Kaleidoscope of dolls

Last night I went to a party on Broad Street where ‘Z.’ and Oscar live.

It was a predictable hippy gathering, which Lee, Stu, and I disrupted with our loud, strident behaviour. Lee continued his record of causing damage at every party he’s invited to by inadvertently kicking holes in the plasterboard walls during a Freddie Starr impression and then running around screaming. Later, four or five heavies gate crashed the party  one of them—Lonsdale sweatshirt, moustache—forced himself on a girl there (“I want to taste your lips,” etc)., which she politely but insistently refused. But when she went to the bathroom he forced his way in and shut the door, but Lee kept his foot in the way. I thought a fight was bound to happen.

I left about two or three and caught a taxi home alone.

On LSD the mind is an organ that vividly records prevailing sense impressions with great intensity. I’ve never had great revelations on acid (although last week came close, before things turned rotten). Instead the acid experience has always revealed itself in mundane ways; in the ‘fun’ of seeing perspectives distorted and disturbed; in people transformed into grotesques; faces into masks by turns ugly, amusing, or disgusting; a kaleidoscope of dolls and scuttling, rapacious insect-people; TV images fluidly melting from one frozen mind’s eye-instant to the next.