Archive-name: Miscell/oldtimes.txt

Archive-author: RICHH

Archive-title: Seems like Old Times





     Somehow my brother had managed to score some dope of the kind

that I hadn't seen around in almost 5 years.  We're talking KILL. 

ER.  MTV was on but the sound was off.  Howard pulled out some

papers.  We were sitting cross-legged, on the carpet, in front of

the tv.

     "Screw that," I said.  "Grab the bong."  He did.

     I filled it, but just enough for one good hit.  That Wilson

Philips song 'Hold On' came on.  

     "All right," said Karen, as I took the first hit.  "Quick top

ten list."

     "Topic?" asked Howard.

     "Top ten things heard at a Wilson Philips party, after Chynna

and Wendi have gone outside to make out with their boyfriends."

     I half-laughed, half-choked, and passed the bong to my

brother.

     "Excellent," I said.  "Number 10--Such a pretty face."

     Karen said, "9--a great personality."

     My brother scored big with "She writes *all* the songs you

know."

    But Karen topped it with "Brian was the most talented."

    Karen did her hit and I said  "She was a champion swimmer in

grade school, you know."

    "What number is that?" asked Karen, whose eyes were already

mere slits.

     "Number two--," said Howard,  "Where's Chynna.  Where's

Wendi?"

     "All right," I said.  "And the number one thing overheard at

the Wilson Philips blah blah blah--" Howard drummed a little on the

carpet.  "Got any blow?"

    "Careful," I said, as the bong teetered precariously from the

encouragement of my brother's foot.

     Howard was the first to say it.  "I am stoned."

     "How much of this did you get?" asked Karen.

     "Just an ounce.  Should last for a while at this rate."

     This was clearly true.  

     "Mariah Carey," said Karen, who then stuck her finger down her

throat.  The 'Emotion' video was on.  "Turn the sound up, How," I

said.

     "You don't *like* her, do you?" asked Karen.

     "Gimme a break.  I just wonder if she hits those notes on her

back, too."

     "Figures."

     "Wait," said Karen, her eyes opening suddenly.  She turned the

sound down on Mariah.  "I've got an idea.  I've got to say it now,

because I only think of it when I'm stoned, you know?"

     "It's not that 'thought' again, is it?" said Howard.

     "No, now shush."  

     That 'thought' that Howard brought up was what Karen liked to

call "the thought that thinks itself.  A few times before, when

Karen has done whippets while stoned we noticed she would drift

away from the rest of us, her eyes would glaze over, and she would

look frightened.  It turned out to be the dreaded 'thought that

thinks itself' and it would have Karen's brain spinning, spinning

in on itself for hours at a time.  

     "Now," said Karen.  "This may only seem important because I'm

stoned, but I was thinking, you know how sometimes when you're

alone, maybe, you'll just kind of drift off.  It's not a daydream,

really.  It's more like a different way of thinking.  You kind of

see the whole world as a large system.  Or something.  And

everything seems kind of small and pathetic."

     "Sounds like clinical depression," said Howard.

     "No, it never lasts very long.  It's a weird thing.  It seems

like there's a weird hum, or vibration associated with it.  It

happens a lot when I'm reading.  It reminds me of getting stoned,

but not really.  It's weird, it's a kind of thought, a different

way of thinking--"

     "I do know what you're talking about," I said.  "It's weird,

I've never actually heard anyone talk about it.  Or read anything

about it. Which is odd, I guess.  Wait.  Lemme make sure we're

talking about the same thing--It's a thought, a kind of thought,

only there's a very real physical sensation attached to it, a kind

of hum, or vibration.  It seems like something very personal,

almost embarrassing to talk about, for some reason.  Sort of like

being caught masturbating."

     "Unintentionally," Karen added, and we all laughed.  For

different reasons.

     "All right, so now we know what you're talking about, so what

do you make of it?"

     "Well, what if it's something important, something basic about

consciousness, or how language works."

     "An epiphenomenon of self-awareness," said my brother.  "A

side effect, if you will."

     His phrasing sounded so preposterous that I was forced to

refill the bong.

     "Remember when all the pot was like this," I said.

     "Nope."

     "Uh uh."

     "Well it was.  Way back there in those heady days of the early

'80's."

     "What is it," asked Karen.  "Just more thc?"

     "I think this stuff is laced with a little opium.  Seems to be

a more physical high."

     Karen said, "It's in my face, it's in my chest, my *knees*. 

My fucking *knees*.  I tell you, my knees have never been stoned

before."

     Howard took another hit.  He was completely blind.

     "I think we've lost How," said Karen, who pulled his head down 

across her thigh.  I think he was asleep before he landed.

     "I'm afraid so," I said.    

     "So anyway," said Karen.  "What I said, does it mean anything,

or does it just seem profound because I'm high."

     "I think you're astonishing," I said.

     "Ooooh, say that again," said Karen.  "It gave me a chill."

     "I find you absolutely astonishing."

     "Oh God, there it goes again," she said.  "I think I better

put this one to bed."

     "I'm gonna throw in some French bread pizzas, want any?"

     "Oh God yes.  How long will that take?"

     "In the toaster oven. . .Half hour."

     "There any cookies in there?  For in the meantime?"

     "Yeah, Pepperidge Farm Sausalitos.  And we've still got all

that Haggen-Dasz strawberry--"

     "Bingo."

 

RICHH

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