My Request
My request is this. I don't remember all the little things (I was too fucked up to) so I beg, and plead with you, send me all your stories, and I will post them, and credit you for them. I know they are out there. Floating in your minds, itching to be released. So fear not. And if you wish to remain annymous, let me know. Just click on the "G" at the bottom of the page, or write to Geycen@Yahoo.com. Thanks again.

Foreword
This is for those who were there. And especially for those who are still here. The troopers, the ones who smile at the memory, and don't frown at the thought. It is dedicated to all those survivors who lived through the "Four Month Party". And to all those who had the courage to oppose reality for a short time. To my clan, my kingdom, and my friends. Thanks for a hell of a time. But to all those who oppose...walk a mile in the shoes of the away club, and take a bath in the memories of the Summer of 97' and deny the truth then.

The Purple Shorts of a Waiflike King
As long as I live there will never be a better article of clothing to represent me. If there is ever an action figure made of me, I swear I better be wearing those shorts. There were days when they hadn't left my body. And days without showers. They were a symbol of an era. I still wear them sometimes. Just to try to remember what it was like. Or maybe just to forget who I am just for one moment. There were days when those shorts were all that covered my body. I felt like a savage, a primal warrior who was marking his territory with his scent. THey barely stayed on my 135lb body then. Now they are tattered. Nothing more than a few pieces of cloth fighting to stay together by a string or two. No other shorts will ever truely take thier place in my history. Those shorts were a part of me, they hold as many memories as this pagge. They witnessed drugs, lust, and friendship. I guess you don't need a diary when you've got a good pair of shorts.

Coreys' Pot

I have to admit, this one is a bit personal. It involves two friends, and thier greed to get high. Every night, or at least the night Gary, and myself were left alone, there was a certain line we awaited to here from his brother. Our good friend Brad would begin rallying everyone up. Before I go further though, let me back up. Corey always had pot. Where it came from is a whole other story, but that would incriminate him. So we will leave his "Robin Hood" stories behind. Unfortunately for Corey was his disease, his need, his love to smoke the tobacco of the gods. And also unfortunate for Corey, was his ability to hang. Which became very fortunate for Gary, and me. After several rounds with a few friends, Corey tended to get silly, then pass out. Anywhere, my couch, the kitchen (With a clown wig on) just about any where. And when I say passed out, I mean it. It wasn't until Brads rally began when the question would unspokenly arise. "Will Corey remember his pot tonight?" Corey must have been the most forgetful, and unlearning individual those days. For, night after night, "Wake up Corey, trains leaving" meant second wind for the two devious room mates. With an ungreatful farewell, Corey would leave. After we heard the door to Brads truck slam shut, our eyes would meet. As if in a bonded ritual. "Shall we pack a bowl?" Never needed to be asked, nor did, "How bout another?" Which eventually led to "One more." And Finally "Shit! there is nothing but shake left." The poor boy lost more pot to me and Garys' lungs than I can remember. But he never learned. I guess it's a good thing Corey was so forgiving (and forgetful) I wonder what happened?
Geycen

What went wrong?
Often, when I am alone, and the days of ole' come floating into my thought. I wonder what happened, what went wrong? Why did "this good thing die?" I guess maybe we were growing up. Maybe it was fear, I even blame myself sometimes. I guess it was a good thing. I wonder who would still be alive today. Things were really starting to get crazy. Towards the end, I would do, or take anything to achieve a high. It didn't even matter if I knew what it was that I was taking. Mixing shit just to find out what it would do was one of my favorites. I think the LSD, as I stated somewhere in my life page killed it. Ya' know I gotta say something very seriously though. My little girl saved my life. If it weren't for her, I don't think I would have had the desire, or need to quit. I don't even want to think about what might have happened. Maybe someday, when Gwen is our age, maybe she will come here and know, but I don't think my youthful years is something I will detail for her in a book, or in words. Gwen made me see who was real, who was just there for what they could get. So Gwen, you are probably at home right no while I work harassin Grandma, but whatever you are doing, thank you.

Spirits, cats, and my necklace
Twas the night of chills. Drunk, or high I don't remember, but there was feel in air. One of tension tinged with fear. Gary had gone to refresh his drink. He does love to drink. After a few moments he returned. He seemed a bit distraught. Upon asking him what was wrong, I discovered he had seen the so talked about "cat" See there is a long history of spiritual activity in my house. It was built many years ago, and the presence of spirits, and other things have always been strong. None the less, Gary had seen the cat for the first time. It had really spooked him, so I thought I'd go feel around. We retuned to find nothing. I felt led to go to the pantry, and so I did. My gaze drifted to the cieling, I saw nothing. Like a nothing I had never seen, or rather felt before. With it came fear. It is not often I get scarred, but this was something entirely new. There was literally nothing but darkness, a void, a lack of substance. And then my necklace, a celtic love knot. It was the only item in my possession that contained any magic, but I though any magic would be better than none. It tore from my neck, and crashed to the floor. Without so much as 0ne step it felt, I was back in the comfort of the chil room. These days the spirits have faded. They hide. But every now and then, when I am alone, feel them. Barely letting me know they are still there, still watching.

Bathing? What is that?
You know, for all the ladies that found me sexually desiring, I am forced to wonder what it was. I am not here to brag. Definately not, but man I had what it took, and I don't understand. I mean let's seriously think about it. I rarely washed my hair, and showered when it was covenient. I had no job, and 9-10 times refused to leave the house. Yet, we packed'm in. God, I am so regretful of so many decisions. I don't want this story to turn into an award ceramony, or a depressing tale of woe. So maybe it is better I leave it at...I was a dirty little boy.

Umbootoo by Corey Smith
There is only one story that comes to mind when I think back to the away club. It is one very strange night that I look back on very fondly. There was this one night when two of the three friends (Gary, and Corey) had stumbled upon some LSD. Well the two took the LSD and had a grand time. They had gone back to the den of sin, and wanted thier third partner(Jason) to come out and play. But they were afraid the beast would come out and kill us. There was talk of a Spanish man with no legs living under the bed named Umbootoo, who would translate for the beast (with clicks, and pops). So instead of just going to see if he'd like to come out, and play, the two threw shoes at thier friends door ashard as they could. Later the friends found out that thier third friend had wanted nothing more than to come out and play. The moral of the story is don't be afraid of the beast, confront it. (Truely words of wisdom to live by. Thank you Corey)

The things we do
I used to have things. Then I just wanted to smoke the pot. It was New Years 96' (Wow, the more I think about it, the more I realize it was alot longer than 4 months) I was going to Vermont. (By the way, Vermont in December is beautiful) Leaving my good ol' pal, faithful Gary to watch over the house. I expected a party, a gathering, a shindig if you will. Hell, I even accepted the fact that I was going to miss out on some destruction, and chaos, but how often did I get away, or even leave the house for that matter. But what I didn't expect was to come back to having my Playstation sold for the pot. No big deal we got an N64 so I was satisfied. But none of that lasted. We were forced to return games for money, just so we could afford the drug. What a silly sorry story is that. Damn we were bad.

This ain't a Love Song
Today I cleaned the Chill Room for the first time in a few months. I actually had not set foot in the rom in quite some time. But something led me to clean it today. It brought back a few memories. Nothing significant, but memorable none-the-less. I found the old "smokeless ashtray" that never got its batteries installed. It just kinda got burnt up. The top, inside, even under the removable tray part had burn holes in it. The can of "Cheesy Poofs" Steve made us all for christmas had rolled out from under the old stack of pillows and emptied its contents onto the floor. An old wooden pipe, a small glass water bong, and the Pepto bowl. It made me think of Hamlen and his apple. The poor ol' bastard actually took the time to carve the apple one night into a smoking device. I brushed aside some trash, and found that a large chunk of wax still clings to the floor. I saw the random spills, and burn marks, and thought, I wouldn't have changed a thing.

What a mess! (I stand corrected. THis story has a flaw. Brad pointed it out to me last night. It was me who poured the maple syrup on my own head. Thank you Brad, as I said, I can't remember everything.)
Ever hear a crunch as you walk across the kitchen floor and rush to get a broom, or paper towel. The mere thought of cleaning became as exotic to us as bathing. (That is another story) Sometimes ya just gotta let loose. It is very liberating, and stress releaving to dump milk on your head. I could tell you of a hundred tales of the trashings, but I will mention but two here. The first thing I can remember of it all was the lack of ingredients. Oh, we had food, but not enough to make meals with. So being very hungry, and very poor, I decided a can of peas would be my supper. Or so I thought. Another question. Have you ever had a good friend stare at you and plead with you to "Throw them at my face?" I didn't think so. So how could I turn down this act. It would have been selfish, greedy even not to. So I watched the spoonful of peas fly from my hand, smacking my target. A swing, and a hit. Well before I knew it, my supper was all over the floor and Gary was running his head through it mock vacume style.

So I am forced to continue. The next time such a tak was completed. We found ourselves scaring half the guests. It started (if I can remember correctly) with Gary pouring maple syrup on my head. "Here we go". What head of maple syrup would be complete with out a full box of corn flakes on it? Gary helped out by opening a brand new 1/2 gallon of milk and covering the cieling. Beyond that it is a blur in slow motion. I have never had a time like that since.

Scamlin
You all know him. The bastard who is like dust, it just settles in, before you realize it. Then you hate to make it go away. That is Hamlen. Well I think his story deserves to be here. Nomatter how frustrated you can get, you just can't hate Chris. I remember adopting him for quite sometime. But hell, the boy could cook, and was always willing to help clean up the day after a rowdy night. I remember the boy was so creative, that out of boredom one night, he fashioned an apple into a pipe. Then there was the pledge, where for a week straight, he, Artie, and Gary, swore to get absolutely shitfaced. I don't think Hamlen Payed for a drop. Ya' see Hamlen became Scmlin, after various unmentionable Schemes he had. The boy hated working for the man, unless he could benefit beyond what he was paid. Anyway, next time you raise some liquor to your lips, say a little prayer for Hamlen.

The Primal filth of Piercings.
A summer of love? You could say that. But I don't like to think about that too much. Not all of this time was bels and whistles. At the time, fun, but in the long run hurtful. I am sorry. But not only was love a disease, so was piercing. Our friend Alan had apprenticed under Mick. A piercing artist out of Boston. And we were happy to be stabbed by him. We were hman guinee pigs, virtual pin cushions. We were to numb to feel anyway. I remember one morning waking up, and after my first cigarette having my labret pierced. Yup, first thing in the morning. I remember the night of muttiple piercings, where we would all gather to watch our friends get stuck with hollow needles. I remember the stink of Listerine. Day in, and day out from oral piercings. I really feel it formed us into some clan much like in Africa.

Breakfast at Shitfanies
(This was a recent e-mail I recieved from Corey, I hadn't posted it previous because of it's nature. But he wrote it *and lived it* So here goes.)
There was this one night that comes back to me every now and then when I smell something a little nasty. On this particular night, Th Omnibrow of Winthrop St. had done a little bit of the drugs. I am still not sure what had been taken, or smoked. Well anyway, there was the usual crowd of misled youth with us on that evening doing some of this, and some of that. Well after a little bit of drugs (Coreys version of little is the average mans month supply) I would fall asleep On occasion (9 out of 10 times TRAINS LEAVIN!) After I fell asleep everyone left, which is a strange thing on its own. So then there was Gary, Alen, Geycen, and myself left for the evening.Gary, and Geycen decided they were hungry. And tried to russle up some food in the kitchen. They made a wonderful little snack for themselves. Which had tuna, tomato suace, hot suce, and a whole bunch of wierdd crap Geycen had been stalking up since 1982. They mixed all the things together, and then microwaved it for about ten minutes. Then decided it was un-eatable. Now here comes the fun part (to us at least) They thought it would be a good time to take this little creation of theirs, and put it under my sleeping nose. Gary and Geycen watched to see what would happen from behind the Chill Room door. I woke up after having it under my nose for about a minute and a halfand instantly though I was going to puke. But I saw Gary and Geycen...and they saw me and ran in the bathroom to lock themselves in for protection. I was a little angereed at this point because if you know me, you know I don't like to be fucked with while I am sleeping. So I was a little angry so I decided to walk home before I could hit either of them. At this point, Allen woke up. He had been sleeping through all this, as a matter of fact, he was slepping since the first bowl that evening. He comes out, and Gary, and Geycen start shit talking about how I can't hang, and how Allen could.  Did I mention Allen was sleeping all night? So I walked home. The next day my two basterd friends call me and I had calmed down by then. So my plan was to get back over to the apartment, for another day of drugs, drugs, and more drugs. So I get back to the den of sin, and Artie is there. He had heard the story, and thought it was hillarious. But little did I know that the two dirty ass basdtards had kept there nasty creation in the fridge. Well Artie found it, and threw it back iin the microwave for another ten minutes. Once again, the worst smell you could ever imagine comes out of the microwave. And here I go agian, I think i am going to Puke. Now I'm a little angry again from the night before. And i get a good little idea for revenge. So I took the bowl, and dumped it on the floor. This didn't get the reaction I wanted. which was anger.  Instead the reaction I got was Gary and Geycen jumping up and down, and yelling "Do it again!"  At this point how can you be angry any longer?  I've got these two basterds jumping, laughing, and clapping and Artie laughing cause the smell made me sick again. So to end this story, I beleive we smoked an early afternoon bowl, and went to the mall.

Chill Room Qoute of the Year:
If you think that was funny...then you'll think this is hillarious. G