please stop tickling me

In which we laugh and laugh and laugh. And love. And drink.

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Location: Portland, Oregon

Otium cum Dignitatae

Monday, September 12, 2005


Several hours into the acid trip, GNP is having a bad time.
We had been having a pretty wonderful time, too. I was on as many hits of the same exact stuff as he was, but he was always more prone to this sort of psychotic break event than I was. My first sign that he was not okay was that he had left the living room, and hadn't returned.
I found him surrounded by women, in the tub. So he's doin' pretty good, I thought, but I was wrong. I asked Miss Kitty Love what was going on, and I couldn't help but hear the clumsy attempt to keep everything sounding fabulous in her response: "Nothing. Nothing at all. Everything's fine."
"Ah," I said. That's when I saw the desperation in GNP's eyes. "Send out for niacin," he said, in this tiny voice.
I knew this one. I also knew that the effort to get out that sentence, from brain to lips, had probably been an epic struggle. The library in the mind explodes, and the voyager of inner space is left with a bunch of nonsensical words flying around, never to be assembled into a coherent thought. The voyager then wonders if the rest of their life will be like this.
I asked The Baron if he'd be willing to drive me to the store, for the niacin. Years previous, I had experimented on myself. I was trying to determine if what I had heard-that niacin brings you down from LSD-was really true. I went out to George Rogers park, sat beside a spring, played the flute, wrote a little poetry, and after an hour, took niacin. I had determined that it reduces the psychological aspect of LSD, while there were still some residual visual distortions.
We drove up to the Way of the Safe, and were almost immediately followed by the in-store security. This was the middle of the night, and I could see that the guy was bored. I also found it obnoxious that I was supposed to just accept his none-too-subtle presence, right behind me on every aisle I turned down. Unable to find the vitamin and nutritional supplement section, I eventually turned to him and said, "If you're just going to follow us anyway, could you please show us where the vitamins are?"
He still maintained that glum-mouthed, just-doing-my-job-here look, and at first didn't answer.
"Please?" I asked.
"What do you need?"
"Niacin. Vitamins. Look-should I get a manager to actually help me with this?"
He silently led us to the proper section, then continued to follow us, all the way up to the cash register.
We brought it back to Kitty's apartment, and administered the antidote, to no effect. I had sort of suspected that this might happen-if the victim is already seized with panic, the problem is no longer strictly chemical, but mental, and needs to be treated by a hack psychologist. Like me.
Now, often in movies, this sort of trouble is illustrated by the victim undergoing convulsions. In my experience, this is entirely unlikely to happen, unless the victim purchased cheap street acid, and even then the convulsions are mostly among the smaller muscle groups.
GNP and I had even made fun of this phenomenon, some months earlier. Unfortunately, now he was doing it. We had taken him out of the tub at that point, and had directed him to a bed. I realized that I was going to have to talk him down, and any thought of my own continued fun at this point would pretty much have to be shelved.
One of the first things I did was try to determine exactly what was happening during the convulsions. Years later, he would develop this sort of petit mal seizure thing he'd do where he'd basically go into a trance for a half hour or so, but at the time, this was all brand new for him. By talking to him between the convulsions, I was able to determine that he was just simply going somewhere else during them. I couldn't stop the muscular part, but I could handle the rest.
We'd be talking and talking, then it would start to happen. At first, I'd snap my fingers; that seemed to bring him out of it. Later, I'd place two fingers on his sternum and say, with a tap for each note, "One. Two. One. Two."
When he'd snap back out of it, on the second count of 'two', he'd say, "You're gonna have to teach me that 'one two one two' thing."
I didn't have the heart to tell him that it actually was parody. Our hostess had three stuffed bunny rabbits she was very fond of , and was often losing one of them. She'd look around the house, panicking, saying, "ONE TWO ONE TWO?", and not finding the third, until she did, of course.
I requested that my helper (a nurse herself, these days) bring me a carrot. She brought me one, and I put it in the patient's hand, firmly. "Root." I said.
Root. Gotcha. Something to hold onto and remind you that here is this thing we all know, and like to eat, and furthermore is a solid thing, not subject to the shifts and randomness of abstract thought. I told him to keep on holding onto that goddamn thing.
I have often noticed in cases like this (and I've handled a lot of them) that what the patient really needs is to be reminded that there are some things we can all agree on. This is the first step in dragging them back to consensus reality.
At this point, we were sort of conversing, and he'd go into the convulsions occasionally, but they were less intense, in my observation. On those occasions, I'd just tap him on the chest again, saying, "Here. With. Me. Now.", and he'd come back.
Before long, he developed that sort of I've-been-through-hell, and Now-I-have-Revelations thing going on. He said, "I need to not fuck this up...Okay: the secret...The secret word is 'Sisissicu'."
"And what does that mean?"
"'Little but strong'," he said.
For some reason, this brought tears to my eyes.
Actually, I can sort of elucidate that one. Both GNP and I are small men. He's shorter than I am, but I'm mostly a column of muscle, and to most eyes, thin as hell: Prey. To be this is to need to have the power not accredited to you. You need to be bigger than big men, and it takes a weird mental toll sometimes. I know how to make myself taller, and I know how to make myself louder.
I also know that if some shitpicker wants trouble, and my attempts at conciliation aren't working, I know how to suddenly seem so crazy that, even if I lost the fight, I'd probably come away with one of the fucker's balls between my teeth, so they usually back down. The resta them got it easy. We have to be stronger.
Sisissicu is also the name of a small river in southern Oregon.
"Furthermore, it's gonna be an early Spring," he said, as an afterthought.
At that point, I was pretty certain he was out of it, and turned to assessing how I was doing, now that the sun was coming up, and we had been engaged in this for several hours.
This is only one example of why I am going back to school to get certified to become a 911 dispatcher. I've already been a dispatcher (taxi, ten years ago), have a pleasing phone voice and a calming presence. I'm well trained at leaving my work at work, and don't view death and mayhem as anything out of the ordinary. I like to help people, inasmuch as I can.
And the most important thing, as my stepdad pointed out, is knowing when you've done all you can, but you still can't help. I've got that in spades, buddy, believe me.
Besides, I've done everything for a living at this point, it seems, and even though I am an obscenely wealthy ne'er-do-well and social garbage fly, I need to plan for the future. Nobody gets to be the kid forever, as I'm fond of telling a lot of my patients. Besides, being an under-employed stagehand is getting old.
He was wrong about the Spring, by the way.



Blogger Emily Santiago said...

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7:52 PM  
Blogger rich bachelor said...

oh emily. my one and only truelove. why have u forsaken me, here in my time of trial? u bitch. i will track you down and kill you for what u have done to me. this i swear. have you seen our daughter? she looks just like u.
and u owe me for the herpes treatments. i hope yr happy. u bitch.

9:34 PM  
Blogger cats dig me said...

So many elements to this. Was it a dream? Was it really a lil' trip without leaving the farm? Holy crap! What if that shit is reality? Any way you look at it, its a nice blend - maybe needs a little green tea.

I know we spoke of our mutual acquaintance with this store security guard once before. Are we perhaps sharing the same delusion?

9:53 PM  
Blogger rich bachelor said...

Wait a minute. Now I'm confused.
This was actually a straightforward account of me talking a friend of mine down from a bad acid trip.
As to the security guard aspect: I don't remember whether or not you and I ever discussed that one. I didn't know that particular guy at the Safeway (ten years ago), if that's what you mean.
No-it's just surreal in that way that the very real sometimes is, I suppose.

10:39 PM  
Blogger cats dig me said...

It read like a dream or acid trip. I think this reality based event has a whole hellalotta surrealism in it. Well, you know, just loook at the subject matter.

We spoke briefly about a security guard at a Safeway down by PSU somewhere. Don't know if it was really a specific guy though. It was the first time we met, at KOA.

8:39 PM  
Blogger Erudite Redneck said...

Educate me, if you can. Compared acid with 'shrooms. I would've tried the first up until about 1984 but never had opportunity; I would have tried the latter until about 1989, but wasn't interested enough to go looking 'em.

I did, however, smoke bales of weed -- which will be the first thing I say if ai ever decide to run for office.


1:22 AM  
Blogger cats dig me said...

May I, Rich?

First it depends on the specific type of acid or 'shroom. Two hits of blotter is akin to maybe 2 or 3 mushroom capsules. There are so many different types of each that it can be difficult to compare. I usually found that LSD was more of a mind warp and 'shrooms were more visua.l

I'm going to run on the "Legalize Everything" platform.

10:28 AM  
Blogger rich bachelor said...

One could say that acid just lasts longer (8 to twelve hours compared to 'shrooms' six), but there's also a difference in the experience. LSD is a chemical, and it feels like it, although mushrooms don't ever feel so damn pleasant in my system, either.
They're both excellent therapeutic tools though, for the right kinda person.
And Cats: Now I know what yer talkin' about. All the guards at the Psycho Safeway tended toward meth dealing/habits and worse. Now that's all better because they tore down the old one and moved across the street.
The Safeway in the story was on Powell, though.

10:53 AM  
Blogger Erudite Redneck said...

Do y'all remember when Len Bias died? There went any desire to try coke. ...


10:57 AM  
Blogger tugboatcapn said...

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

9:48 PM  
Blogger tugboatcapn said...

Bachelor, I want to thank you profoundly for helping me to prove, beyond any reasonable doubt, (at least in my mind, anyway,) that illegal drug use leads inevitably to Liberalism.

9:50 PM  
Blogger tugboatcapn said...

Jab, jab...

9:51 PM  
Blogger rich bachelor said...

Yup, I felt that one.

12:48 AM  
Blogger rich bachelor said...

Wait a minute: the story was about something else entirely. Yeah, there were drugs involved, but that wasn't the point at all. I was talking about how I routinely help people in my life (using a very weird example, I know), and that I finally figured out a way I could put it to use.
Not by becoming a shrink, either, though I've considered it.
If'n any of my relations are watching this, go check out Mark Maness's blog of yesterday (you can use the hyperlink on Tug's blog titled "Left Field Perspectives"), in which-in his "humble and uneducated" medical opinion-he confidently states that LSD use causes insanity.
Well, back when it was legal and being used in controlled circumstances, it was effectively prescribed to cure both alcohol and heroin addiction. It still has validity as a therapeutic tool, but you gotta know what you're doing, and you need to not be in the habit of lying to yourself.
Oh, and you need to not be a dumb shit, most importantly. I actually think that most people shouldn't do this drug. Not because it's a bad chemical leading to satanism or something, but "gotta know what you're doing" doesn't describe most folks, and "in the habit of lying to yourself" and "dumbshit" do.

12:57 AM  
Blogger rich bachelor said...

Not that I would ever want to be guilty of the entirely liberal crime of engaging in ad hominem attacks for three days running, something no god loving person would ever do, certainly.

1:24 AM  
Blogger Mark said...

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

4:33 AM  
Blogger Mark said...

Ok, let's bring this thing to a close.

1st of all. When I used your words in my post on left wing lunacy, I wasn't using them as an example of "idiocy" as you have asserted, but rather, of lunacy, which is what my post was about. And I consider your conspiracy theory lunacy. Still do. And I have explained why I consider it lunacy.

And that is my OPINION. You are quite welcome to have a differing opinion.

2nd, I will concede that was something of a cheap shot to point out the erors in spelling, but as I explained, I pointed that out in reference to another quote, not yours, so why did that offend you?I suppose I should have made that clear.

3rd. you said "The LSD use being described is noted in the blog as having happened ten years ago..." But read your own post again. No where did you mention the events happened 10 years ago.

4th, I did not attack you personally. I attacked the idea that the President of the United States which is a civilized country with a civilized leader, would engage in genocide of his own people im a sort of "Wag the dog" scenario.

"Wag the dog" refers to a movie that portrayed a thinly vieled Clinton-like president who started a war to distract the people from a scandal that he was involved in. Remember when Clinton, on the day that his impeachment hearing was scheduled, started a war? I fail to see a similar circumstance as applying to Bush. That assertion is just lunacy. And that is why I included that with the other examples. It wasn't personal.

Idiocy, as you know, is quite different than lunacy. You are not an idiot. I think you are highly intelligent, and you have admirable literary talent.

I do not agree with your world view. Obviously, you don't agree with mine.

But getting offended over something which you yourself say is pointless is in itself pointless. I created my blog to voice my opinion. Why did you create yours? If it is to prove your intellectual superiority, I will concede that to you. I have read some of your posts and that is what you appear to be trying to prove.

If so, why do you feel the need to prove yourself? If not, why be offended by someone referencing your words to prove an ideological point?

Rich, I have suffered your comments in my blog because you have usually kept the mean spiritedness to a minimum, and that is especially commendable coming from a liberal, unlike others such as Bruiser, and Toad and the occassional anonymous.

I will admit to being angered. I am over that now. Today's post wasn't about you. I decided it was time to lighten up and your post entitled 911 gave me an idea of a story that was not political. It is nevertheless, a true account. And i think it is quite funny.

Let's you and I resolve to try to be civil to one another even if we are polar opposites ideologically speaking. This town is big enough for both of us.

5:30 AM  
Blogger cats dig me said...

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

8:34 AM  
Blogger cats dig me said...

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

9:13 AM  
Blogger cats dig me said...


A) Not limited to or by established, traditional, orthodox, or authoritarian attitudes,views,or dogmas; free from bigotry.

B) Favoring proposals for reform, open to new ideas for progress,and tolerant of the ideas and behavior of others; broad-minded.

9:25 AM  
Blogger Anonymous Asshole said...


A. Cats dig me.

B. a Liberal.


A. A pretentious condecending person, usually thoroughly convinced that their ideas are right, yet having a very loose grasp on reality.

B. A hopelessly misguided idealogue, usually identified by the characteristic mislabeling of anyone who disagrees with them as a "Redneck", or "Hillbilly".

C. Generally a person who is hostile to big business, or "the Rich", (the creators of jobs for the middle class and working poor),and to the free expression of religious beliefs.

D. An Asshole.

8:23 PM  
Blogger cats dig me said...

This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

9:24 PM  
Blogger cats dig me said...

And my definitions were from a real dictionary, not some fabricated bullshit.

9:25 PM  
Blogger rich bachelor said...

I'm considering the whole thing closed, too. It's still more important to me that everybody keeps talking.
Uh, I'm really not over here trying to prove my intellectual superiority, though.

1:28 PM  
Blogger rich bachelor said...

Ah- I remember what I was going to say. I'm not going to refute that last thing Mark wrote here point by point, because I agree that this one went on a little too long.
It is true though that I confidently stated my belief about what happened on 9/11 as if it was a fact, which I try not to do. "Feel in my bones" is still instinct talking, but it's not like I have proof or anything. If there ever was, it's probably gone now.
I never heard bin Laden claiming responsibility, but I'm sure that there's video of him talking, and that's the translation they gave us. I kind of don't trust the media, too.
Above all else, what I suspect may have happened is too hideous to countenance, and that's why I hardly blame everyone else for not even considering the possibility.

1:42 PM  

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