Amsterdam Sixty-Nine: DMT

“Michael? Hello?” Sounds. Configurations of sounds that could have been buzzes or light switches flipping up and down furiously. I saw. Ellie, but that was just a word. Words were hard to come by and I would have preferred if they had passed by without bothering to touch me. I blinked and saw a smile, a thousand smiles, perhaps infinite smiles. “Your eyes are open.” Yes, yes they were. More than they ever had been. Everything trembled. Everything, everywhere. Such … beauty of feeling. Astonishing. It was all so much, too much without being too much. Tears, liquid joy. Sobs, shaking gratitude. “I’m so blessed. So blessed.” Weeping, so much love, more than the earth could hold.

“You crossed over.” That voice, one of care, welcoming me home. This wasn’t home, though. I had been home, but I was slowly drifting back to here. “Where is this?” Ellie, the being of light with me, said, “I understand the question. There is no answer.” She made sense. “I’m happy you’re with me. I’m sorry we’re in different bodies, though.” A hand on my chest, over my heart. Warmth. “Thank you.” I saw the smile. Smiles were beautiful, perhaps the most beautiful, but that couldn't be true even if it was true. Liberation from this world made returning to the three-dimensional cage sorrowful, in a joyful way.

“You don’t have to say anything, Michael. Close your eyes and rest if you want.” I knew what that meant, but it wasn’t necessary. I tried it, anyway, but eyes closed wasn't much different than eyes open. I said, “I’m not there. But maybe I am.” Laughter. “Michael, I understand. I do.” I was arriving in shifts, shifts of energy, shifts of time. Phases. Channels. Not one of the words made sense. Words distorted everything. How could I say anything and mean any of it when none of it meant anything? Ellie knew, though, but I knew it was because she had been there, been somewhere or everywhere that I had been … for how long? Time didn’t make sense. How long was I “there”? How long was I “gone”? How long have I been “back”? Ridiculous, but the closest I could come to communicating something that couldn’t be communicated.

“Ellie?” Sweetness filled my eyes. “Yes?” The sound of fluttering. “I don’t know how to use words. They’re wrong. But I want to … touch you in the way I could have. All or everything, those words say something but without meaning what they say. How can I ask an unreal question and receive anything but an unreal answer? That’s not what I mean, either. You know?” El placed her other hand on my head, bent down, and kissed my cheek then my lips. She was helping me become whole in the place I was. I didn’t want to come back all the way, but I could tell I needed to come back. I wasn’t supposed to be “there” any more.

“This sounds silly in my head—and I can hear it there—but how long was I everywhere else?” Ellie pulled her hand away from my head and put it to her mouth. She failed to stifle her giggles and that unleashed a flurry of fluttering butterflies from my chest. I chortled and gasped until I could barely breathe and my face felt like it would explode. Ellie bent over, kissed me again, and I laughed into her mouth. Somewhere above me an idea emerged; she was sucking in laughter whippits from my mouth. I might be kidnapped by a drug cartel and forced to breathe nitrous into balloons. The idea just made me laugh harder.

No, I wanted to go back, to revel in the elsewhere I was and perhaps still was and am and will be. All the words I thought, every one of them was a lie, jokes, absurd sounds that shrunk perception of the infinite to focus on a pebble of inconsequentialism. Ellie pulled away from my lips. “Your experience—or whatever you want or don’t want to call it—lasted about five minutes.” Five minutes? Five minutes?! “That can’t be right.” Ellie shrugged. “I know. But in this time you were unreachable for only five minutes. Not quite five.”

“I see. Yeah, in this time. There was no time elsewhere, at least in the way I think of time. Elsewhere is the only word I have for where was.” El climbed onto the couch, on top of me, and rested her head on my shoulder and chest. “That’s as good a word as any.” Yes, it was ... and just as meaningless as the others. We laid together silently for some time before I shifted to move her beside me. Our faces were inches apart. I looked into Ellie’s dark brown eyes. I felt relieved by being connected through her eyes and she through mine. There was nothing sexual between us; I was all too aware that she was a being and that I was as well. I was mystified, awed that she existed simultaneously.

“Ellie?” Her look changed, like she was pulling out of my eyes, more exclusively within the body that carried her awareness. “Yes?” I gasped, overcome with emotion again. “I feel … love. I don’t know what else to call it. But I feel love. Not that I love outward or that love is coming inward, but love, like the cycle is complete, that it’s so full there is nowhere for it to move other than within itself.” El simply said, “Beautiful.” Her mouth was open in a genuinely joyous grin. I couldn’t tell what my mouth was doing, but my entire being felt like a smile.

A burst of ebullience wrapped my arms around Ellie, underneath her and over her, and I pulled her as close to me as I could. “I want to squeeze my entire being inside of you.” She nuzzled her face against my neck and cheek. “I can feel you inside.” I closed my eyes again and images of elsewhere zipped around in my head. I wanted to share the experience with Ellie, but there was no reason for it. She knew it. That was evident.

When I went under, I lost contact with being human, with the world I had known. A kaleidoscope of fractals consumed me. I thought, briefly, of 2001: A Space Odyssey, but that thought disappeared quickly as I could no longer think. The vision wasn’t nearly so technological but was advanced in design beyond anything I had ever witnessed. It wasn't biological, either, but it was alive. Everything I was thinking was a lie, every thought about what had occurred, because the experience was beyond such pallid descriptions. I had felt as much as I saw, the colors reaching far beyond the spectrum of anything I had known or had been capable of imagining. There had been a wind, wind beyond light years, colors becoming me, droning sounds, humming, waveform vibrations, electrical impulses, sounds and feelings fused into an experience I didn't understand.

Screaming, my own, not of terror but of speed, advancement, hurtling, directional … without moving. Whatever the tunnel of colors and forms and designs, they passed me, through me as much as around me. Again, an interpretation after the fact. Perhaps before all that happened, or it may have been after or even during, a yellow-red sphere spun incessantly in front of me, twirling but never turning orange from the speed of the rotation. I thought I would pass through it but as it came closer it receded and eventually gave way to whiteness, bright light, blinding, all-encompassing, and I exploded, the transition complete, now a being of light within the light, now longer blinding even though it had lost no radiance. I could see everything and yet everything was light; no separation, no form, no differentiation, and yet all those things were. It makes no sense as a five-sense being, but there was clarity as a being of light.

Try as I might, I couldn’t be that being of light, not while being human. I couldn’t tell if it was something within me or if I had a vision of what I might become over trillions of years of evolution … or if I was that now and couldn’t perceive because of my sensory limitations, my pitifully thin imagination. I felt boxed and as I felt the sensation I remembered seeing a box somewhere in the infinity, neither before nor after the light, but within the elsewhere. I watched myself inside it. There were pinprick holes and I looked out from inside the box to see myself surrounding and I watched from the outside looking inside the pinprick holes to see myself in the darkness.

A panther, like a cartoon, walked across blades of steel, its eyes larger than its face, and I remembered feeling amused. I didn’t know what it was or why it was, but it kept walking past me and around me. I had the choice, though, to remain or be elsewhere. Sometimes I went elsewhere else—which makes no sense because elsewhere else was always right there and right there was always elsewhere else. I became within a cathedral, not Christian or even religious, but vast, huge, ever-enlarging.Pebbles floated and zipped, some twirling while others swirled. They were alive was everything right there and elsewhere else. Inanimate objects did not exist as inanimate objects did not exist in any way that I had thought of objects as a human.

The more I thought about these things, the more confused I became. My confusion tickled me, though. I laughed uncontrollably, almost shaking El off the couch as I let go of her, not purposefully, just because I couldn’t hold onto her any more. She grabbed me and lifted her head, looking at me with shock, but then she laughed hard as well. She slowed down, smiling incandescently, and that settled me. “I can only imagine where you are right now.” I was beaming, waved within awe. “Images pour through, but I can’t keep track. I feel bountiful, awkwardly jingling. Effervescence pulsates.” She pulled back, shook her head, and said, “I think I know where you are. It’s hard not to try to understand it, but you can’t. You might not be able to do stop trying--not right now--but you can let it be. It won't go anywhere, believe me.”

I didn’t even know what the hell she meant. “That doesn’t mean anything, Ellie.” Her head flung back and she cackled madly. “No, I don’t imagine it would to you. You probably don’t remember, but I told you you’d change.” What did that mean? I vaguely remembered her saying something like that, but she said it to a place in my body that wasn’t there any more. That must be what change means. Different. But … change makes no sense. I haven’t changed because that person doesn’t exist anymore. I felt that way and it seemed true. None of my thoughts lined up as they had. My feelings weren’t feelings any more. They were orbs that swirled about me and vibrations that told me who I was in a way I couldn't fathom.

“There is no way to make sense of anything as it is from this body.” Ellie got off the couch, kneeled next to it, her attention rapt. “Go on, Michael.” How? It took so long to figure out anything worth saying or that could be said in a way that said something that might be even though it couldn’t. “I don’t know how.” El took a deep breath. “Then don't. You'll release what you need to release. You want to share, but you don't know how. Don’t worry about the words being perfect. There's no way to do it. What happened is indescribable, not of this world. You're sharing with me just by being here, but I could tell you about some of my experiences. Would you like that?”

I nodded. She proceeded to describe her kaleidoscope entry. That made sense. The kaleidoscope was a transitional phase, an acceleration. She used different words and had a different interpretation, but I knew what she was talking about. She mentioned the light as an arrival. That made sense, too, though I hadn’t thought of it that way. She talked about cats, about being in a video game, about a two-dimensional world that, when she chose, became four-dimensional. “The fourth dimension is a confluence, a symmetry; time and space become something else while being exactly what they are. In a way, it’s five dimensions.” I interjected. “The dimensions are endless.” She gasped, “Yes! That is true, too. It’s all true and yet none of what we’re saying is how it is.” Agreed.

“There was a box, Ellie. Did you have a box experience?” She shook her head no. “I was in a box looking out of pinholes and looking in the box from outside. I saw myself from inside and outside, not mirrored, but certainly me in both cases. Only it wasn’t both because I was looking out the top, bottom, and four sides at me on the outside and from the outside I was looking at me on the inside through the top, bottom, and four sides. We were all curious about one another. The outside me worried about the inside me, but the inside me passed on the essence of okayness; it was okay for me to be inside the box because I was also outside. Inside me turned outside me’s attention toward the outside of the outside me and outside me realized I was in a larger box and inside me seemed to know he was within a box within a box. An outside-outside me thought for all of us that the boxes continued outward indefinitely. This was consciousness, the expansion of it, but with each expansion there were layers within that were inaccessible to each layer beyond. I realized it went the other direction as well, like the peeling of an onion. The me that was furthest inside knew more than the me who was furthest outside … and yet more meant nothing because knowing meant nothing. Meaning was a problem that didn’t exist there. It’s only a problem now that I’m trying to attach meanings to elsewhere.”

Ellie listened and seemed to contemplate. As she did I continued, “A universe, from the quantum to the cosmological. I can’t say “that is me; I am the universe” but I can’t say it isn’t. I am not a replica nor am I an original. These concepts have no coherency. The best word to describe elsewhere from this realm is madness. But, of course, it isn’t. It’s only madness because there’s no access point to what is from here.” Ellie plunked her head against the couch and wheezed laughter. She looked up again, grinning from ear to ear. I asked her if she was ready to smoke. Her eyes lit up even more and she said yes.

She put a fresh bud in the bowl and sprinkled a heavy dose of powder onto the bud. I got up off the couch so she could have it for herself after she smoked. She picked up the Zippo and took a hit followed by two more. She rolled back on the couch and by the time her head rested on the cushion her eyes were closed. I watched her while standing as time passed. She was mostly still, but occasionally her face radiated bliss or tendered into a heartfelt love as she crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself.

While she was in Never-Never Land, I slowly regained solidity within the world I inhabited. I was overcome with flashes of my experiences once again, but with a greater ease thinking in language even though it didn’t adequately match anything I experienced. There was an absurdity between the narrative that formed and the reality of the visions. I was less troubled by the mismatches, though.

I first saw a bubble of liquid that floated in a forest with chittering zips of laser beings darting in and out of trees. I was one of the lasers that raced through the forest, but the orb of translucency held steady above and to the left of the apex of the laser that shredded the spaces between the trees. It laughed incessantly, leaving me quilling between marmalade drippings. I came out of the forest in the cathedral, the panther eyes reappearing, dancing throughout the space around me while doubling and doubling and doubling until I could only see through yellow sapphire eyes. Everything I saw was everything that was except that none of it was separate from me and I shot through the roof of the cathedral into the underground sky that crumbled and avalanched all around me while still being me.

The vibrations caused earthquakes of sound that multiplied into an ever greater smell of ether until I swallowed quartz and became seaborgium sinking into a lava pit, expanding into an evermore radioactive fire-breathing until an exhalation cleared the red heat that had become making way for sky blue weightlessness, a peaceful floating through clouds of gleaming light giving way again and again to the azure sky, floating upward into abstractions of heaven singing in harmonics, tribbles, and garnaches becoming a single decibel that grew into the Sound of Earth hovering as an emotive eminince, a scent of Gaia loving me for living, the Surface of Earth surrounded by invisible presences that emanated wisdom, filling me with secrets of all-time.

I bowed in spirit, understanding the presences as Elders communicating on a wavelength that could be understood only elsewhere else. The Elders existed throughout the cosmos visiting life everywhen which was everywhere because nothing that existed wasn’t living. All spaces at once they were, but their connectivity made a singularity that was simultaneously an endless multiplicity. There was no truth but paradox and nothing could be understood as anything but confusion and chaos which was precisely what allowed synthesis. Symbiosis passed between fingertips, but without being tended consciously; consciousness caused disconnection. Overconsciousness was the only means of connecting.

I understood that modern humanity had fucked itself by believing only in consciousness and subconsciousness. It was overconsciousness that allowed and created universal interconnectivity. Overconsciousness could no more be experienced consciously than subconsciousness could. The wisdom, though, was in understanding that binary thought was a mistake; tripartite understandings matched reality, below ground sub, the sky and above over, and the center of perspective consciousness. Elevating perspective as most important was the ultimate mistake. Ego was a mistaken identity, an error in judgment. Belief in ego created a boxed-in consciousness that became and persisted in static inwardness. The abandonment of the belief in this center? Dissipation, but completely possible only elsewhere; the tininess of the world as experienced as human insisted on a measure of the error of ego as a mechanism to retain sameness indefinitely.

I left the presence of the Elders, overwhelmed and overawed, dropping into a cartoon world, one filled with giant red apples with smiling faces walking on tiny stick legs, teetering and tottering down lanes of purplish grapes bordered on either side by hopping yellow squash. One of the apples waved me forward and I followed, myself a pomegranate as well as a disembodied formlessness watching the landscape, including my pomegranate being. When I looked up from below ground the view was dusty. Pomegranate me was ecstatically happy, though, playing Ring Around the Rosy with apples and oranges and pears. My formlessly infinite views layered upon themselves to create images that shifted the cartoon world into a dimensionless hysteria that juggled itself into other dimensions for the entertainment of kings and queens living within the jester juggling, the dimensionless within each orb forever afraid of becoming. This created jocularity among the jugglers who made up the Eternal Jester playing the cosmic joke of elsewhere.

The Jester slapped the ideas of universes and multiverses from existence, the ideas merely remnants of consciousness that had no place in the all of over-under that surrounded perspectives mistakenly looking outside as if there were such things as outsides and insides. The Jester sent God to me and splintered the concept into nothingness, communicating the absence of any possibility of a thing as feeble as God, another trifling conception that trapped perspective into the habit of outward. The Eternal Jester booted me into hilarity and I scaled ribbons of spirals, gobbling replications as nutrients digested and circulated as originals. I spun between the sub-over until there was no differentiation between the two: darkness, stillness. Time as a multitude of dimensions ceased until a pinhole of light reluctantly penetrated darkness, a cosmic birthing of the rotational over-under exploding into an ever-brightening light slowing to reveal a color wheel that fractalized differentiation exponentially until the shards of color shattered into asymmetrical chaos. I was impaled by a hateful love and saved by a loving hatred before settling into a grateful neutrality. Somewhen after that I reemerged in my body in the world that once had been familiar. I felt love, peace, and bewilderment.

Ellie was stirring, her eyes opening, bliss vapors rising from her body. She quivered and when she looked at me I saw a mixture of excitement, surprise, and horror. Her mouth opened but instead of words she shrieked, long and ever-louder. I covered my ears and knelt on the floor, burying my face against her stomach. She put her hands on my head and I felt tremors of energy, my head tottering as she lifted and turned it so that I was looking at her face, into her eyes which were now wholly filled with fierce affection. “I crossed paths with your DMT experience.” Her eyes widened as if having a revelation. “We were with the Elders.”

Amsterdam Sixty-Eight: Seductress

I woke with a groggy pot hangover. I hadn’t had one in eons. No headache, just a foggy mind and a sluggish body that did not want to move. I wanted to roll over and pull Ellie into my arms, but she wasn’t there. What time was it? I could see sun shining through the sheer white curtains, but that didn’t tell me anything other than it was far too bright to continue sleeping. I made myself get out of bed and put on the clothes I had been wearing the previous night.

I walked downstairs and headed to the bathroom. There was a god-awful noise coming from the kitchen, grinding, whirring. I closed the bathroom door, washed my face, and brushed my teeth with my finger. I thought about a shower, but that seemed like too much work. I opened the door and walked to the kitchen. El wore a snug-fitting t-shirt that went down to her waist. Her pink panties were exposed. What an ass. Her legs were sexy, too. Sprite-like.

She turned and smiled at me. “Almost ready.” I took a seat at a kitchen stool. “What’s almost ready?” She walked to me, put her arms around my waist, kissed my neck, and whispered, “Espresso. Double.” Thank god. “I might need a quadruple.” Ellie nuzzled her nose against my neck then walked back to the espresso maker. It was an expensive brand and I could smell the aroma.

El, turned to me, “I can’t believe I’m up this early.” I wished she hadn’t been. “Why are you?” She shrugged. “Not sure. Just fucking am.” That caught me by surprise. “I think that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say fuck.” She looked at me quizzically. “Is that weird?” I shook my head. “No, I guess not. It just sounded funny coming from you.” A smile and a wink. “I probably picked it up from you.” Yeah. “I say ‘fuck’ a lot, don’t I?” She nodded. “I always have. I don’t know why. Just a habit from my youth, from hanging out with a lot of guys who said fuck a lot. Maybe.”

Ellie handed me an espresso. “Careful, it’s hot.” I put it up to my nose to inhale the scent. Jesus, some relief for this fog. “Maybe ‘fuck’ is a comfort word for you.” Huh? “What do you mean?” Ellie brought the cup to her lips, tried to sip, but pulled back. Still too hot. “I mean that it helps with stress or anxiety. Maybe it keeps others from getting too close or buries your emotions.” What the fuck? Damnit, I even thought in “fucks.” I considered her words. “When did you put this hypothesis together?” Another shrug. “Just now.”

She was indeed a weird one. Crazy, but insightful. “How is it possible you’re so young?” She walked over to me, took a drink, and pressed her body against mine. “Age has nothing to do with it. I’m a genius.” Ha! “Oh, is that so?” I was genuinely amused because she was so nonchalant and sure of herself. “I am. I’m a member of Mensa. In France.” No shit. “So, that qualifies you to make an analysis of why I say fuck?” She shook her head. “No necessarily. I didn’t say it was a certainty. Thinking out loud.” Hmmm.

I was becoming more curious. “What is it about me that you like, Ellie?” She put her head on my shoulder and rubbed my chest with her hand. I took a drink of espresso. Still hot, but oh so good. “I couldn’t narrow it down to one thing. I like that you call me Ellie.” I put my hand on hers. “It’s a name that comforts you, isn’t it?” I could feel her head nodding. “You feel safe with me.” The nodding continued. “Because I’m womanly in a way that makes you feel safe?” More nodding. “Because your girlfriend fucked us in the ass with vibrators while we were having sex?”

Ellie laughed so hard she nearly spilled her espresso. She put it down and bent over, petite guffaws escaping like dry heaves from her mouth, her back arching, hands on her knees, and her body convulsing. I chuckled a little before drinking more espresso. She finally regained her composure—mostly. “You’re funny. Sensitive, too. If you had a pussy you’d be perfect.” I took that as a compliment. “I wish I had a pussy right now.” El picked up her cup and drank from it. She had a twinkle in her eye and I felt the stirrings of arousal.

“If you keep looking at me like that …” She didn’t even blink. Oh, shit. I always felt helpless when women who had emotional depth, sensuality, intelligence, and awareness looked at me that way. I felt like prey, but prey that wanted to be caught. Maybe it was an evolutionary development, a way for alpha women to attract whatever mate they wanted. Societies had gotten it wrong throughout histories; women were the sexual hunters while men had been designed to believe they were hunting—a means to keep ego intact while providing women what they needed without being the wiser. On the other hand, how did that explain homosexuality and bisexuality? It didn’t. It was an idea I had, something gleaned from Kubrick's Eyes Wide Shut. I had played with the idea over time and there seemed to be something to it even if it was more complex than I could fathom. Maybe the Mensa seductress knew the answer.

El shifted her eyes and the predator disappeared … for the time being. She sighed, “I wish I didn't have to get so much done today.” Well, shit. Now I was hungry. Was this another tactic in the predator’s arsenal? Frustrate the prey so much they toss themselves at the predator's feet to be emotionally devoured then hunt for food, provide and protect, all in exchange for the elixir of feeling … wanted? No, needed! Before Kubrick introduced me to an alternative, I had been led to believe that it was women who needed to be wanted, but after careful consideration it seemed to me that it was men. Perhaps both sexes need to be wanted--or want to be needed--but in surprisingly different ways. I didn’t know, though. I was more confused than anything. Probably by design.

“Do you need any help today?” El shook her head and walked toward the bathroom. “No, but thanks. I’m going to shower.” She looked at me provocatively. “I want you to join me,” then a pout, “but I need to get going.” Hmmm. What did that mean for me? I finished my espresso and went to the couch to lie down. I was about to drift off to sleep when El emerged from the bathroom. I watched her walk naked toward the stairs and then up. I was too tired to do anything but close my eyes and replay the mental video of her walking naked up the stairs.

Eliene woke me. I didn’t want to wake up. She had been masturbating in a field of sunflowers and I was riding a tractor in circles around her. Weird, but very erotic. Who knows why we dream what we do? “I have to get going, Michael. I'll be back in a few hours. Sleep, take a shower, make lunch, whatever.” I nodded, still half asleep. I thought about the index suddenly and asked if she had a computer I could use. El went upstairs and came down with a laptop. I got up and followed her to the spare bedroom as she set it up on the desk and logged me in as a guest.

I thanked El as she was leaving. I opened my email account and downloaded the indexing document. I always uploaded and saved my work to my email account in case my computer crashed. Email worked as a perfect backup accessible from any computer. I downloaded the document and checked it out. I just needed to edit. Two hours, maybe four, then I could send it away. I needed a shower to wake up, though.

After showering I walked naked to my backpack in the living room and changed my clothes. I took out my dugout, but before I smoked I looked over at the coffee table in the living room. The bong was still there and so was the bag of weed. Why not? I put the other clothes in a zippered compartment I sometimes used for dirty laundry. I looked over at the kitchen, though, and went to the espresso machine. I had no idea how it worked so I wasn’t going to fuck with it. I saw a French press, though. I went through the process of making a cup then went to the coffee table to smoke. The coffee was still hot so I put it on a coaster while I loaded a small bud into the bowl. I didn’t need or want much, just enough to alert my thought. The pot hangover had subsided but my mind was still fuzzy. Odd that cannabis can clear the head, but that’s what smaller amounts did for me. Combined with coffee? Perfect for indexing and editing.

After I smoked I took the coffee to the desk in the spare bedroom and worked for about an hour. My stomach started rumbling so I went to the kitchen and looked for something to eat. The only items I found required real cooking and I didn’t feel like that. I saw a cereal box in a cupboard and took the almond milk out of the fridge, sitting at the dining table to eat. I had nothing on my mind at all as I scooped, chewed, and swallowed. Mindless. Emotionless. When I finished the bowl I woke up, surprised not that I was done, but that I was awake. I wasn’t sure where I had gone, but I felt rested. I was still a little hungry so I poured another bowl.

As I ate I looked around, realizing that I was in someone else’s apartment. This struck me as odd, being left alone in an apartment that wasn’t mine by a person who barely knew me--although Ellie seemed to see right through me. I liked it. In a way, I thought it was fucked up that most people lacked this level of trust in one another. Despite my recent bout with sorrow and pain, I was still living in my body. It seemed less and less that “home” existed somewhere where my body wasn’t. My sense of property as a concept continued to erode. There were spaces, but not property. Space was a natural, physical term; property was legal, abstract, arbitrary (and absurd). I let my mind go again and continued eating.

I cleaned up afterward then put the cereal and milk away. I walked into the spare and sat at the desk, editing the index again. After an hour I got up to take another hit from the bong. As I blew out the smoke I thought that the world seemed plentiful. Well, Amsterdam at least. I resisted the urge to believe myself special in any way; this was just the way things were here. Because the masks being worn were so porous and the walls were so much lower, making connections simply required doing the same while wandering to and fro in public. Once connections were made, there was intimacy between those connected. Ellie’s emotions were easily accessible. As much as I had lowered my walls, though, they still were higher than my counterparts in Amsterdam. None of these thoughts were new, but they struck me from time to time and every time they did I realized that I had become immersed enough to forget that these recent happenings had been rare during my life in the United States. America would probably be similar to Amsterdam if about ninety percent of the public disappeared. I couldn't really put an exact percentage on such a thing, but one out of every ten Americans being truly open to one another seemed like a generous estimate.

I pulled myself out of my thoughts and went back to work. Within an hour I finished the edit, made an invoice, and emailed them to the publisher. I deleted the copy I had downloaded onto El’s laptop. I was about to shut down the computer, but I saw a new message in my inbox from Sterre. I froze. I didn’t want to open it and felt guilt rising up within me. I didn’t know what to expect and I was enjoying my time with Ellie. I decided not to read it, not yet, so I shut down the computer and went to the living room to stretch. When I was done stretching I went back to the couch to lie down. It was after noon and I was tired. I let myself fall asleep while El was out and about.

Eliene woke me when she returned and said, “Get up, sleepyhead. I got Thai.” I shook myself awake and followed Eliene into the kitchen. Spiced Thai noodles in a container. I sat down, grabbed the chopsticks, and started eating. After a few bites I felt human and I thanked Ellie. “I thought you might be hungry. I wasn’t sure if you’d want to cook.” There was a glass of water in front of me and I drank from it. El made me feel at home. She was so casual about it, almost like a lifelong friend or a sister. What the fuck did I know about having a sister, though? I imagined this is what a sister might do for her sleepy brother, though. I smiled at her even though she wasn’t looking at me. “You’re generous and kind, Ellie. I'm happy being with you.” El shrugged and continued eating. She was who she was.

“What time is it?” Eliene said it was after six. Damn, I slept most of the day. “So what’s going on tonight?” She looked up at me with a noodle dangling between her lips. It quickly slithered out of sight into her mouth. “I don’t know. I don’t want to go out. I’d just get in trouble--two nights in a row? That's pushing it.” She laughed and continued, “I'd lose you in an hour and wind up somewhere I've never been.” I thought about that and asked if that happened when she went out with Auriana. “No. We usually go somewhere specific together and I’m more aware that I’m with her. She’s the only person who can do that.” I said, “You don’t know what would happen with me, though.” She took another bite then said, “True, but why take the chance? Besides, I have a few ideas about tonight. We don’t need to go anywhere.” She looked down, smiling beguilingly, and took another bite.

When she looked up to take a drink of water she gazed into my eyes enticingly. The predator was back and I instantly felt the way I had earlier, eager to become prey. I tried to think about the dynamic, but I wasn't capable of thinking while she had me in her sights. That was just it; her eyes penetrated every defense and broke through the mask. She possessed me. It wasn’t so much that I was giving myself over to her, but that I had no means to resist—that and I didn’t want to resist! I sighed, resigned and dreamy.

Ellie giggled and shook her head. “You’re like a puppy. I think I’m your owner and you’re my dog; it’s the same thing with Auriana, but it’s the other way around. I’m not used to being on this end!” I knew my end all too well. I managed to replied, “You’re not the only woman who has done this to me. I can’t help it. I don’t know if it’s something specific within me or if it’s just that I meet captivating women. It’s the way you look at me. That and your the body language. You become irresistible.” I sighed and shook my head, forcing myself to look away so I could catch my breath. “I'm attracted to most women, but very few turn me to jelly. But you?” I looked at her again and felt her magnetism. “The force is strong in you, little one.” We both laughed. Ellie said, “A strange one you are. Teach you I must.” Ellie Yoda.

I helped El clean up after we ate. As we did so, I asked her what she did during the day. “Groceries and some other stuff.” Other stuff. Okay. “Did you have any problems while you were out?” She looked at me like I was crazy. “What do you mean?” I replied, “Well, you said you get in trouble when you go out alone.” She nodded and said, “Oh, no. I don’t have that problem during the day, especially if I have errands, shopping and whatnot.” Whatnot? Stuff? Purposeful vagueness or just no desire to get into mundane exercises?

After we cleaned up we went into the living room. As I sat on the couch, I looked at the bong and thought smoking might be a good idea. Apparently, El read my mind because she said, “We’ll smoke, but I picked up something I want you to try.” I was intrigued. “And that is?” She got up to get her backpack and brought it over to the couch. “Have you ever smoked DMT?” I shook my head. “I’ve never even heard of it.” She asked if I had heard of ayahuasca? I said yes, but I didn’t know too much about it. “DMT is the active ingredient. It exists in many plants and naturally in our brains, in the pineal gland. The chemical is released during sleep. Your dreams are literally made of this substance. It’s a hallucinogen like psilocybin and LSD.” Well, that explained why dreams were so fucking weird.

“I shroom a hell of a lot, Ellie, several times each week. Not sure if you told you that. I did plenty of LSD when I was younger, too.” Eliene, took my hand and said, “DMT is different. Its effects are far more potent and much different than shrooms and acid. As otherworldly as those substances can be, DMT is on another plane. It’s spiritual, but something other than spirituality as society typically conceives of it. I can’t explain it. The only way you'll understand is to try it.” I said, “So, we’re going to take DMT tonight?” Ellie nodded. “Not at the same time, though.” Huh? “In case you have a bad trip. The effects don’t last long, though, maybe five or six minutes depending on how much you smoke. But time is not … I don’t know how to say it. Time as you know it disappears. I know that happens with acid, too, but not like this. I guarantee that you won’t 'come back' thinking only six minutes have passed.” She paused and looked at me with a profound seriousness. “This is not a recreational substance. You will change. Permanently. You'll look the same, you'll exist here and now, but your consciousness will be different. You’ll still be you, with all your memories and you'll experience thoughts and emotions you have throughout your life, but you're capacity to perceive and understand will expand. You'll be able to think in new ways, to experience living differently. If all goes well, you'll become free to choose; you can choose to return to your old habits of thinking and acting or you can choose to discover what has been dormant within you.”

Wow. I didn’t really know what to think, but I wanted to give it a try. It seemed to fit into my process of self-exploration, my vision quest. She made it sound as if I would be taking a thousand doses of shrooms. Odd, though, to be introduced to another means to that end from El. I had to accept that the world had pockets of weird and I chose one of the best places in the world to become fully immersed in weirdness. “So, when are we going to do this? Or I guess I should ask when am I going to do this.” El put some pot in the bowl of the bong then pulled out the powder I assumed was DMT. She sprinkled a healthy amount on the sweet leaf. “The taste of DMT is nasty. Weed makes it a little better.”

I was ready to smoke, but Eliene suggested I use the bathroom and that I relax, clear my head, and settle into calmness. “Meditation might help.” I went to the bathroom then washed my face and dried before returning to the living room. “Before you relax I want to let you know that the best thing to do after smoking is to lie down on the couch and close your eyes to wait for the effects. Just breathe calmly, regularly, and let go.” She smiled serenely and I smiled back. “Why are you doing this for me, Ellie?” She looked down at the bowl then compassionately at me. “To help you.”

I didn’t know what to make of that. Yes, she was intelligent and insightful, but how much of me was she seeing? I didn't want to think about that, though. I pulled my legs up onto the couch and leaned back, clearing my mind, focusing on my breath, enjoying the bodily sensation of being relaxed, of being in the presence of a woman who expressed and demonstrated care for me. A loving gift.

I opened my eyes and looked at Ellie. She motioned to the bong. I picked up the Zippo and the bong then lit up. When I released the carb the smoke filled my lungs. The taste was not pleasant. I held it, though, then exhaled. I looked at El again. She nodded her head so I took another hit. As I exhaled she took the bong and the lighter from me. I could feel a little of the pot hitting me, but that was all. I heard El’s voice echoing. “You might want to lie down now. It may not take long for the effects.” I did as she suggested, placing my head on a cushion. She rose from the end of the couch so I could extend my legs. “Close your eyes. I’ll be here.” I closed my eyes and waited.

Freedom and Fulfillment

“These days I just can't seem to say what I mean [...]. I just can't. Every time I try to say something, it misses the point. Either that or I end up saying the opposite of what I mean. The more I try to get it right the more mixed up it gets. Sometimes I can't even remember what I was trying to say in the first place. It's like my body's split in two and one of me is chasing the other me around a big pillar. We're running circles around it. The other me has the right words, but I can never catch her.” -- Haruki Murakami.

Murakami is channeling Aldous Huxley here, but not really. I feel the same way, like whatever it is I am trying to convey becomes something I don't mean at all. I embrace absurdity all the more because of this. It used to seem to me like a way out, a way to say "I can't express what I experience in thoughts, feelings, insights, understanding, wisdom, ... or anything else."

Relational thinking, associative thinking also appeared to me as an answer. If I could make all the connections known as I perceive them then at least I would be sharing my sensory understanding of the world, no matter how wrong I may be in my perceptions. The wrongness of my interpretations of experience, the misunderstandings within my worldview could at least be accessible to others, not as knowledge, but as information.

There's no way to authentically communicate anything, each us living what Huxley called a life sentence of perpetual solitary confinement. If we weren't concerned about wars, violence, sexism, bigotry, economic inequality, status, security, and the like we would have nothing left but to look at ourselves and the world around us, including one another, and realize we are islands connected only beneath the surface of our awareness, a vague sense that we belong together without understanding why, perhaps because there is no "why" that satisfies anything meaningful to us.

That might just mean that our thoughts and feelings are misguided, that we are trying to convey something true about ourselves that really isn't true. We simply believe we understand ourselves and have something to say, but we're composites of our influences and we can't tell where we begin or end. Perhaps our deepest fear, one we cannot access adequately, is not that we'll die, but that we'll die before figuring out who we are because we can't accept that we may be simply a wind that shifts sands for a time before we're stilled forever. We're not even the shifting sands, just the mechanism that shifts the sands, something invisible, our existence absolutely transitory, utterly lacking in substance, not just individually, but as a species, the whole of humanity nothing more than a breeze that exists for a brief cosmological time before discontinuing forever.

This, in its own way, is what makes us free: free of morality, free of ethics, free of responsibility, free of meaning, free of everything but being for a time. Suddenly, sunsets make us break down and cry, feeling dirt between our fingers feels like something that's truly real, and seeing a person's eyes looking into yours becomes fuller than every arbitrary moments of commuting, saving for retirement, owning a house, or paying bills. I would trade a long life for ten minutes looking into another's eyes while he or she is completely vulnerable, emotionally raw, and completely aware of how awe-filled and terrifying being is, the salve of utter loneliness coming through ten minutes of the most intimate, sorrowful, joyful, and profound connection that can be made precisely because of the shared certainty that life will end in a matter of moments.

That connection is the only fulfilling way to live and die. I'm probably wrong, though. Then again, so is everyone else.

Amsterdam Sixty-Seven: The Babysitters

Something had shifted. Everything all at once had dispersed and now I was staring exclusively at the diamond of pain I hadn’t even realized had been within me all along. The diamond wasn’t cut or clear; it was opaque, unevenly yellowed, asymmetrical, roughly surfaced, jagged … violent. I wasn’t a diamond cutter. How was I going to create beauty out of something so ugly? Yet, I could no more live without this diamond within my being than I could live without my heart beating. Unlike my heart, I had no idea where this diamond existed. It was just there, a part of me that I could feel that somehow managed to exist without being in a place.

As I poured myself a glass of orange juice in the kitchen, shivering from standing naked in the kitchen, I had little idea of what to do about this unwanted presence. I walked to the window in the kitchen, looked out at the gray morning, the apartments across the way, and the street below. I took a drink and swallowed. The pain of this diamond resembled its shape and color. As I watched a woman effortlessly cycle by with her gray scarf fluttering behind her and a car buzz past in a herky-jerky motion, clearly looking for a parking spot, I realized managing this pain was going to require nimbleness. If my body and mind were maneuverable then I would need to move as responsively as a cyclist rather than awkwardly lurching like the driver of an automobile. I could never maneuver around the dangers of this diamond in a beastly motorized vehicle designed to be ridden through smooth simplicity; no, a cycle designed to fuse with me in motion was necessary.

I finished the juice and walked to the shower. As I slipped under the hot water and lathered my body with soap, I recognized I needed to honor the pain, harsh and immobile as it was. If I was going to learn how to cycle around its jagged edges, avoid the jutting spikes, and find the hidden passageways then I would have to become more intimate with it and respect it in the same way I respected a tram crossing my path. I didn’t need new wounds; I needed to learn my pain so I understood it well enough to be able to see and feel changes in shape and color. The pressure condensing that diamond hadn’t been alleviated so its form—wherever it existed—wasn’t fixed. A different sort of mindset would be required, a viewpoint that could see diamonds as malleable rather than static.

I closed my eyes and shampooed my hair, the stubble that was slowly growing on my scalp. I had to learn to see in the dark, in the places where diamonds formed, to acknowledge that my perspective had been fixed to the surface of the world as if that was all there was, a perspective that had been distorted through a belief in my culture’s worldview, its ways of seeing, its projections of the only way things could be. I stood still in the shower rinsing then gradually turned in a circle allowing water to cascade over the whole of my body. I shut off the shower, grabbed a towel, and dried off. I walked into the bedroom and dressed before walking back to the living room to have a cigarette. I opened the window and looked out onto the street. There was a cool mist in the air. I took a drag off my cigarette and blew a smoke ring that died quickly in the dampness.

I laughed, at the ring and at myself. My environment dictated what could or could not be. I had oscillated outward at an ever-increasing pace, stretching my being apart in such a way that made it much bigger, but also more porous, more vulnerable. That was good; without doing so I wouldn’t have been able to perceive the cancers of pain as inflexible as diamonds. They couldn’t expand and contract like I could; pain as a diamond, as a cancer, is unaffected by the in-and-out of breathing. The tissue expanding and contracting around it or near it might be, getting jabbed and cut as it moved in and out, up and down, side to side. That was why I had to learn the geography of my pain; I didn’t want it to do any more damage than it had done.

I closed the window after my cigarette and moved to the middle of the living room to lightly stretch. How would I learn this geography? Should I put more pressure on areas that were rough, try to mold the pain into a perfect symmetry? How could I? The pain took shape over time so to change it would require time as well—or so I thought. That might not be true; my analogy might be flawed. Flawed like a diamond? Being attentive was probably the best way or at least the best way to start. Insights I’d had on this visit, complexities like The Loop, provided applicable benefits. In a way, I was using those discoveries without consciously being aware that I was: Perspective, perception, attentiveness, preferences. They were always in play.

My mind was tiring. I wasn’t going to figure this out in a day and I sure as hell wasn’t going to waste all my time examining sources and shapes of pain. I needed to eat, index, and check email. I ate a bowl of cereal, opened my email, and saw nothing new. I opened the PDF for the psychology textbook and spent most of the day working on it, pausing only for lunch, stretching, smoking pot, and reading a bit of Kafka on the Shore. I checked email on and off as well. By five I was finished indexing. I still needed to go through the document to edit it, but then I would be able to send it to the publisher and bill for it.

I turned on some tunes, a glam rock station—how long had it been since I had listened to glam rock? All well and good while making a vegetable stew. While it slowly cooked I refilled my dugout and saw that I would need to get more buds soon. I placed the dugout next to my keys so I would remember to take it with me if Eliene emailed. I took a couple puffs from my pipe then had a cigarette while switching the station. I suppose I could wait another five or ten years before listening to glam again. I settled on jazz, Thelonious Monk. Ba-da-da-du-du ba-du-da-daa ba-du-da-daa …

I checked my email and saw a new message from Eliene. “Come over in a couple hours?” I replied, “Yeah, I would love to. I’ll see you soon.” I showered in the morning, but I didn’t know exactly what to expect so I showered again. I got dressed and took out my backpack. Better to be prepared so I threw in a change of clothes and a few other things. I took a hit from my pipe, put my dugout in my inside jacket pocket, and grabbed my keys.

I left the apartment, unlocked my bike, and started to ride. I had checked out the route I needed to take and made my way. I forgot how long the trek was as I passed through Vondelpark and out onto Overtoom. Fortunately, there was no rain or even mist; no wind, either. It felt good going for a long ride and I was starting to like this area of the city. It was a nice getaway from the center.

My thoughts about pain and loss receded as I rode. Excitement and anticipation replaced them. I tried to temper expectations, but it was hard not to think about Eliene’s sensuality, her body, her personality. As I neared the apartment, I felt intoxicated, blissfully drunk. Nothing salves pain more than pleasure. Well, that was my experience. The negative judgments and interpretations of pleasure-seeking and hedonism were lost on me. I couldn’t fathom how anyone could be dour about feelings of warmth and satisfaction. I thought of Sterre briefly, probably because she had introduced me to Auriana and Eliene. I was surprised how much I had let go of her. Glad, but surprised.

Life seemed to be a march through different faces, personalities, bodies, beings. Intellectually, there was no reason to be attached to any one person or even a group; there were always more people to meet, new connections to be made. It wasn’t that simple, though. It seemed so here in Amsterdam, but elsewhere that hadn’t been my experience. As I parked my bike outside the building I realized that didn’t matter a bit at this moment. I shook my body as if that would scatter such thoughts onto the ground around me. I could see worry squirming on the right, slowly dying without me as its host. On my left was fear, screaming to be felt. Behind me I sensed analysis unable to operate. I stepped over aching pain and rang the buzzer.

Eliene’s voice crackled at me and I said, “It’s me.” The door buzzed and I walked up the flights of stairs and knocked. The door opened and Eliene stood smiling at me wearing black tights with holes ripped on the thighs and calves, the fabric covering her feet as well. Sheer as they were, the tights resembled pantyhose more than anything else. She wore a long, baggy pink sweatshirt with a screen-printed design centered above Dutch phrasing. Her hair was a little shorter than when I had last seen her or maybe just styled differently. It was still full, a bit unruly in a sexy devil-may-care way.

She invited me inside and I removed my backpack and coat, placing them against the wall next to the door as I removed my shoes. “You want a drink?” I stood up and said yes as she walked to the kitchen. There was a pitcher filled with reddish liquid, ice, and sliced fruit on the top. Sangria. She poured a glass for me and topped off her own. She walked back and handed it to me before walking to the living room. I followed as she sat on the couch, pulling her legs up next to her, side-sitting in a way. I sat next to her, but not too close, tilting in her direction to face her. She extended her glass and I clinked mine against hers. We drank. Eliene looked at me, giving me a once over.

“So, you wanted to see me again, huh?” I smiled, a little embarrassed. “Yeah, I did.” Eliene took another drink. “Did you have a purpose in mind?” Damn, for a young woman she was direct, confident, and coy. I had to remind myself that I was in a culture that fostered sexual maturity at younger ages. She came across as a woman in her thirties, at least from my American experiences. Without thinking, I blurted out, “I like being in your presence. I become more vulnerable and I like being open with you. It’s not always possible for me to do that with others. I’m not sure if you draw it out of me or if I'm just eager to be that way with you because it feels so fucking good.” As I spoke I realized I extended myself, expanded outward while with her, enlarging my being enough to feel her, to allow her to enter my interior space. I felt less alone, connected. It wasn’t possible to feel lonely when I was with her. I could be that way and she accepted it.

However, I saw in her face that she was a bit taken aback, a little flush. She shifted in her seat, adopting a more protective posture. “Sorry, Ellie, I didn’t mean to burst like that all at once. It just came out.” She nodded, but remained silent, her face suggesting that she was thinking, processing, but also disconcerted. She finally smiled a little and spoke, not quite nonchalantly, enough life in her voice to suggest she was both surprised and amused. “I just thought you wanted sex.” I laughed. “Well, yeah, there's that, but the 'why' isn't as predictable as you might have imagined.” I took a drink of the sangria and commented on how good it tasted. I also thanked her for inviting me over.

Eliene took a drink then said, “We'll see about the sex. I don't know yet.” A black cat jumped onto the couch as she finished talking. It caught me by surprise and I nearly spilled my drink. “Whoa. I didn’t know you had a cat. I don’t remember seeing it last week.” El picked up the cat and held it in her arms as she stroked the back of its head and neck. “She wasn’t here last week. A neighbor watched her for us for a few days during the party. Her name is Chatte.” The way she pronounced it sounded French. "What does the name mean? In English?" Eliene smiled and said, “Pussy.” Of course. I laughed. “Does Pussy like strangers?” Ellie rolled her eyes. “Here, hold her. Let’s find out.” She handed the cat to me and I placed her on my lap. Chatte arched her back and dug her claws into my thighs then settled down to rest. She purred, but I could still feel the claws. I didn’t want to move her or say anything, though, so I suffered silently.

“I guess she likes you.” If digging her claws into the flesh near my groin counted as liking me then I imagined she did. I changed the subject. “Why did you invite me over tonight, Ellie?” That caught her off-guard. She stuttered a few times then laughed at herself. I said, “Hey, you asked me so it seems fair for me to ask you.” A smile. “Okay. Um, hmmm. I hate it when Auriana goes out of town and I didn’t want to be alone.” Interesting. “Weren’t you alone last night?” El’s eyebrows rose. Her eyes closed and her mouth opened then closed without a sound. Her lips pursed as she opened her eyes. “No.” Oh. I waited for more, but nothing was offered voluntarily. “You said you had other plans so … what?” She shook her head at me and I shrugged. “What? Too personal?”

Eliene finished her drink and set it down on the coffee table. “No, not too personal. I went out to meet some women. We were out all night together.” And? “What’s wrong with that?” I finished my drink as El said, “Nothing, but I tend to get myself into trouble when I’m on my own.” Huh. “Is that what happened last night?” She nodded then got off the couch. She grabbed the glasses and walked back to the kitchen. I removed Chatte from my lap, grimacing as she tried to dig her claws in deeper, and rose to follow Eliene into the kitchen. While she refilled our glasses I asked her what could have possibly been so bad. Without looking up she said, “I go wild, really, really wild. Last night was okay, though. I had sex with a lot of women at parties around the city. I always knew where I was. That's good." She took a drink from her glass then continued. "In the past, I went out and woke up in other cities, a few times in different countries." Hello! "Before Auriana I woke in parks or abandoned buildings alone or with people I didn’t know."

How to respond? No judgment. “Okay. Makes sense. Does Auriana know you have this trouble?” Ellie handed my glass to me and I took a drink. “She knows.” Eliene took a drink. “Was she worried about you before she left town?” El walked back to the living room and I followed. As she sat down she said, “Yeah, but she was happy you emailed. She told me to invite you over. She thinks you are good for me.” Wow. I laughingly asked her if I was supposed to be a babysitter. Eliene shrugged and took a drink. “Are you serious?” She put a hand on my thigh. “No. And yes. If you are here I won’t go out. I don’t like being alone.” Maybe I was crazy, but that made sense to me. I was like that in Chicago--that was also when I used to wake up in different parts of the city without knowing how I had gotten there, sometimes alone and sometimes with people I didn't know. That made me wonder about Ellie, if she had experienced neglect, abuse, or painfully crippling losses. I felt my own wounds opening up to hers. Maybe we were babysitting each other.

I took a drink as Eliene said, “Auriana is my owner.” Oh, for fuck’s sake. “She is! I’m like a dog when she’s here. I’m happy when she comes home, we play together, I love her.” She took a drink and continued, “But when she’s gone I’m a cat. I feel restless, I go out, I find trouble.” Huh. “Auriana’s my owner; I’m her pet.” I was curious. “Like a dominant-submissive relationship?” She shook her head. “No, just … I can’t explain it.” The minds of other human beings. We're far more bizarre than we ever imagine. “Were you like a stray that Auriana brought in from the cold?” El laughed. “No! More like a stray who forced herself into her home and refused to leave!” What a fucking trip. “You are a weird one, Ellie.”

Eliene took a drink then got off the couch, walking out of the room. I drank most of the sangria in my glass before she came back. I was sucking on a slice of a blood orange when she returned. She sat back down on the couch. In one hand was a clear glass pipe and in her other was a Zippo. “Really?” She looked up at me as if to say “What?” Instead she said, “Just because you’re babysitting doesn’t mean I can’t have fun.” She lit up and I saw the smoke swirling in the fat glass bottom of the beaker before she sucked it into her mouth. She handed me the pipe. I had smoked coke off of aluminum foil, but never from a pipe. First time for everything—Eliene and Auriana were the source of a lot of firsts for me. Funny getting schooled by a twenty-year-old … or twenty-three-year-old. Before I lit up I asked Eliene how old she was. “Why?” I lit up and sucked the smoke into my mouth. I answered as I exhaled, “Because I’m curious.”

Oh, Christ, the smoke hit fast. Sweet, sweet euphoria. I looked dreamily at Ellie and said, “Never mind. Oh my god, I feel good.” She laughed and said, “I’m twenty-one. You’re funny when you’re high.” Oh … my … gawwwd. Ellie loaded more into the glass bowl and lit up. I forgot everything and simply looked around the apartment. Was it like this before? As in, was it here before? It didn’t seem like it, but there it was. There was furniture and hardwood floors and everything was black and white. Eliene handed me the pipe and, without thinking, I lit up and inhaled. Fucking fuck. I handed it back to her and lost track of everything except my drink which I pounded, sucking a few slivers of ice into my mouth, chewing on them.

I got up off the couch. “We need music, Ellie.” She put down the pipe, drank the rest of her sangria, and got up. “Yes we do.” She turned on the stereo and suddenly the room was filled with trance. Finally, a rhythm to move my body. I had been twitching and jerking without rhyme or reason, but now my body was throbbing with the bass, the bleeps were moving my feet, and my arms were swimming through the liquid electronics. My eyes found the white of the ceiling and I blissfully disappeared into it. I didn’t come back until I felt El’s body against mind. My eyes found their way down to her. Her hips were gyrating and her head was flopping back and forth, her hair whipping against my face, her torso slithering all over mine and down into my crotch. I forgot how much shorter she was than me. Petite, too.

We danced ceaselessly through a mix of songs, each one seemingly more upbeat and energetic than the last. I was sweating and starting to feel lightheaded, the energy draining from me. I needed the music to stop so I could slow down. Eliene looked up at me and must have seen how spent I was because she stopped dancing and turned down the music. I was panting and so was she. Her hair, whether shorter or differently styled, was still long enough to be plastered all over her face. She was perspiring as well, a couple streaks of sweat running down her cheek. She looked hot--and hot!--but I was dying of thirst. I walked to the kitchen and stuck my head under the faucet to drink. I heard El laugh.

“Here, here.” I pulled my head out and stood up. She handed me a glass of water she had poured from a pitcher in the fridge. How many glass pitchers did they have? I expected the Kool-Aid Man to burst through a wall any minute. “You know, as much as I want to smoke more coke I need to come down.” I walked over to my jacket and pulled the dugout from the inside pocket. Eliene said, “No, no, don’t smoke that. We have a bong.” Sounded good to me. She finished drinking a glass of water then went to the living room and climbed the stairs. I went to the bathroom and splashed water on my face. After drying off I walked back into the living room and sat on the couch. El came downstairs with the bong and a bag of weed. Ah, yes, I remembered that bong. It suddenly seemed like a year ago since I had been in this apartment.

We smoked a few bowls, more than enough to come down, more than enough to get us snoggered. It helped my heart stop beating so fast, but I was fucking stoned. I usually only smoked enough to feel good, stopping short of smoking myself into cement. I had to admit, it felt good to be this baked. In some recess of my mind, I acknowledged that Amsterdam had been a series of ups and downs, ins and outs, and all arounds. Whenever I thought I might get a handle on living in the city I turned another corner and found something I never expected. A whole life could be lived this way. It might not be a long life, but it certainly would be full. I felt like I was living a year per week. If the pace continued I would have another decade under my belt by the time I returned to the States.

I briefly came out of my haze and saw the bong on the table. I forgot Eliene was on the couch with me. I had even forgotten we'd smoked together! I looked at her and she was slumped against the back of the couch, her eyes half open, her hair dangling down over them. I leaned over and brushed the hair out of her eyes. With a lazy smile she mouthed, “Bedankt.” I kissed her gently on the lips and then slumped against the back of the couch, too. I wondered, absent-mindedly, what time it was. It couldn’t be that late, probably not even midnight. I made myself get up and walk to the kitchen. The sangria was mostly gone, just melted ice and fruit slices. Still, I poured a glass and drank from it. Natural sugar water. Mmm, good. I filled a glass of water and took it to Ellie, shaking her awake. She sat up and took the glass, meekly uttering, “Thanks,” before drinking half of it.

“Ellie, if you’re going to crash maybe I should walk you upstairs to bed.” She nodded her head. As she stood up she almost fell into the coffee table. I caught her before she did. She said, “Bathroom,” so I walked her there. She seemed to regain some composure as she shut the door. I went back to the couch and took a drink of the water I brought for her. When she came out of the bathroom I took my turn. By the time I walked back into the living room she was splayed out on the couch. I shook her gently, but she didn’t move so I scooped her into my arms and carried her up the stairs. She woke up as we entered the bedroom and she wiggled out of my arms onto the ground. She pulled back the bed spread and the sheet before disrobing.

I said, “Do you want me to stay, Ellie?” Eliene tossed her sweatshirt on the ground. “Yeah, you can’t go. I need you." She looked at me through slits and said, "Besides, you're too fucking high to go anywhere.” That was true; it felt like we were taking turns babysitting one another. El unzipped my pants then started pulling my shirt over my head. I took over and finished undressing. She was naked except for her skimpy pink panties and I was down to boxers when she pulled me by the hand into bed with her. She turned her back to me, but pulled my arm over her, using her hand to cup mine against her breast. She snuggled her back and butt into my body. She felt so good next to me. Cozy, comfy, cocooned. If I hadn't been so stoned and tired I would have been aroused, but cuddling with her in my state was a different type of heaven. She sighed just loud enough for me to hear her, "You always call me 'Ellie.' Is so sweet." I cradled her in my arms and pleasantly sighed myself to sleep.