College Kicks part 1 Please Critique
by Happas
Posted to Stories on 2002-02-24 13:37:00
The sad journies of Raoul Caufield
part 1
I was sitting on the edge of a gutter with the last remnants of a joint hanging idly out of the corner of my unwashed mouth. I stunk. I’d been pushing the invisible boundaries for three days straight. My heart was seething with contempt, fury and love directed at the solemn, happy families that were entering the church across the road. Thinking about the intensity of the last three days caused a wry smile to creep up slowly on my sad ugly face. I sat and smiled about the phenomenal kicks I’d had, kicks these people would never know and couldn’t possible even imagine.
Since going back to college I had become incredibly frustrated. Horribly frustrated with the inherent futility and languid waste of the whole fucking education system. Annoyed at having to think about things as they were dictated to me, having to wear a crappy ill-fitting uniform and having my emotions ground down into the unrecognisable mush of acceptable behaviour as I brainlessly complied. Far out, I can’t stand it. The boredom… the complete lack of imagination.
I always get depressed about people when I first go back to school and see how pathetic they are. I get teary eyed as I silently observe their abhorrent actions. The way each of them is dictated by various horrible invisible forces, the invisible forces of doubt, lust, snobbery, worry, uncertainty, and then to think about how their diseased consciousnesses have slowly developed these all-powerful forces – man, its truly terrible. I can feel the oppressing hallways planting the seeds of disease in my own being – but as long as I remember that, I’m safe. Yet still; I can never truly hate these things – I love them like I love other animals, like I love everything…with a horrible burning intensity.
To escape, or to seek? To discover, or to slowly deteriorate? I don’t know what it is that dictates my actions – perhaps it’s just a desperate struggle to emancipate myself from that all-pervading purgatory of ordinariness. Horror and despair seeps like poison into my skin – I have to get away from it, with drugs, with craziness, with pure non-sense. I have to test the limits of my own being, of this weird reality…I feel. obligated.
This was the mentality that inspired me and Clancy to skip the last couple of classes on Friday and drive his shoddy station wagon straight down to the bottle-shop – uniforms and all. I got that joyous elated spirit of anticipation in me then, a wealth of exciting possibilities were open to us, hell, nothing could stop us, we were about to leave all drab social realities behind and dance with madness – like Dr Gonzo we were set to make beasts of ourselves – to take away the pain of being men. To live, to breathe pure emotion – paranoid soldiers enveloped in a destructive state of perfect consciousness.
We had heaps of pot that weekend but only intended on using about half of it. Still, we started early by firing up a couple of the joints in the car on the way down. They were harsh and sweet. I was all excitement now – a pulsating human-shaped mass of positive energy, a god like creature, heart thumping, red eyes marvelling at the blurry shadow of my own intensity. Nothing mattered anymore, nothing except the fun we were about to have.
We got the alcohol easily enough, couple of bottles of cheap champagne, cheap bottle of whiskey and a bunch of cheap yet tasty premixed cans of vodka and passionfruit. I was going to buy a bottle of Robotussin Cough Syrup as well but I didn’t really want to go into the chemist and ask for it while I was already high. Clancy wasn’t keen either; he just couldn’t stand drinking the stuff. Besides DXM hinders your ability to ejaculate and at the beginning of nights like this one there is always the hope that their might be a friendly lass nearby to help you do just that.
We went and picked up our friend Alby. Alby is an overweight, loudmouthed, perverted arsehole, an amazing freak of society, everything is personal with Alby and everything is fun, he’s a fat angry angel, permanently high on his own emotions. The perfect gentlemen for an evening like this one. Alby shared a joint with us and me and him starting drinking some beer that he had while Clancy continued to drive.
We kind of hit a lull then, I mean we were ready for anything but nothing was presenting itself. I got a sinking feeling that this was going to be another one of those ‘boys nights’, spent getting horribly drunk and watching videos, oh, I hate those nights… well, they can be okay sometimes, but not when you’ve psyched yourself up into some kind of frothing Dionysian warrior. Then you need action of some kind, and if none is presenting itself then you just have to make your own– and that, can be when things get dangerous.