Chapter 13 The Emptiness and Reemergence of Abel

Chapter 13 The Emptiness and Reemergence of Abel
To disparage my two years of sobriety is unfair. I always had money. Without Tex our freedom to travel became much greater. In his younger days he was the perfect alarm. Indeed, my original reason for getting Tex was to return to Spain and Morrocco where I had spent two long expeditions travelling in my old Merc 307. Pulling up in strange places, particularly when it's dark, can deliver a troubled nights sleep. Noises outside can disturb you. In Morocco particularly one can pull up in a seemingly quiet countryside area to find anything not strapped down borrowed. Tex was the answer. By the time of the Jesse mission he was ageing and no longer enjoyed new places.
So we explored the Jurassic coast. Drove up to the East Yorkshire coast and enjoyed van life for a summer. Finding myself flush we moved to a new house. I got Dook and had quite forgotten how wild a young cross shepherd husky can be. I was stable. No super natural events occurred. I worked hard.
I can't recall exactly what lit up my curiosity, I think it was a documentary on channel 4, but I became aware of research chemicals. These are legal substances but untested. I believe, originally, due to a drop of quality in cocaine and MDMa, a Dr Zeeb created mephedrone, a cathinone stimulant that, at the time was 99% pure, cheap and opened up a market in new experimental substances. After its ban and to this day the creation of new psychoactive substances expanded. In 2013 a new product a week was being released. Now it's close to two a week. Most of them are rubbish. Imitations of illegals. Some are exrtremely dangerous. A number of forums developed where people, psychonauts discussed harm reduction and their experiences. The knowledge base grew swiftly with many young people having a broad chemical knowledge and understanding of neurotransmitters and receptor sites.
Having field tested and studied drugs most of my adult life I was curious to learn what I was missing out on. The dissociatives developed to mimic ketamine were very strange. Benzos of a wide variety became cheaply available. Many more specific than those prescribed by gps. Some were short lasting meaning no hangover, others lasted for days. Some operated on soperific GABA receptors, others delivered little sensation but removed all anxiety.
At the very top of the field, advanced lysergics became available. These were works of sophistication, often recreations of David Nichols work and Alexander Shulgin. Between these two, a whole spectrum of new psychoactives was born. My discovery of LSZ and finally AL-LAD was the crowning glory of the movement. I shall describe my experiences later. These were recreated by a great chemist, lizard labs. Now based in Europe where AL -LAD is still legal. On January 7th 2015, in the UK, despite no deaths or reported harm, the innevitable ban came in. The psychedelics are the least harmful but most illegal of drugs. They deliver transcendent experiences, religious epiphanies. Far more dangerous chemicals were permitted to continue to be sold. Seven days later in a stroke of genius, lizard labs released 1p-LSD. What seperates these LSD derivatives primarily is that they are less demanding. Acid was often called the heaven and hell drug as bad trips, hallucinatory nightmares occassionaly happened. Mushrooms too could deliver a frightening degree of self reflection. I had loved them in my teens but found them too much and gave up by my twenties. My psychedelic reawakening was round the corner. But not before a near death experience. A journey in to the future and a long psychosis.
As a recovering addict I shouldn't have been around drugs but once you are in a small town you know everyone. I see people scoring each day, even now I am again teatotal. What triggered my relapse was completely out of the blue. I was ready to set off to London to do some finishing touches to a maple office I had made in Chelsea when a package arrived. A long time back someone had owed me some drugs that I had completely forgotten about. Opening the package the most generous two bags of heroin and two large rocks fell out. No harm was meant. But I had a pipe before driving off to London.
After a taxing day I finally arrived home at ten or eleven and pipes were on the go, foil was smeared with brown beetles of afghany heroin. I was instantly offered a pipe and accepted. I had my own too from the letter. And so began a six week or two months of daily crack use. The quality was good, the deals generous and the supplier a really nice guy. That never helps.
I also began experimenting to work out which reaearch chemicals were any good.
It wasn't long before I was right back where I was at the tailend of my last crack habit. Ready to blow my head off each night. Self hatred. Guilt at letting people down and all funds gone. Crack takes as much money as most people have. Several hundred a day is easy to get through.
Such was my despair I did something I still don't fully understand. I put an atom bomb under it. I tried to take my own life. I had a new dissociative anaesthetic hallucinogen. Methoxphenidine. A beginners dose might be around 20mg. I took 1.5 grammes, seventy five times that dose. I didn't expect to survive.
I have described this in earlier chapters but never touched on how much damage I caused. How much distress to others, were it not for Claire I would either be dead or sectioned. My memories of it all are hazy. I still hear tales of things I said and did during the psychosis. This lasted for a month and everything electrical was destroyed, blood smeared the walls, broken stuff was everywhere once I returned to Earth. The damage to my brain still lingers.
For four days I couldn't walk or talk despite trying to incessantly. My legs grew to seventy feet, then one shrunk to action man size so imbalanced, each time I stood I fell. How I was to there I can not say. However, from inside, my consiousness became detached from my body and shot at light speed in to the deep future. I was on some travel system where mind could travel in streams of white light. Minds were linked to advanced digital systems, far and away in advance of torn. Of course space is time so rather than go off round the galaxy I travelled to the deep future. Here I was informed by something not unlike Philip K Dicks Valis, a living computer of God like complexity that, due to mans destruction of the earth, we had dispensed with bodies. Our consiousness had proved ultimately to be separable from its biological roots. For sure, it evolved from biology but reached a point where intervention could seperate this emergent property from our material selves. Man would survive, but not as an animal as he had evolved. It was clean, white, pure, yet bereft of any organic plant or animal.
This beautiful period did not last. I recall trying to leave the house but being unable to walk and clearly psychotic was persuaded to stay in. The room was a conventional box shape but it's corners would elongate or shrink, just like my legs, forming triangular, parallelogram, kite walls. As a corner shrunk I would be crushed and shifted about.
Looking outside I saw we were in a distopian America. Not so far in the future. Again no organic life was apparent. It was an endless dessert of broken brightly coloured domestic plastic junk, from hoovers to weird sex toys, kettles, children's toys. A sea of day glo plastics stretching to the horizon.
Freinds and relatives were informed of my madness, most of whom thought I should be sectioned. I found myself screaming at the drug service workers who were clueless as to what to do with me.
After a week, still psychotic, I regained control of my body. Sitting outside I drifted in to the past. I was a veteran of the Somme. Invalided out, I saw spitfires returning from Europe and cried as the guilt of being unable to join the fight shamed me.
It was here I took to walking the streets, mumbling like a madman. The villagers were after me to lynch me for my witchcraft. Mobs of them could be heard chasing me as I raced around town with Dook. Crows swooped down on me crying, 'Skree' ,'Skree,' telling the lynchmob where to find me.
My psychosis lasted four weeks. Freinds helped out. Finally, as reality returned I saw the damage I'd made. Figuring Claire needed a break, I went to my brothers where I built him a porch. Brutal though it is, I remember little of the hell I put people through. Still i get told of things I did. It upsets me thinking about it. A shameful episode. At one point Lipton turned up wanting help fitting his new van out, figuring I am known as good at making. They still refer to the hugely piggeldy mess of a corner as Skrees end. I think he left as I was making no sense.
Losing the trust of people is hurtful. No one trusting you hurts even if they are right not to.
After the month of pure psychosis I slowly returned to normal but it took time. I walked miles each morning. It was during this period I bonded and weirdly trained Dook to the low level he can be called trained. Strapped to a madman can have been no fun.
I had to take time off. This began the loss of my house. Strangely, the first time I bought a house I soon got a heroin habit, second attempt to join the middle class i undermined it again. There is a strong self destructive element to my nature. Whether I don't feel I deserve things, whether I think I'm not worthy, I really don't know. Maybe I just think I ought to aspire to a house and normality. My animal nature steps in to over rule the cognitive reasoning always.
To sooth my fried mind I was prescribed benzos. I also picked up a habit with ethylphenidate that nearly killed me.
I tried to carry on working but in truth I wasn't well. Only through this powerful and corrosive stimulant could I negate the benzo sedation.
Down on Exmoor I had furnished the bedrooms of a house. Two double beds, four single beds, a bunk bed set, five chests of drawers, five dressing tables and seven vanity units. The trail had run cold. I had seen little of Lipton and barely a murmur from jesse.
Out of the blue I got a call. A bookcase was needed. The client asked if I could come to measure up, if I was Abel. In my hyper awareness, this could mean but one thing. Our task, as layed out by Elvis' subterranian twin was due. We were indebted to jesse. Only we could save the nation. Abel was on Exmoor. In the Pitt. Our sworn goal, to kill the monster.


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