Hello, welcome back to my humble blog. Today I thought I’d share a story mentioned in my last post, which is the story of when I met Kurt Cobain. Full disclosure; I was on drugs. But it meant a lot to me and while it probably didn’t actually happen, I am lucky to have the perceived experience.
It started when I first began experimenting with ketamine. Now I’m not one to do random drugs willy-nilly, but I had a friend at the time who was prescribed these lollipops for his ketamine treatment and he was kind enough to share with me every once in a while. I probably would never have tried K if it wasn’t for the fact that this was made in a lab and I knew it was 100% ketamine that hadn’t been laced with anything. This friend was also prescribed these horrible nasty little lozenges along with the lollipops but the lozenges tasted like nail polish remover. Unfortunately, that’s what I had that night. It was a humid summer night, I was staying over my mom’s house and decided that I would pop that disgusting acetone-flavored starburst that had been in my purse for two weeks (and had cat hair on it) under my tongue and sit out on the porch enjoying the night, and enjoy the night I did. It started off soft and slow, a warm glowing feeling from within. I was content, my body felt like it was being hugged in a spiritual sense, like everything was happening for a good reason, like I was where I was supposed to be at that very second in time and space. As the feeling rose, I suddenly felt that I wasn’t necessarily alone, but that I also wasn’t in the presence of anything human. A raccoon maybe, is what I initially thought. The porch light grew dim and I started to gaze deeply into the bushes that provided a nice privacy shield in front of the porch. I wasn’t looking at the bushes, per se, but rather the darkness that took up the space between the leaves and stems. As my eyes lingered, the presence grew stronger. “Shit. This is gotta be a really powerful raccoon” I thought to myself. Then I saw eyes in the negative space, the darkness between the leaves and stems, in the dirt, in the air. They were human, blue, and intense. Without any other visible features, however, it took me a second to realize whose eyes I was staring into. The music I was listening to grew deafeningly loud, but not in my ears. “Nothing at the top but a bucket and a mop and an illustrated book about birds”. Suddenly the sun was shining. I couldn’t tear my own blue eyes away from the ones hidden in the bushes. I searched and searched for a head, a body, a mouth, anything to further define this entity. Then it hit me. There’s no one in the bushes. It’s merely Kurt Cobain’s spirit, communicating with mine. Obviously. Being on ketamine, you don’t necessarily stop to think “Am I being delusional?” or “Is this really a possibility?”, you embrace every one of your five senses and you trust them with your life. But this wasn’t something I experienced with one of my five sensory receptors. It was experienced by something else, something I have only felt while dreaming. We didn’t speak, at least out loud with our voices. What was being conveyed to me was tacit, it wasn’t a type of tangible thought or idea that I could ever put into words, it was simply our souls hugging each other or something. I have no clue. Anyway, after our weird soul hug, I promptly threw open the front door (quietly, as my mom was asleep upstairs), and searched high and low, far and wide, for a shovel. And a vessel. In my head, I was imagining my next move to be more ceremonial and “special” than it actually ended up playing out. I grabbed a large spoon from the silverware drawer and an old Chinese food container, the kind that probably held wonton soup at some point, and headed back out. I went around the front of the bushes, got on my hands and knees, and crawled into the overgrown shrubbery. With my plastic container and spoon, I carefully dug up Kurt Cobain’s “soul” from the garden, and placed it in the container. With a sharpie, I wrote “Dirt Cobain” on the container and fell asleep holding it. I woke up the next day, leaves in my hair and dirt on my knees, clutching a plastic container of soil labeled “Dirt Cobain”.
So yeah, that’s the time I took a gross ketamine lozenge and met Kurt Cobain, dug him up with a spoon, and put him in a wonton soup container. I still have him, I keep him next to my records and cassettes. I take him out and talk to him every once in a while. If you have a similar or adjacent experience, I’d love to hear it, and if you enjoyed this little anecdote, feel free to keep an eye out for more stories because I have a ton of them. Thank you for reading, it means the world to me. Until next time.
Phrenectomy 