The Plymouth Diaries: That Time A Neo-Nazi Dosed Me With LSD
I never intended to take LSD. I had seen the all the movies in health class that ended with kids jumping out of windows because the effects of Acid had convinced them they could fly. I know that was propaganda, but it still scared me straight for a while. If the end result of taking this drug was even the SLIGHTEST risk I could jump out of a window, I wanted nothing to do with it. But sometimes, believe it or not, you have no say in the matter. As I told you before, I had relatively no say the first time I ever was coerced into smoking pot, and the same goes for the first time I ever tripped. The thing to take note of here is “first time”. All the subsequent times were all completely within my control, and I chose them. But I didn’t choose them until after a neo-nazi slipped a hit of liquid LSD into my juice without me knowing. Wait, I am getting ahead of myself. Let me take you back in time with me for a second…
I was just a young lad of sixteen years old. My neighborhood in Plymouth, Massachusetts, though upper class, was rife with houses where parents would abandon their children for the entire day. Like I told you before, in the suburbs, boredom and apathy can be a very dangerous combination. Parentless houses often meant lawless houses. Dens of ill repute, where you could do what you want all day long. Funny thing is, in my old neighborhood, we had tons of houses like these. The worst thing a parent can do is just leave their kids to their own devices; especially when those kids have money.
I rarely take photos of my daily vitamin intake, but this felt like a special occasion to me.
One of these oft-parentless-houses belonged to a good friend of mine, we will call Eric. Because that was his name. A wonderful, well-spoken, well-educated young man. But his Mom was never home, and we could do whatever we wanted there, so a few of us regularly hang out there. The thing is, Eric had an older brother. That was part of the unspoken contract to hang out at his house. You had to deal with whatever his older brother had going on. And his older brother was a scary fucking dude. You won’t hear me say that about too many people outside of Mike Tyson and Nazi’s. And Kimbo Slice. That guy is a grizzly bear. Yeah, seeing as to how a good deal of my friends were black, and I have always hated the ignorant, I am not a fan of neo-Nazis.
Inside that gross head is a tiny, hate-filled brain.
But there was an unspoken understanding between Eric and his brother, who I shall not name, out of fear he will materialize in front of me and jam dirty heroine needles into my arms, like some sort of twisted version of Candyman. The understanding was (or so I thought) he doesn’t fuck with Eric’s friends. Well, he doesn’t fuck with them per se. He just puts liquid LSD in the fruit punch in the fridge and doesn’t tell anyone. And then he walks in the room while you are staring at the TV, giggling, and tells you that you are about to trip your balls off because you drank some of his fruit punch laced with acid. Then he tells you to get the fuck out of the house because he has a girl coming over. Seriously, he opens the door and pushes us into the front yard, and then locks the door behind us.
I couldn’t call a friend to come save me, because we are speaking of a time BEFORE cell phones. The nineties were the last carefree decade for that reason. We weren’t tethered to technology like we are today. So there I was, starting to geek out, in my buddies lawn, ten houses down from where I lived. I had no lifeline to anyone, and wasn’t quite sure what to do. But one thing was for certain, I don’t think I was hating this experience, as the effects of acid had started to take place.
At Eric’s house despite feeling helpless, I was only about a quarter-mile away from my own house. And my Dad was home. Now, if I was a rational person, I would have gone home, told my Dad and just rode out the trip. Obviously I am far from normal or rational; I have made that fact pretty clear by now. Not only am I totally abnormal, but as the LSD began to take effect against my own will, despite wanting to go home and see my pops, I imagined that this is how I was looking at that particular moment:
“Hey Dad, I’m home. Sorry my fucking face is melting off. Tell Mom I love her!” *Dies.
As my perspective distorted with the tendrils of LSD wrapping my teenage brain, I looked up to the sky, feeling my heart begin to race, something magnificent happened. I noticed that the sky had a sort of electric “heart beat” to it. There was this palpable throbbing to the world, and I felt like I could see for the first time.
Just like every good LSD cliché, I felt like a fog had been lifted, and I could see the world how it was intended to be seen. It sounds idealistic and stupid, but that is the funny thing about drugs. We are taught to FEAR them from childhood, but we are rarely taught ABOUT them. And there seemed to be a profound, child-like sense of wonder in me that was sparked and ignited at that moment. A wonder I had not felt since early childhood. Not only was a relieved that what I was feeling was NOTHING like what was represented in those health films, I also realized, rationally, that I had better get off my friend’s lawn, because I was standing there, looking up at the sky, giggling… ForOVER twenty minutes. Okay, time to move on. Neighbors must be aware of the weird, giggling, sky-watching kid.
Even in that state, I knew the best direction to go was the opposite direction of my house. So I walked away, looking back at Eric’s big, white house and thinking to myself: Wow, did that asshole Nazi know he was doing me a favor, or was he hoping I would go insane and walk into traffic? Something always tells me it’s the latter.
” Excuse me, sir. May I wash the hood of your car with my broken spine?”
I also feel compelled to tell you guys, Nazi boy didn’t murder black people. I know that sounds odd, but this piece is in no way hinting at some crazy neo-Nazi movement in Plymouth, Massachusetts. No, as I told you before, the racists in Plymouth don’t shave their heads or have swastika tattoos. No, they are the boys in the nice button-ups, with the nice cars, and the ideal home lives. Don’t get me wrong, was Eric’s brother scary as shit? Yes, he was. Was he ignorant for the most part? Yes, he was. But did he murder colored minorities or start shit, as far as we knew? No. We wouldn’t have been cool with that. The one thing we are sure he DID do, is drug young kids and send them out to die. Which, in hindsight, is hugely fucked up, now that I write it down.
Wow! How did I survive my teens?
So I walked off, knowing enough to keep off the main road, and just trying to think of what I could do to kill time. I knew I was too messed up to go home, but I also immediately knew that this feeling was FAR from being something I hated. It was profoundly spiritual for me. An awakening in the soul, very much so.
Rather than try to put into words what I felt that day, I will let someone else.
But they will NEVER show kids this in health class. God forbid they represent drugs realistically.
Watch the video then please tell me I am not the only person who thinks this woman is absolutely adorable when she giggles and says: I couldn’t POSSIBLY tell you, when they ask her to explain what she is feeling? I just feel the video is a marvel to watch. Her eyes light up, and she giggles and smiles, and has these amazing moments of clarity. Do you see how she is waking up? Her senses seemed to be turned up. She is overjoyed at times, overwhelmed by the beauty and intricacy of life. Nothing about her experience seems fearful. At times, it seems overwhelming to her, yes. But at NO point does it seem like she is looking for a window to leap out of so she can fly to the heavens. No, rather, she is just a person who is reacting like they are seeing for the first time. And by the way, just so you know, there are TONS of these videos like this. As mind-blowing as the “housewife” is, our government wasn’t above drugging the shit out of small, beatnik children. And look, even the kids on LSD, as morally wrong as it is, have a profound experience.
This just might be the coolest little kid ever. Honestly.
What is the one thing you notice about both of those videos? No one tore their faces off or tried to arm wrestle God to death.
And that is what slowly hit me as the fear wore off. This experience was NOTHING like I was led to believe. And of course, once I let that thought in, all the other potential lies that I may have been force-fed up that point began flooding my head. Even the Santa mythology came flooding back to me, and I remember thinking: Adults pride themselves on building a series of complex lies to children, and keeping them afloat for as long as possible. I kept blowing my own mind.
I was walking down the street of Ocean Air Estates in Plymouth, Massachusetts, giggling to myself about how adults are unbelievable liars, and they pride themselves on it. I was making my way to the beach. I lived right on the water, and even in my transcendental state, I knew being near water would be liberating for my soul. No great journey made is a straight line, especially any of mine. So I made a detour, though I am still not sure why I did. On the way to the beach I stopped at my friend Jamie’s house. I am pretty sure, against all good judgement, I knocked on the door of her house with my penis. Remember, this is a drug story. I mean, you didn’t think I wasn’t going to have a source of conflict in this story, did you? Not sure how “knocking on a door with my cock” is conflict, but just go with it, okay?
Can we take a moment to recognize just how perfect a photo this is for this part of the story?
You see, don’t let this “love story” fool you. Drugs are still drugs. As wonderful and profound as they can be, they also can inhibit your ability to make sound choices. That “cock-knocking”, on my part, was not a sound choice. Now understand, I knew her Mom wasn’t home (because her Mom was never home) but that still doesn’t make that action any less archaic and silly.
In hindsight now, I think I know why I was doing it, visiting Jamie made sense. One, because I was high as fuck and stupid. And two, because we had sexual liaisons before, I think there was a “marking her door like a wolf” type of subconscious thing going on in my head. Jamie came to the door and was like “Um, What the fuck are you doing, Remy?” and the tone in her voice brought me back to reality, at least enough to sheath my penis. I let her know I was really fucked up, and that I probably should go, and she laughed about it and shut the door. That was the ONE big tragedy of the day. I knocked on a girl’s door with my pecker. Looking back, it makes this story better, and shows both sides of the fence when it comes to drugs, so I have no regrets. Jamie and I don’t talk anymore though and I can’t say I blame her.
I made it to the beach, where I rode out my high (all nine hours of it) listening to the waves and contemplating how the infrastructure of interconnecting highways work. Seriously, like, did the people who built all the highway all have contact and agree to connect everything, or did each state just start building their own highways, and as fate would have it, we could connect them all? I mean, years later, many trips later, I still think about that all the time. I know, I know, I have problems.
Dear Highways: How do you work? Sincerely, Remy Carreiro.
So in closing, I was dosed by a Nazi and lived to tell the tale. Hell, I grew from the experience. I just never told him that. I never even went back to that house, actually. Can’t really blame me, right? The thing is, if you told people there was a house with a neo-Nazi drugging children with LSD, your first thought wouldn’t be: I bet that house is in Plymouth, MA or some cute affluent suburb somewhere. The burbs is probably the first thought you should have when placing truly fucked up antics that defy human decency.
The suburbs are boiling pots, just waiting to bubble over. What goes on in the house behind YOUR house? Where do your kids go to play when they are gone for eight hours at a time? I may be speculating and making in accurate assumptions based on my own experience and the years I have counseled truly magnificently, wonderfully, fucked up kids who came out of 4 bedroom colonials with Volvo driving moms. Think about that when you see that next group of kids laughing at the sky or you could just eat some LSD and wonder about highways, knock on doors with your penis and cackle at your own clouds.
The choice is yours, really. God bless the suburbs and free will for that very reason.