort of stared at me and didn't say anything. So I asked again. This time, I got him to admit that it was all random. This is what he said:

"Yeah"

Obviously, the person whose life I was now living was very sick, as he was in an ambulance, being rushed to a hospital. It didn't matter. There would be plenty more opportunities to lead healthy lives. Still, one thought plagued me a bit. If I was in this new life, why did I still have some memories of my old life? It didn't make any sense. Maybe I hadn't entered my new life yet, but was merely in some other-worldly waiting stage. Or, perhaps I'd miscalculated somewhere, and hadn't even died at all.

I sensed that my little guardian was not exactly the helpful sort, and so I didn't even bother trying to ask him all of this. There was one question on my mind, though, that I just had to get an answer to. So I asked him.

"The girl...the...motel....girl..."

He was looking at me like I was some kind of freak. I could tell that my point wasn't getting though to him. Then a flash of inspiration hit me and I knew the perfect way to phrase it. I rehearsed in my head a few times just to be sure, then I asked it aloud.

"The girl...that was in..the motel..with me. What happened to the girl?"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

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