Sober hallucinations are the strangest
I had this same thing sketched out on one of my favorite notebooks, but it was one of the big reporter’s notebooks, so it fell out of my pocket at some point, and I never noticed it till day’s end, and it was lost.
But it was about a strange thing, to hallucinate while not high or drunk.
I went back to the new home of my not-quite-girlfriend & her friend, whom we’ve both separately & jointly fucked. There’s almost nothing there in the way of furnishing or furniture or food, so we’ve all been sleeping together on the floor in the room of the friend on a futon mattress that smells un-pinpointably of mold or something.
The two of them smoked some weed, then the friend wanted a haircut, but I felt tired & weird so I went to go lie down for a minute on the mattress & blankets. Then I didn’t do anything for about 45 minutes but lie there & stare, and I felt like I was tripping on something I can’t explain.
The walls & ceilings are white, and there’s brown trim near the floor, and the carpet is a dingy sort of light brown meant to hide dust & stains as well as possible. I was on my side looking at the trim, with one edge of the wall jutting out between me & a further continuation of the wall.
The first thing to happen was the edge to disappear as all my vision flattened. Then shortly after that the brown carpet turned white like the walls. But it was the trim that did the most, first looking like a tunnel thru the white slab, then a rounded pipe protruding from it. Then it changed from being straight lines to a mountain range at the horizon, white above with desert beneath.
And with the visual changes came the (now silly) but then profound little existential questions that always plague you when you let quiet & nothing take over.
What are you doing with your life, why don’t you kill yourself, why don’t you do more? Why do you care what the people in the outside room think? Aren’t you just lying here in order to impress them somehow?
But then that passed. Other thoughts came, of the ‘you’ll be dead soon anyhow, and who will care? Care about what you do now.’ And the like.
In the other room, they called to me to ask if I was OK. I said I was, but rolled over & stared at the ceiling, which was that uneven sort that for some reason always makes me first think of the surface of the moon when I first look at it. That went away, and I just looked at one spot in particular for no reason in particular, and the ceiling started to undulate and colors appeared & danced in a weird way that I last remembered only mushrooms doing.
I kept thinking my girl was leaning back to look at me & check in, and this made me feel important, then stupid for caring because she probably really wasn’t; it probably just a trick of my eyes like the moving ceiling & points of ceilings & colorful bits of nothing. Later I realized she was leaning into the doorway, but only to move around to cut more hair, and I felt justified but I couldn’t tell which part.
Later, they finished the hair & brought in the fifth of cheap Canadian whiskey I’d bought earlier, and I put aside the book I was reading, and we sat around drinking & talking about things. We did a five word story & it ended up being about a girl who liked having sex but could never get pregnant, so she decided to steal one, and I noticed when autobiographical parts seeped in from the other two, but not myself.
By the end, I got fairly drunk & enjoyed it quite, feeling the hard bodies of two women under a blanket, but it was a strange thing, the not-unsober, not-quite-meditation, and I agreed with the women that it must have been the mold. Because otherwise I worry that I’m getting depressed or going insane or suffering from a crisis of nothing.
NOTE: Ah, but as it turned out, the reason I was contemplating life & death was because it was a dead rat in the wall, wasn’t it?