New Perspectives
I always struggle to explain what it’s like to trip acid. It’s one of those things that you won’t understand fully until you do it. It's not the weird seeing unicorns experience that gets shown in pop culture. There are some visual effects; your vision kind of has a spirally haze to it and certain things might make you stop and stare at them for a long time, but that’s just a minor part of the trip. The most interesting part is how it affects your mind. Like Plato’s allegory of the cave, it’s a whole new world that opens for you. Nothing about the world itself changes, but how you perceive it and how you feel about it changes. You just feel weird. Slightly uncomfortable with everything around you. Hyperaware of all the weird nuisances that usually go unnoticed. Gaining lasting insights from seeing the world from a whole new perspective.
Acid trips aren’t like getting drunk for a night or getting high where you might be inebriated for 4 or 5 hours, it’s a 10-12 hour journey. For this reason, it’s not a spontaneous thing that my friends and I just do. An acid trip is something that we plan weeks in advance. It’s hard as a Caltech student to set aside a whole day that you’re going to get no work done but every time that I’ve managed to, it's been worth it.
***
Five of us decided to trip on the Saturday of a three day weekend. After waking up around 10, we ate a big meal to sustain us through the start of the trip. For whatever reason, you never have much of an appetite when you trip so it's important to be full beforehand. After eating, we gathered together to distribute and take the acid. Acid can be done in many forms but this time it was just a tiny square of paper, about 5 by 5 millimeters wide. You take it by putting it under your tongue and leaving it there for about 30 minutes. Once we all had the acid in our mouths, we got a ride to Huntington Library, which is known more for its art and gardens contrary to what its name suggests.
Acid doesn’t kick in immediately, it takes about half an hour to start feeling the effects. Once it does start to kick in, the experience quickly ramps up to the point where it knocks you on your ass. It was therefore of the utmost importance for us to find a suitable place to sit to ride out the start of the trip. The Japanese garden was the first area we tried to make our roots. While we were walking there, I noticed things beginning to get weird. My normal abhorrence towards people I didn’t know started to grow exponentially as I avoided picture taking families and slow walkers.
No one really considered that our group would require finding 5 seats in very close proximity to each other. The best that we could find in the Japanese area were two benches about 30 feet apart, however the desire to sit overcame our dissatisfaction with the arrangement so we sat in two separate groups. Each group would sneak looks at the other as we talked among ourselves. Are they starting to feel it like I am? It was apparent that we all wanted to sit together, but no one wanted to initiate the change. Finally, after about five minutes of this, someone finally had enough. Fuck this, let’s find somewhere else. As the acid began to kick in, we set off again.
After what seemed an eternity, we came to a magnificent sitting area. It was all we could dream of and more; it had comfy seating for everyone, beautiful shrubbery, excellent architecture, and wide open air. It seemed like paradise but, as with so many things in life, there was a catch. There was a huge echo and each word that was said reverberated through the air. If this wasn’t creepy enough for our tripped out minds, there was an older group in the area too, and we could hear their conversation echoing through the air. If we could hear them, they could hear us, so we sat in tense silence. Speaking every so often. Needless to say, we decided to leave fairly quickly.
The next stop was inside a museum. We were greeted by a friendly curator and bright white furniture. Keeping our composure, we tried to seem like the well doing college students that we were-if we didn’t happen to be tripping acid-as we bolted for the seating. Amongst the comfy couches were weird bowls that contained various scents that ranged from flowers to the inside of an 1800’s train and art books that we quickly flipped through. But once again it just wasn’t right. Anyone at the Huntington could walk into the museum to see the exhibits. To our tripped out minds, we felt like the main exhibit. We knew that we were not normal and paranoia told us that everyone else knew that too. Refusing to settle, we set off again. Walking nowhere in particular but hopeful to find somewhere that would fill the necessary requirements.
As we were walking the museum grounds searching for seating, we came across a tree in the middle of a giant field. It was a beautiful giant tree that might as well been the tree of life to us. On opposing sides of its trunk were two empty benches. Enough to seat all of us. We sat down, exhausted from trying to stay composed in public for so long. Under this tree, we could finally trip in peace and embrace the weird. By this point we were hitting the peak of the trip. When the acid fully kicks in. I noticed how hard it was to keep myself up. It was the feeling of wanting to escape from my skin. Wanting to just exist without the need for a mortal body. As we sat melted into the benches, we discussed how the trip was so far and how the world seemed so different now. We argued, jested, and had fun. Everyone was so funny now because we were seeing the world from such a new perspective. There is a weird connection between you and your acid mates because everyone just understands each other. It's a big reason why anyone not tripping seems to be from a different world.
Soon the discussion led to the desire to look at the other museums. I had to mentally gather myself because my paranoia made it hard to go back into the crowd; this was the first time I had tripped in such a public place. Being judged has always been my biggest fear, the thought of others thinking poorly of me makes me ache. If people knew that I was tripping, they would label me a druggie without even seeing the whole picture. They wouldn't care that I went to college and had a good internship lined up for the summer. In looking at the crowd I saw many individual groups, each one going about their day, trying so hard to avoid the others. Part of me began to realize that they wouldn’t give a shit about me. My brain began to work around my irrational fear of being judged by strangers. Our brief interactions would be too insignificant to matter. They wouldn’t know who I was and I wouldn’t know them. I’ve thought this for awhile, but there is something different about thinking something is true and knowing it to be true. I don’t need to be ashamed of myself, I am who I am. No matter how many times I have lied on doctors forms, I smoked weed and occasionally tripped acid.
***
The first museum contained a giant 2 foot by 3 foot book that was opened to the page about vultures. The lighting of the room made the vulture look golden and full of life, like it was going to fly out of the page to peck at us. The next area we went to was all about science. It contained an amazing exhibit about the solar system. The dioramas showing how small our world was compared to the universe prompted a conversation about humanity's role in the universe. We talked about how small we were in comparison to all that was out there and how pointless it makes the world seem. I can’t even comprehend the idea of billions of people, each with individual lives let alone the idea of 10 trillion different galaxies. With so much unknown, it seems so arrogant that humanity puts itself at the center of the universe, worrying about celebrities and petty politics. There is so much to learn and discover, yet people waste their time making money or trying to kill the ideas and people they don’t like.
***
By the time we got to the art museums we were hitting the plateau of the trip. It’s all the mind fuck of the peak but with more bodily control. Viewing art on acid is pretty awesome. I felt I could see what the artist truly wanted the viewer to notice. I noticed all the little details of the painting that I would normally glaze over as I walked by. The light reflected off of the paintings, leading to the illusion that the art pieces were changing with every new angle.
In one museum, a local artist’s work was being featured. From what we could gather, his entire theme consisted of selfies, cacti, and dodgers gear. His art was in heavy contrast to the 17th and 18th century art that was the mainstay of the museum. We went from being awed by a beautiful depiction of a volcanic eruption to in tears at seeing a random fake cactus that got placed in a corner of the room. It’s not to say that the artist wasn’t talented, but its placement just seemed so off. Maybe in the right exhibit with similar art, it could have felt natural. But instead, it felt like the museum was being run by his parents who wanted to proudly display their son's work, no matter how tacky it felt.
As we exited from the museum, I did a double take at a painting of a 17th century woman. I swore to the whole group that it looked exactly like one of the frosh. No one believed me, so I took a picture and promised to ask her friends in person for their opinion. I am proud to say that I kept my promise, my new found lack of shame was already showing benefits.
***
Our next journey was to the gardens but calling them gardens doesn’t really give them their due, they were flat out mini landscapes. First, we walked through the cacti garden, where there was every type of cactus that you could imagine. Next was an area with huge beautiful trees that made you feel like you were on a movie set. There was a large hill that overlooked the trees and I urged the group to lay down in the grass to enjoy the view. Everyone ignored me, saying that this wasn’t normal behavior. Apparently I was the only one who lost all of my inhibitions this trip. Heartbroken as I was, I followed the group on.
Under the shelter of bamboo, we started talking about a house trip to San Diego that was coming up. The general consensus among the group was that we wanted to go but didn’t want to spend the time commuting. We knew that we would have a good time, but a 2 hour drive kept us from committing. I’m not sure if it's because I’m getting older or I’m burnt out from college or I’m just lazy, but sometimes it seems so hard for me to put effort into trivial tasks. It’s like when I’ve walked two minutes to class but realized I forgot something. It wouldn’t waste that much time to turn back and I would get hours of payoff but usually I don’t. It’s the same reason that although I have a car, I’ve pretty much lived in a 2 mile block for the past four years. Although the reward of going off campus is high, the activation energy keeps me stranded on campus. We didn’t end up going on that trip, but ‘just go to San Diego’ became a phrase we would repeat at each other over the next few weeks when someone was being lazy.
***
Back on campus, an annual music festival (in its second year) was starting. As we were forcing ourselves to eat some of the free festival food, we noticed some people who were clearly not from our college. This wasn’t discrimination, when your whole environment consists of about a thousand people, you start to recognize everyone. They were in their late 40s or early 50s and looked exactly like what you would expect a lifetime festival goer would age like. Where the hell did these people come from and how did they find this concert at our tiny little school. We came to the logical conclusion that they were professional music festival goers. They had a whole underground network where they would inform each other of each festival. They would attend for free food, booze, and shitty music.
Finding the scene a bit too weird and the music not that great, we decided to go walk around campus. The lack of people allowed me to finally convince my friends to lay in the grass. Unfortunately the grass in front of Baxter Auditorium was shit. It was sharp and spiky in a way that would poke at you through your clothes. But down in that horrible grass, I found a bug. I have no idea what kind of bug it was but I decided right then and there that that bug was my friend and his/her name was Bugbro. As we sat there debating where we could find some good grass, I watched Bugbro crawl around my hand, seemingly content. My hand was his whole world.
The final decision was to go to Broad lawn so I followed the group, taking Bugbro with me on my hand. We arrived with perfect timing, the sun was beginning its descent and we had a beautiful view on a little hill. I sat there with my five friends (including Bugbro), listening to music and enjoying life. Bugs have always been incredibly weird creatures to me. With a lot of animals, you can anthropomorphize them, say they are happy or mad. But what do you do with a bug? They don’t smile and they don’t show fear. They go about their stoic lives in such a mechanical fashion. When A happens they do B, and if you were to do A again they would do B again. When I thought about it in this way, I could never have a reciprocal relationship with Bugbro. I simply held too much power. I like to think that these thoughts are what led me to releasing Bugbro from our abusive relationship, but truthfully he just got too damn itchy.
***
We wanted to see the main event for Techfest so we headed back to our rooms to grab jackets. Using the bathroom on my way out forced me into a mini existential crisis. Bathrooms on acid are always unusually weird, mainly because you are forced to look in a mirror. Every time that I have been forced to look at my tripping face, I always get the feeling that the person looking back at me is not me. Like there is some extreme disconnect from how I view myself in my mind and how I actually look. When I look in that mirror, I am forced to remember that I am Black. It’s not that I dislike being Black, but it's always disheartening to know that some people will hate me and others will judge me for it. The other areas of myself seem so overshadowed by my race. I’m forced to think about how others view me, not only strangers but my friends. Am I just the token Black kid to them?
***
There was a bit of hype around Techfest this year, mostly because people had heard of the headliner band, Bowling for Soup. They were sort of a big deal back in the 90’s and early 00’s but obviously had hit a rough path if Caltech could grab them for a show. To get everyone familiar with them, we decided to watch the music video for their hit song, Stacy’s Mom. Most people our age have probably heard it one time or another. But to our surprise, as we typed Stacy’s Mom into YouTube, we found out that the song was actually made by Fountains of Wayne. Bowling for Soup only did a cover for it. We found it hilarious and absurd that people know of this band for a song they didn’t even write. With these low expectations we went to watch them perform.
We stood in the back, ready to make a quick exit if necessary. The expectation was that they would come in, passably play their songs, and leave without a fuss. Boy were we wrong. Four overweight, middle aged musicians came out to meet the crowd of drunk undergrad/graduate students. It was pretty clear that the band members of Bowling for Soup didn’t really want to be there. Or if you weren’t observant, you would figure it out when they joked that Caltech was the last place on earth they would want to be.
They rambled on about being from Texas and how we were all totally invited to their house if we were ever there. They complimented Caltech students as being geniuses that could send people to the moon. But if we were so smart, why couldn’t we find a cure for chlamydia? A cure for which they would all highly appreciate. After another 10 minutes of rambling, they finally started playing. They were decent if you liked 90’s teen angst rock. Every song was followed by random theatrics. They told a lot more chlamydia jokes, way more than should ever be told. The crowd began to be slightly annoyed at such theatrics as to be expected (Caltech was paying them after all). They had ways of dealing with annoyed crowds though. One outspoken grad student was brought up to the stage to have a dance off. That shut up the grad students but the undergraduates were more perseverant.
The Caltech jocks have this weird chant they do that sounds a lot like booing (to this day I’m not sure of its purpose). I’m not sure what prompts this chant but during the concert they would do it often. Bowling for Soup isn’t the kind of band that would get hurt feelings over this. Every time the jocks would do their chant, Bowling for Soup responded by playing Cotton Eyed Joe and doing a little jig. The relationship between the jocks and Bowling for Soup was not always bad. At one point, the jocks invited the band to come to the party happening after the concert which was called BFP. Bowling for Soup responded by asking if that stood for ‘Bum Fuck Eygpt’.
My friends and I were in awe of this. Some of us wanted to run, not waste some of the last parts of our trip watching a mediocre band. In the end we decided to stay. Soon, it came for them to play Stacy’s Mom. They asked if the crowd had heard of the song and of course, everyone cheered. But then they hit them with the switch up, Yeah so that’s not actually our song, but we have been getting paid for years to play a song we didn’t write so fuck it. We had come to this realization 30 minutes prior and laughed our asses off at all of the confused faces, knowing now that we had to stay to watch the end of this trainwreck.
Besides Stacy’s Mom, there was one other song that Bowling for Soup was actually famous for (they actually wrote it). The crowd was pumped in anticipation for this. After listening to songs they didn’t know for an hour, they were ready to sing along. But when you’re the lead singer for a band that doesn’t really want to perform, why sing your own songs? As the finale to the whole affair, they brought up someone from the crowd to sing the song everyone was waiting around to hear. The fan didn’t just sing a part, he sang the whole damn thing. Bowling for Soup quickly exited right after that song, leaving behind a disappointed and confused crowd.
That concert was the perfect way to end the day. It was a seemingly innocuous event that turned out to be weird and slightly offensive, highlighting the absurdity of the world that we live in. I didn’t think about anything deep or introspective, I was just enjoying life with my friends, happy to share such a ridiculous moment with them. It was the best perspective that I could have had.