Written by: Samson Jay
The date is August 9th. As I write this, I have been home for roughly 12 hours. Delirium has begun, whether it's from the lack of sleep, or the copious amounts of narcotics I consumed over the last two weeks, I don't know. Fuck, it's probably both. Heh, alongside with my pipe full of pot and mug of caffeine currently aiding me in my attempt to write my journey. A journey of self destruction in the most positive of ways. Death of one's ego.
Our Ego's are our shield. They protect our minds and our souls from outside influence. (whether you want to think of that as a spiritual thing or an emotional thing, is up to you.) Often in today's world, egos either get weak and they attack their own self, causing such things like depression, or they get too defensive / aggressive, and they make their user always on alert thinking they're being attacked. A combination of these two traps is likely to turn any one into a savage. And oh boy, how often have I fallen down into these pits? Luckily with a little education and a strong mind, one can pull themselves out, and beat down such walls allowing growth. Of course a little help is needed. One can put themselves into the circle of therapy, always going around like a ferris wheel. But such endless marathons aren't appetizing to a man like myself. No.. I prefer another type of therapy. Psychedelics. Although for this particular journey, Psychedelics weren't alone, first I had to break myself down....
The date is July 28th. My associate, Mr. Cowboy is asleep on the couch. We're to meet with a good friend's cousin and her small town baseball team to go to the Rockn River Music Festival. Packed along is an ounce of reefer, 13 grams of mushrooms and enough booze to last a day and a half. Unfortunately our desire for the devils powder could not be fed before we left. Introductions go smoothly, if you want to be around any particular group, a small town baseball team fits perfectly for a country fest. They like to drink as do we, and they know how to keep you entertained during the hot day. One of them even gave me a nickname, which is still spreading. As a group we head into the festival, although we're quickly separated, which would seem to happen often as the weekend progressed. Mr. Cowboy, myself and my nickname giver attend the early day music. I'm quiet, unfortunately I don't listen to much country, and I'm fairly lacking in the conversational department when I meet new folks. That is until I drink. Now coffee does the trick too, only booze turns me into a bit of a prick at times. We all end the first day chatting. I attempt to sleep but manage only a few hours. For the sun makes for a mighty alarm.
Day two I'm fairly more talkative as a can of poison is frequently refreshed. Although I soon find myself tipping close to my so called limit. In the past, going beyond this limit has found me passed out on sidewalks, or standing on a table with my genitalia hanging out, yelling "I'm not going home!". Fortunately I kept my most savage of sides buried. Unfortunately my ego came in full force. Dr. Prick, who really just needs to listen some times. He can be funny though. Quite often in my drunken state I attempt to entertain the masses. Often I swing too hard though. All part of the weak ego. Whether it's attention I want or entertainment, I'm not sure. All I know is when I'm sober I rather enjoy solitude or having light conversations about life and the universe. Pump me full of booze, and I'm a silly little jester with an odd taste for humor. After some silly moments blown out of proportion by yours truly, the night came, and we stumble upon Camp Fuck. A little taste of the more primal side of modern humans. Electronic music. It sends a call out to those who want to dance the night away. An oasis, within the Country scene. A place where we could get our nightly dose of bodily breakdown. Perfect for those of us alive at night. Here I managed to let loose, put away everything and just dance, until my moves took notice and my ego flips back on. Attention tends to trigger it immediately. An ego can turn dancing from a peaceful moment of being in the present to thirst for one's gaze. High fives and compliments. All in good fun. I can't say for sure if I slept this night or even next morning.
At some point during day 2 or 3, Mr. Cowboy had to pick up more booze. I can't quite remember which day it was. Things start to get foggy into day 3. I have a lack of sleep, and unlike last year, coffee isn't supplied by the event in a breakfast meal. Coffee is my lifeline. Without it, I'm a sloth doomed to stumble into everything. Now, this is where things start to feel like a dream. Maybe it's the lack of sleep or all the pot I've been smoking every morning... The day before a lady came around informing everyone about a summer body contest. Now I'm nowhere close to what any institution would describe as beautiful, but it sparked a fire within me. I had to sign up for it. Of course I spent most of the day before it started boasting I'd do it. Something came across my mind that people didn't believe I'd go up on stage with drawn on abs. Noon came around and I went across the river to sign up. Mr. Cowboy and a pair of other associates sign up as well. Only, with a little help from my fellow campers, I had a nice set of abs, and a massive dick running down my leg. Most of the other contestants were fucken jacked. One guy even humps a chair, coming in first place for such act. I come in 2nd. The look on the third place winner is priceless as I walk up to claim 2nd place. Photos are taken. Then first place receives a modelling contract. Ha! Maybe next year... Afternoon strikes, a heavy sun lies in the sky. We're sitting in the river drinking, heavily I might add. Unfortunately I can't describe much of what happens after the contest, since I became quite sick and laid down. At one point I lunge out of my tent and spew. Like a torpedo.
With sickness, drunkness, and highness all in full force, I lost all track of time. The moon was out though. It shone clear into my topless tent, as did a fellow camper. He hands me a solution to my partyless situation:
400 ml of fruit juice
1 bottle of water
a single shot of whiskey
I puke almost immediately. After some brief moments of puking, I manage to gather my strength and walk over to Camp Fuck. Something about the music wakes me up. The energy of an animal fuels my dancing. I'm alive again. Camp Fuck only grows bigger as the night goes on. Part way through the night Mr. Cowboy informs me Peter Pan showed him a white Christmas in July. We all dance until the Gods favor us with rain and Valhalla strikes it's drums. Soon their favor drives us towards our tents. I couldn't manage to get much sleep.
I guess I should talk about the actual event. I quite enjoyed the 3 days of music, of which I attended, including Thursday. The crowd was lacking energy though. I would be told later that some of the bands played quite a few covers. Well when you don't know the bands, it doesn't really matter. Most of your time is spent at the river or the camp site though. There's where the fun was made. Drinking games, rafting. Couldn't complain.
The dreaded day 4 came upon us. To start things out a fellow camper receives a DUI. Booze hadn't run it's course from the day before quite yet. Unlucky I'd say. Although we all assumed their wouldn't even be any early morning roadblocks. The bastards impound his vehicle. Next, another camper is given an open liquor citation. It's due to the beer I brought with me. We forget to hide the thing as we pass it around. Strike number 3 targets Mr. Cowboy. Chest pain. What struck him we don't know. But we did get to spend some time in the hospital. While he was getting all sort of tests done, I think back on the previous days. Good times, but had I gone a little far? My body had had enough. Dr. Prick had his fair share of moments. And now the lack of sleep would begin to take it's toll. Psychosis. Makes a mind rather slippery. Maybe if I had taken better care of myself, I would be able to be more present for my good associate, Mr. Cowboy. But I was stuck in a trap. Luckily his tests came back fine, detailing it might be a little inflammation or anxiety. When we return to camp, we find everyone staring into space. Mushrooms had been eaten. One man howls in a vehicle, while others fear death in a trailer. Naturally I couldn't resist the urge to join the fun. I would then find myself having a conversation breaking down my walls, all the while tripping. My ego would be fully shown to me. The first step towards the death of my ego had been taken.
Life felt rather positive the next day. We pack up and head home for a few days, until we leave for Shambhala. Although... the days between the two events are a haze. Neon animals dance around my room. A gift from years of psychedelic use, HPPD, which weed can sometimes trigger or enhance. Harmless visuals and a slightly different thought pattern is all it is. Sleep takes it away. But when you have been through a long weekend with maybe 8 hours of sleep, HPPD and psychosis join hands. Now my mind has gone savage.
Morning dawns. It is August 4th and we leave for Shambhala. Luckily sleep brought me back in time to blast myself off into space again.
That's all for Part 1. Part 2 will cover Shambhala. I'd write it now, but my room is spinning...
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