Glastonbury.Night 2 possibly.orange lights and brown dry earth.The odd blade of untrampled grass catchs my attention.Surrounded by a gang of black drug dealers.Knifes drawn they don`t know what to do with me.
I`ve been tickling their chins.
I suppose I`ve harrassed them for chemicals.
Turning circles to face them all.
Come on.Come on is what I am saying.But I`m drawing out the ooooooooon bit.
Knifes down at groin level.
It goes like this.Apologies then come ons,apoligies then come ons.
Willing them to try.Showing them that I don`t give a fuck.Don`t care about the knives.
Don`t care about anything.
Head full of everything.Oh look,it`s Horsey.My rescuer.Explaining to the boys that I`m not right.Relief in their faces.The knives go back.But again I go forward.Tickling their chins,giving the come ons.Horsey leads me away.to find fire and drink.Anything.We ended up with sour white wine in green Sprite bottles.
We huddle round a tiny blaze we create at the side of a throughfare.
Revelers ask to sit.But only after they have taken the acid we offer.That`s the deal.You must trip to join our gang.
The drug game.
On leaving the back stage enclsure,you must buy and take everything that is offered on sale to you.
So with in an hour,you`ll be a walking chemist.Pockets filled with mushrooms,acid,speed,ket,coke,hash cakes,ballons of laughing gas.Heroin and pieces of assorted Cornflakes packet LSD and baggies of dried basil.
So much that soon,you have to start forcing it on the others.The ones that want to join you.There were always plenty of others.