Bob_Gale
04-13-2009, 05:33 PM
Hey everyone I'm new here, been writing for myself for a while and been having my work critiqued by my old high school english teacher who's taken a particular interest in my writing. I'm 20 years old, a professional musician (most of my writing comprises of lyrics, but the occasional short stories based on experiences) I'm originally from North America and moved to France when I was young, and have since decided to stay and take up nationality as things are really going well in my artistic career. By the time I was 18 I had already brought out an album, as well as a soundtrack for a major Film release in the French market. Anywho enough about my personal life...
The main reason I decided to join here is to get input on my writing from people who aren't personally attached to me, to get a more objective criticism, but also to avoid possibly harming my family through activities that they would not really approve of. Being most inspired by the work of Hunter S. Thompson, as well as the environment in which I'm in, I indulge recreationally in substances not always considered legal (I will respect your personal opinions on the matter, although I will ask that you keep them to yourselves, I'm not here to start debates), I've decided to write about my experiences on the road, in the studio, and during the many crazy nights I have had here in Europe.
Here's my first piece to submit independantly of any personal critics, so feel free to be as mean (or as nice) as you feel. It speaks about my first (and only) experience with MDMA, also known as ecstacy Wiki link (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Methylenedioxymethamphetamine)
I was mid sentence when the md took hold.
Never before had I experienced such a trip. I had dabbled before with cocaine, the utter relief from a long night of drinking, that sickly thick saliva in the back of my throat disappearing and being replaced by the tangy, sour drip coming down and releasing me from the hold of over indulgence. The sleepy high of marijuana calming me after a long night of excess in countless backstages. I had come to drugs later than my surroundings, the fault of a long term, closed relationship. Ironically, the first time I had tried was with that very person, who also wanted to stop being scared and was introduced into a world of release.
Till then my vices were alcohol, part of my social life as early as 14, and the occasional cigarette, the short nicotine rush enhancing the night. Never an abuser, growing up with the lax attitude that comes with the «*terrace*» culture of France. Never a binge event like countless north Americans have experienced from their 16th birthday onwards, drinking out of a closeted keg to avoid the hammering fist of government’s fascist view of abuse amongst teens. The benefit being that my attitude, as well as that of my peers, was that it was preferable to have a cold beer on a hot summer’s day accompanied with an intelligent conversation rather than drinking yourself stupid on a Saturday night (though the occasional party results in that, it’s never a problem to do so). The result being that our attitude towards such mind altering drugs (some having tried more than others) was not one of constant abuse, realizing that it is much more enjoyable to have a quick and easy high rather than have to shovel through constant piles of dust and swim though miles of amber liquid.
My admiration of such writers as Hunter S. Thompson led me towards a lifestyle unknown to my family, one of enjoying the life given and taking advantage of opportunities as they arrive. Why waste time worrying about what certain unknowns will bring if all you have to do is endure the few hours of bad trip if it should so happen like so. Events in my life, the loss of my first real love, family and friends lives almost cut short, left me thinking that my life could end tomorrow, and that I should taste every flavor this life has to offer, all while not attempting to kill the many chances I have of surviving till tomorrow. Abuse was never my thing, if the drink won’t go down, I’ll let it come back up, if my throat coughs at the touch of smoke, I pass the roach.
This «*revelation*» from a God I doubt exists came to me after years of shunning abuse seen around me, people I cared for seemingly throwing their lives away. I still frown upon use of certain forbidden fruits, as well as the frequency at which they put themselves in risk of imprisonment by the system, but I never dictate like it.
And that night, in mid sentence, I felt what drugs could do to a body.
Explaining to a friend that I couldn’t tell if anything was taking effect. Rarely does a hash joint effect me further than making me sleepy, and even grass sometimes has no effect. I was disappointed, the apprehension of taking the drug was met with disappointment, or so I had thought. Everyone that night was doped up, a recent order had come through and good friends made for good company supplying. The wave of warm ants crawled from the top of my head downwards, all my pains disappearing, no longer a slave to my often fussy back (perhaps from years of «*rock and roll*» poses on stage*).
Light suddenly became more intense, my arms floating, not feeling that heavy glass pint in my hand. The cigarettes tasted different, felt drier and more satisfying. The music louder, more feeling it than hearing it, and the utter surge of energy egging me on far into the night and early into the morning. This was a trip.
My jaw definitely hurt the next morning though. **** gurning.
The main reason I decided to join here is to get input on my writing from people who aren't personally attached to me, to get a more objective criticism, but also to avoid possibly harming my family through activities that they would not really approve of. Being most inspired by the work of Hunter S. Thompson, as well as the environment in which I'm in, I indulge recreationally in substances not always considered legal (I will respect your personal opinions on the matter, although I will ask that you keep them to yourselves, I'm not here to start debates), I've decided to write about my experiences on the road, in the studio, and during the many crazy nights I have had here in Europe.
Here's my first piece to submit independantly of any personal critics, so feel free to be as mean (or as nice) as you feel. It speaks about my first (and only) experience with MDMA, also known as ecstacy Wiki link (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Methylenedioxymethamphetamine)
I was mid sentence when the md took hold.
Never before had I experienced such a trip. I had dabbled before with cocaine, the utter relief from a long night of drinking, that sickly thick saliva in the back of my throat disappearing and being replaced by the tangy, sour drip coming down and releasing me from the hold of over indulgence. The sleepy high of marijuana calming me after a long night of excess in countless backstages. I had come to drugs later than my surroundings, the fault of a long term, closed relationship. Ironically, the first time I had tried was with that very person, who also wanted to stop being scared and was introduced into a world of release.
Till then my vices were alcohol, part of my social life as early as 14, and the occasional cigarette, the short nicotine rush enhancing the night. Never an abuser, growing up with the lax attitude that comes with the «*terrace*» culture of France. Never a binge event like countless north Americans have experienced from their 16th birthday onwards, drinking out of a closeted keg to avoid the hammering fist of government’s fascist view of abuse amongst teens. The benefit being that my attitude, as well as that of my peers, was that it was preferable to have a cold beer on a hot summer’s day accompanied with an intelligent conversation rather than drinking yourself stupid on a Saturday night (though the occasional party results in that, it’s never a problem to do so). The result being that our attitude towards such mind altering drugs (some having tried more than others) was not one of constant abuse, realizing that it is much more enjoyable to have a quick and easy high rather than have to shovel through constant piles of dust and swim though miles of amber liquid.
My admiration of such writers as Hunter S. Thompson led me towards a lifestyle unknown to my family, one of enjoying the life given and taking advantage of opportunities as they arrive. Why waste time worrying about what certain unknowns will bring if all you have to do is endure the few hours of bad trip if it should so happen like so. Events in my life, the loss of my first real love, family and friends lives almost cut short, left me thinking that my life could end tomorrow, and that I should taste every flavor this life has to offer, all while not attempting to kill the many chances I have of surviving till tomorrow. Abuse was never my thing, if the drink won’t go down, I’ll let it come back up, if my throat coughs at the touch of smoke, I pass the roach.
This «*revelation*» from a God I doubt exists came to me after years of shunning abuse seen around me, people I cared for seemingly throwing their lives away. I still frown upon use of certain forbidden fruits, as well as the frequency at which they put themselves in risk of imprisonment by the system, but I never dictate like it.
And that night, in mid sentence, I felt what drugs could do to a body.
Explaining to a friend that I couldn’t tell if anything was taking effect. Rarely does a hash joint effect me further than making me sleepy, and even grass sometimes has no effect. I was disappointed, the apprehension of taking the drug was met with disappointment, or so I had thought. Everyone that night was doped up, a recent order had come through and good friends made for good company supplying. The wave of warm ants crawled from the top of my head downwards, all my pains disappearing, no longer a slave to my often fussy back (perhaps from years of «*rock and roll*» poses on stage*).
Light suddenly became more intense, my arms floating, not feeling that heavy glass pint in my hand. The cigarettes tasted different, felt drier and more satisfying. The music louder, more feeling it than hearing it, and the utter surge of energy egging me on far into the night and early into the morning. This was a trip.
My jaw definitely hurt the next morning though. **** gurning.