THE TRIP:
     "You take the blotter first, then swallow the pill in about three or four hours to come down gently." MWGI's hand is extended towards me. I take the small strip of paper and look it at quizzically. There are five segments to it, each with a darkened spot on it. "Lysergic acid diethylamide," MWGI explains to me. "Industrial-strength detergent for the subconscious. Nothing gets you cleaner."
     "And the pill?" I ask, trying not to let my ignorance seem so apparent.
     "Metheylenedimethoxymethamphetamine." He laughs at my silence. "MDMA. It's a 'happy pill'; trust me."
     If there was ever a better warning flag for danger than the seemingly innocuous phrase "trust me", I've never encountered it. Ignoring all common sense, I open my mouth and place the five-strip on my tongue. The taste is mildly unpleasant, but I grin at MWGI as if nothing is wrong. He cackles gleefully, causing both my girlfriend and his stepsister to turn around, shooting daggers at him from their position on the couch. The video that they're watching has reached a crucial point in the plotline and they do not want to miss any dialogue due to his chattering. Unfortunately, there's very little chance of that not happening.
     "Ok, grok this: there are multiple levels of what you call 'reality'. Though we think that we exist and interact solely in the one true 'objective' reality, we actually move about in our own reality tunnels, blinded by dogmatic conditioning and underdeveloped reasoning skills. It's like there's this huge grid of information and we can each only connect certain points on it to make our own safe little polygonal areas instead of moving freely throughout the whole space. But most people remain in their own safe areas exactly FOR that reason - because they're comfort zones. They get confused when they can see everything as it truly exists; that's why acid is such a feared substance. It allows people to break out of their normal reality tunnels and view the entire grid - like Aldous Huxley's idea of the 'doors of perception' being opened and allowing infinity to be witnessed. See, acid is a substance that works with certain receptor areas of your brain in a way that normally doesn't -"
     "MWGI!" his stepsister interrupts him. "Don't you have anything better to do than lecture? We're trying to watch Fire Walk With Me!"
     "Right, right... sorry," he mumbles, more to himself than to anyone else. He seems to drift off for a few minutes before looking at me once more and starting up where he left off. "It tears down all of the walls of normal cognition and observation. Ok, so there are limits as to what it can do. The substance is only a catalyst, of course; it's merely the messenger, not the message. If you aren't looking to move out of a totally solipsistic reality and see the greater unity of all energy in Universe, no amount of acid is going to help that. Some people have reported being able to see the different eigenstates that compose the various subrealities of the greater existence, but I'm not so sure that it can really -"
     This time the interruption comes from a tall plastic cup connecting with his forehead. He gives his stepsister a dazed look, finally registering her annoyance. Gingerly rubbing his forehead, he turns to face me once more. "We'd better go to my room," he whispers. I shake my head at him; he knows I'll join him later. Shrugging, MWGI walks out of the living room, leaving me with two females and a headful of chemicals.
     "Does anybody want a drink?" Better make that one female and a headful of chemicals. Having ascertained that nobody else is thirsty, my girlfriend leaves for the kitchen - on the other side of the house. I swallow self-consciously as she exits, ingesting the soggy remains of the blotter paper. Images of Sheryl Lee flicker on the screen as I attempt to rid my tongue of the chemical's bitter aftertaste by wiping it on my t-shirt. MWGI's stepsister (I'll call her "Lizzy") looks on with interest.
     "First time, huh?" She arches an eyebrow at me; I'm not sure whether the gesture holds any meaning or not. The air around her suddenly seems gauzy, nearly opaque, like a cheap lighting effect in a daytime soap opera. I try to ignore it and nod reflexively, returning my eyes to the television set.
     The movie provides the only sound in the otherwise silent room. Neither of us look at the other for the next few minutes. We both remember what happened last time... My girlfriend will be back soon. Lizzy should be easy enough to ignore. I can feel Lizzy's presence in the room without seeing her, though, and it seems to grow and envelop me with each passing second. There is no logical reason for this to be so, but I can feel it pressing against me nonetheless. This makes it all the less surprising to me when she speaks again.
     "He knows a lot about this shit." Her voice trickles through the noise from the television. She speaks softly, yet manages to drown out all other sound. I pretend not to hear her, but she knows that I do. I'm not sure how, but she knows.
     "Maybe he knows too much. I dunno."
     "I suppose." My answer is purposely terse. If I don't talk, Lizzy is not here. I repeatedly tell myself this.
     "He's gonna fry his brain eventually."
     "Probably."
     "If he hasn't already done it, of course."
     I shrug. Her voice seems far off to me, as if it's being projected through the screen of the television. It begins to feel like I'm trapped in some horrid teen flick with lame, generic dialogue. Unfortunately, I'm not sure whether I can say anything that isn't in the script, which I haven't even read yet. I casually gnaw on my tongue, hoping to avoid screwing up the scene.
     "You're awful quiet tonight. Any particular reason?" Lizzy's light brown eyes are focused on my face. They appear to be emanating a bright phosphorescent glow, though that obviously can't be possible. The rest of the room slowly darkens and fades out of focus as I concentrate on her eyes. To me, they've become the sole source of light in the entire house.
     "Hmm. No answer, huh? You're thinking, aren't you?"
     My head listlessly nods without my consent. I let the gesture slide, though; I would have told it to nod anyways if it hadn't done it first.
     "Yeah, you've always struck me as that type." Lizzy stands up and seats herself beside me on the couch. There's nothing subtle about her movement.
     "W-what type?" I manage to spit out.
     "An intellectual. Or pseudointellectual. One of the two." Lizzy's breath is hot in my ear. I can see her face out of the corner of my eye, inches away from my own. The television fades back into view and my mind tries to juggle the glowing images of both the television and Lizzy's face.
     "Lizzy..." Mind swirling. Oooh, this is bad. Think, think. Ok. Ok. Ok. Gathering thoughts. Speak now. "You're not... umm... coming on to me or something, are you?"
     Peals of laughter erupt from her. I join in, not entirely sure as to what she finds so funny. It becomes clear when she responds by coyly placing her hand on my crotch.
     "What do you think?" She grins, causing beams of light to jump out of her teeth and stab my eyes.
     "I think..." Time blurs. Our movie switches to a montage format, over which I have no control. A shadow appears in the hallway, the televised image of Sheryl Lee rushes into the arms of a former lover, Lizzy presses her body against mine, and the ceiling attempts to melt onto my forehead. Flickers. My hand automatically, roughly, desperately pushing Lizzy away. My girlfriend appearing in the room. Sheryl Lee, as the distraught Laura Palmer, confessing the sins of her father to the entire world via celluloid.
     "FIRE WALK WITH ME..."
 
     It's too much at once.
     "I'm gonna go talk to MWGI..." The words slur together. I don't care whether they understand or not; I just need to get out of the room. The walls breathe ominously as I stumble down the hallway. I avoid staring at them in the hopes that they won't attack me. MWGI's door is closed, but I don't bother knocking as I enter. I find him sitting on his floor, wearing nothing but a Cabaret Voltaire t-shirt and red satin panties. A pack of Tarot cards litters the area directly in front of him. His eyes are fixated on them. MWGI nods to acknowledge my presence, but does not look up.
     "Having a nice trip?" The question floats lazily out of his mouth and circles around my head before disappearing into the hall. I violently shake my head, answering negatively and attempting to clear my mind simultaneously. Still looking at the floor, MWGI gestures casually to the CD player on his desk. "Play track five. It should calm you down."
     I fumble with the machine for a few minutes before sucessfully pressing the play button. Within seconds, a rich tapestry of sound is pouring out of the speakers, filling my ears with good vibrations. The music has a better effect than I could have possibly imagined, and I sit on the floor beside MWGI to drink it in.
     "Who is this?" I ask incredulously.
     "Psychic TV," he replies. "Great acid band. Genesis P-Orridge is wonderful when it comes to taking random snatches of pop culture and seemingly dissonant music, then weaving them all together into a euphonious whole. Well, he was good at it, before he completely friend his brains. Anyways, this track - I.C. Water - is about Ian Curtis from Joy Division. You know, the poor guy who offed himself a month before his band made it big with Love Will Tear Us Apart. It's such a fucking pity that he missed huge commercial success by that much, you know? Cuz Joy Division continued after he hung himself - they just changed their name to New Order and added more electronics. Then they put out Blue Monday and made a ton of mon... Wait, I was talking about Psychic TV. Right. So, Genesis formed the group after Throbbing Gristle split up. You know who they are, right? Bizarre, totally experimental performance art group, founded the industrial music movement? Yeah, so anyways..."
     MWGI's voice fades in and out of my mind, intermingling with the music. He babbles on about the founding of acid house, the transition from gothic attire to all-out psychedelia, Genesis P-Orridge's professional relationships with Timothy Leary and William S. Burroughs, band line-up changes, controversial live performances, and a defunct group called the "Temple Ov Psychick Youth". It all becomes a dull buzzing after awhile, subordinate to the all-encompassing music that fills the room like an aural form of incense. Time takes a back seat to the staggeringly unfathomable concept of pure punctual existence and I lose it all for a split-second. My eyes flutter and close. When they open again, MWGI is leaning over me. I'm lying prone on his floor and have no clue how long I've been there.
     "You passed out for a second. Have a sip of water." He hands me a dirty cup that's probably been in his room since the Reagan administration. I take it anyways, guessing that it most likely won't hurt me any worse than the chemicals already in my system. MWGI eagerly studies my face as I drink the warm liquid, anticipation radiating from his body. He takes the cup from my outstretched hand and places it on a nearby shelf before speaking again.
     "Have you ever had a Tarot reading?"
     "No."
     "Would you like one?" He speaks insistently, like a child with a new toy.
     "Ummm, not particularly. I don't see how a pack of cards can possibly govern our fates."
     MWGI looks dejected for a second, but doesn't allow my refusal to dishearten him. "Look, what if I just do a really simple reading? Say I only turned over one card? That's a far cry from the traditional way of doing it, but it's better than nothing. Come on, one card!"
     "Alright," I concede. "One card."
 
     I look on with mild interest as he rearranges the cards spread out on the floor. MWGI closes his eyes and concentrates, his steadily rising and falling ribcage the only moving portion of his body. I wonder whether he's actually putting himself into some sort of trance or if he's just trying to achieve a dramatic effect. Either way, it succeeds only in causing me to lose what little interest I had in the reading. My eyes involuntarily roll back into my head slightly and I wonder if I'm about to pass out again. A small patch of uneven plaster on the ceiling grabs my attention and I focus on it in order to remain conscious.
     "Ok," MWGI's voice drifts back into my reality. "Are you ready?"
     I shrug, which he takes as a positive reply. After carefully scrutinizing the cards, he turns one over and shows it to me. The picture on it is of a carefree young man standing near the edge of a precipice. MWGI looks at it and frowns.
     "These probably weren't shuffled very well. You shouldn't have gotten the very first card."
     "What card? What are you talking about?"
     He waves dismissively, turning the card back over. "Oh, nothing. You received The Fool, that's all. He represents new beginnings, living in the moment, trusting spontaneous impulses, pursuing folly, and so on. Look, I need to read more about this shite. I probably did this all wrong, you know?"
     "Well, whatever. It doesn't matter." And it doesn't, of course. But if MWGI wants to spend his time studying that stuff, I figure it's not my business to say anything.
     In the midst of picking up his cards, MWGI stops and stares at the empty air directly in front of him. Swiftly turning his head to face me, he frantically demands to know what time it is. Looking at the clock on the wall, I reply that it's 10:30.
     "Damnit!" he screeches. "I forgot about the dragon!" Scattering cards as he leaps to his feet, MWGI bolts out of the room, leaving me alone and extremely perplexed.
     "That's the worst segue I've ever seen. Wouldn't you agree?" Lizzy leans casually against the frame of the doorway. Her eyes glow dully, but do not focus on anything in particular.
     "What do you mean?"
     "The transition that just occurred. It was terribly sudden and altogether too forced. Seems like mere literary convenience as opposed to any actual need for him to leave and me to join you."
     "Wait, what are you saying here..?" I'm having trouble following her. The CD has stopped playing and Lizzy's presence is making me feel on edge.
     "What am I saying?" She glides into the room, locking the door behind her. "I'm saying that your girlfriend went out to pick up some alcohol and my stepbrother is probably coating himself with margarine again. That leaves the two of us alone."
     Damn. I need to clear my head. Can't think anymore; need more music. I momentarily ignore Lizzy by busying myself with the huge stacks of albums on MWGI's desk. Most of the band names are unfamiliar to me, but even those that I do recognize don't seem very comforting. I consider Skinny Puppy's VIVIsectVI for a second, but decide against it. I'm afraid I'll freak myself out further.
     "You're tense. I can tell." Lizzy's face ripples slightly as she speaks, as if it's a pond that has had a stone dropped into it. "I won't stay here if it makes you nervous. Do you want me to leave?"
     Yes! Yes, my mind screams out, a thousand times YES! Yes, leave me alone in this room so that I can sort things out. Yes, leave before I do something that I regret. Yes, stop me from repeating the mistake that I made last winter. Yes! YES! YES!
     "No," I hear myself reply. Damn!
     "I didn't think so." Lizzy smiles coquettishly as she slithers up to me. Her hand aimlessly wanders across the desk before resting upon a single cassette tape. She hands it to me with a smirk.
     "Play this one. The classics are always the best."
     I take the tape from her. It's Marilyn Manson & The Spooky Kids - After School Special. I'd normally love to hear it, but it seems like the wrong thing to be listening to with Lizzy in the room.
     "Lizzy, I'd really rather not..."
     "Please," she purrs, her hands upon my chest. "I haven't heard it in such a long time. He never lets me listen to his music."
     I submit with a single, long sigh. Lizzy is going to win, I think. I have no idea what this means, but she's definitely in control.
     I clumsily fit the cassette into the stereo and press the Play button. A warm, creeping bassline encircles us as she brings her face close to my own.
     "Kiss me," she softly commands. It is at this point that things go horribly wrong.
 
     It's late and I'm standing in the middle of some godforsaken filthy bar. The surroundings and patrons are almost familiar, but I can't quite put my finger on the exact time or location. Black-clad kiddies mingle with intoxicated suburban cowboys and wandering high school dropouts. A smoky mist winds its way through the area around me and I momentarily ponder whether it was created by a hidden fog machine or my own deluded mind. It causes my eyes to tear slightly, but that proves nothing. I sidle up to the bar and ask for something to clear my head. The greasy punk behind the counter sneers at me.
     "I ain't servin' you a drink without some form of ID."
     I frantically search my pockets before realizing that I don't have my wallet on me. Before the kid can tell me to go fuck myself, an older gentleman approaches him and whispers something in the punk's ear. The kid glowers at me, but dutifully walks into the shadows at the other end of the bar and out of my life. The old man, whom I do not recognize, smiles indulgently at me.
     "I'm terribly sorry about him, Mr. Warner. You can be assured that this won't happen again, sir. Is there anything that I can get you?"
     "Uh, yeah..." Wait, this isn't right. Does he think that I'm...? I reach up to my face and touch the mask that I didn't realize I had been wearing. It's tight on my skin, as if it has permanently bonded itself to me. I casually tug at it, but it stubbornly remains in place.
     "Is there something wrong, sir?" the man asks, pouring me a shot. "You're sweating more profusely than usual."
     I shake my head and swallow the drink, not bothering to figure out how I managed to drink through the unpunctured mask. The old bartender grins broadly at me and takes my glass for a refill. His hand freezes as he's about to pour, though. I follow his frozen eyes across the room until I spot their target. A lone figure approaches through the thickening fog and eclectic mob of patrons. People scatter as he slinks toward the bar, scurrying to make room for the thin but imposing presence. As they back off, the room slowly fades into a shapeless void. He takes five more steps and is now standing directly in front of me. A mental picture of the figure looking into a distorted mirror appears in my head. I do not laugh.
     He stares at me with mismatched eyes, his mouth drawn into a taut line that belies no emotion. Faint music can be heard in the distance. I strain to hear it, never daring to look away from the wraith before me. The music gradually increases, piercing my skin with a subtle bassline and a heartcrushing guitar sting. There are vocals accompanying the music - his, not mine. I don't think that he hear can it. It's probably been a long time since he's been able to hear it.
     "I can't save you from me this time..." The singing reaches a crescendo. Energy is building up in the space that separates the two of us. He blinks once. I won't allow myself to do the same.
     "Don't know what you see in my negativity!" It's overwhelming. I have to run, to hide, to disappear somehow. His arms shoot out and grab my shoulders. I do not bother to attempt to escape; I don't think that I can, even if I want to.
     And then he kisses me.
 
     Lizzy doesn't stop there. Her hands aloofly slide to my pants, methodically unbuttoning them as she kisses me deeper. The room spins melodramatically, like a drunken carousel waiting for its plug to mercifully be pulled. I tug at Lizzy's clothing, unsure of what's taking place and why I'm giving in to her. Her face fades in and out of view as she yanks my pants to my ankles. A few seconds later, she's pushed me onto the bed. I lie there drunkenly as her head disappears between my legs. The music continues to fill the room and I try to relax. Even with my eyes closed, though, the room won't stop spinning. I concentrate on the blood flow in my body, but give up when I realize that it's all moving away from my brain.
     While Lizzy sends powerful impulses to the pleasure center of my brain, I silently mouth the words to Choklit Factory as it plays on the stereo. She builds me up to a climax and I ejaculate as the chorus begins.
     "Ohh, Lizzy..." I moan.
     But she's already started to sing along with the cassette. I lay back and listen to her, noting how eerily similar her voice sounds to Mr. Manson's.
     "Some know indulgence... some know and some go much too far..."
     Lizzy crawls onto the bed and lays beside me, kissing me on the cheek. I open my eyes and turn to look at her.
     And then I scream.
 
     Those same mismatched eyes stare back at me again. We lie naked on the bed, neither of us making a move to cover ourselves or escape. Characteristically, I'm the one to break the silence.
     "Why?" I plead. He smirks, but does not reply.
     "But you should hate me! I attempted to become you - what happened to 'you and me makes we, that's not what I want to be'? I thought that the whole point of Thingmaker was..." I don't finish my sentence. I don't get the chance.
     He pulls me to him. We embrace, but there's nothing sexual about it for some odd reason. I can feel our skin melding. It frightens and thrills me simultaneously. I feel his body covering my own, his skin growing in order to envelop me. I am being absorbed.
     "Is this what you meant by 'one part you, three parts me'?" I deadpan halfheartedly. He - I - smiles wickedly.
     "I am you," he hisses. I try to recoil from him, but my body no longer exists. I have been consumed; he is all that remains.
 
     My eyes are open again and Lizzy is straddling me. The walls behind her shift from one sickening shade to another as she rhythmically moves up and down. I absentmindedly move my fingers over her body, trying to understand what has just happened. My head begins to throb and I can hear a pounding in my ears. It takes me a minute to comprehend that the pounding is actually coming from the locked door. There's somebody on the other side and that person is anxious to get into the room.
     Consciousness tries to escape as the colors change more violently. I no longer care if I'm with Lizzy or my infamous doppelganger. I just want to leave my mind for a while. The only thing I can think to do is close my eyes and scream some more.
 
     There's nothing but voices now. Voices and music. I crack open one eye, but the whirlpool of angry colors is still there. I try to distinguish familiar objects in the room. One of them has a cylinder and repeatedly thrusts it at me.
     "Drink," says a voice. It's MWGI.
     I take a sip of water and the room becomes a bit more focused. Somebody has covered my naked body with a sheet and Lizzy is more or less fully clothed. She's standing by the door, which looks as if it has been smashed with a large, blunt object. MWGI stands before me with something in his hand.
     "The happy pill," he says. "Remember? Guess you need it earlier than other people."
     I try to nod, but that causes the color patterns to shift and swoop about my head. Instead, I take the pill from MWGI's outstretched hand and swallow it down.
     "Just lie here for a while and relax. I'll put some music on to calm you down."
     "Thanks," I mumble.
     "Don't mention it. It happens to the best of us, you know? Lizzy and I will be in the living room if you need anything." He throws a CD into the stereo and punches a few buttons. The stereo makes the typical whirring noises before strains of Once in a Lifetime by The Talking Heads drift out of the speakers. I close my eyes as they exit the room.
 
     "And you may find yourself living in a shotgun shack. And you may find yourself in another part of the world..."
     I toss about in the bed, unable to sleep. The music does nothing to relax me; it merely helps to occupy my mind.
     "Letting the days go by, let the water hold me down..."
     I groan. Rainbow fractals play demolition-derby behind my eyelids.
     "Once in a lifetime, water flowing underground..."
     Footsteps. They can barely be heard over the music, but they're there. I open my eyes to find Lizzy standing beside me. She leans over to kiss me on the cheek.
     "Your girlfriend wants to know how you're holding up. My stepbrother is talking to her right now."
     "Same as it ever was... Same as it ever was..."
     I don't speak. She stands quietly beside me for a few minutes before crossing to the door.
     "I wonder what she'd think if I told her why you were so tired? I wouldn't do that, of course, but it sure would be funny," she laughs. I don't crack a smile.
     "When the MDMA kicks in, I'll rejoin you." Lizzy turns to leave.
     "And you may ask yourself, 'Am I right? Am I wrong?'"
     She fixes her eyes upon mine and speaks levelly. "Then we can do it all over again."
     "And you may tell yourself, 'My god!...What have I done?!'"