What's In A Name
by Sugaree
LSD, that's its name. It don't have a taste. Most people think it does, cause of the name. Acid. Even before they start to trip, they imagine a searing on their tongue as they place the tiny square of paper on it. I've always loved it, baby. Nothin like a good trip to put you in a different state of mind. It ain't a high really. Not like popping a couple 'ludes or nothin. Not like tits. But it's somethin.
Oh yeah. Somethin kinda sexy 'bout it too. Licking that paper. Letting it melt into your tongue, making the warmth and wetness of your mouth absorb it, you know. And then the anticipation, the waiting. It ain't instant. Usually 'bout 20 minutes or so. Then you feel the first pang in your gut. That's where it hits first. Not your fucking brain, not your veins, your belly. The pit of you, your core. It ain't sudden, or severe. It's a tiny little tickle, and it makes the corners of your mouth start to curl up into that first grin. Yeah, that's when you first know, man.
Then it hits you quicker after that. Like ridin a big old roller coaster. Your gut doing flip flops, your body starting to rush like you're on a downward plunging elevator. But before you hit bottom and crash, you're rising back up again, all your blood pumping hard through your chest, making your head reel, and all you can think is "Hold on, baby. Hold on." Ha ha. Yeah, it's a trip, that's how it got that name. And the whole time, the whole freaking time, your gut is rolling and churning, and you're getting all turned around, turned on inside. It lights you up man. It lights everything up. And you know what it means to be alive. Sometimes, that first hour, you just wanna, you wanna fuckin run to a rooftop and scream your name over and over, letting the whole rest of the zombie infested world know that you're alive. You know who you are. You ain't a sheep like them.
Rush rush rush. That's what it is. Your heart, it's throbbing, your temples pounding, sometimes your hands get the shakes from all the adrenaline coursing through 'em. That's when it's good to have a nice splif to chill you out a bit. But I ain't got that in here. Fuck, I ain't even got a smoke in here, hacks don't let us have shit no more, man. S'aright though. I like the rush, baby. Cause I'm alive. Miguel Alvarez is alive then. A live wire then.
And then, then you so jacked up, you just pace around. Cause you can't go out and do nothin good. Oh, yeah. Sex then is wicked sweet. Ah fuck, what I wouldn't give for a sweet little chica right now help me pass the time and work off this energy. Hours, baby, hours you can go for. Don't get tired, you just keep rushing, then backing off a bit. Riding that elevator all the way to the top, pounding away, then backin off a little, just enough. It comes and goes in big waves, just like everything good got a rhythm. You just ride that rhythm. But can't fuck in here neither. So I pace. Pace real hard, not even realizing how tight I'm clenching my fists as that bubbling in my gut and tightness in my chest is surging. But then it subsides, ha ha ha, and you know. It's funny as shit man. Like you was holding on for dear life a second ago, and now it's absurd. Ha ha ha. Then another surge hits, and I wanna yell my name again. Cause I'm still alive and here. Yeah, baby.
But this time it's a little different. See, you got all different stages in this buzz. Ain't like no drunk, where you just keep getting drunker and spinning more, getting more goofy. Ain't like coke neither, where you get wired, then start to come down. This is a long ride, man; seven, eight, nine hours. All different stages. And now it's changing. My eyes start to hate the light. They get too weak or something, I dunno what it is. I've looked in the mirror, they get even darker than usual then. But I can't close 'em, cause I'm still wired. And I'm feindin for a fuckin smoke man. Just one lousy smoke, that's all. Fuck.
Then I feel it. I feel it moving. Beneath me, around me, man. The earth. Yeah, fuck yeah. I can FEEL it spinning. I can. It's killer cool too. And I look out my pod window, ain't nothin to see. Whole goddamn world out there, spinning around, and I can feel it, and I'm alive, feeling it, and ain't no one cares, baby. Whole fucking world to me is this pit, this bunk, and that window. Man what a window. Shit, I never noticed how cracked it was before. McManus oughta fix that shit, man. Oh shit, it's sealing itself up, no it ain't, it's, it's melting. Oh fuck, man! I'm trippin here! Window ain't melting, just looks cool though. Yo quiero fuckin taco bell, man. Yo quiero cigarette!
Ah hell, what the hell did I drop that hit for? I'm gonna be up all night, bored, strung out and shit, zoomin away. No one to talk to, no one to tell that I can feel the world moving around me. No one to show me that they're alive either. Sex'd be great, nothin like fuckin. I'd make her feel alive right now, she'd feel ALL the worlds moving around her, baby. But ain't no one here. No Maritza. She ain't even talkin to me no more. Blames me for killin our baby. Shit.
He should be here. Not in here. Just, here. He'd feel it with me. He'd know he was alive. But he ain't. And I pace again. Then I sit down for a few minutes, but that don't work neither. So I pace again. And I look in the mirror. Eyes still black.
So were his. Almost. He was beautiful, man. Perfect. *My* baby. He'd a known. I don't wanna shout my name no more. I wanna shout his. But he ain't got one. Never did. My baby don't got a name. So how can he shout it and tell everyone he's alive? How'm I s'posed to yell to him, huh? How's he gonna know it's him I'm talkin to? Will he know my name if I tell him? I say, "YO! It's me, Miguel, your pops, man," he gonna know? Cause I don't got a name for him, can't call out to him. Can't call out for him. Don't matter anyhow though, cause he ain't here. Not no more.
He knows. He fuckin knows. Cause he's my baby. And I'm his pops, his father. He knows who I am, that I'm here. And no one else is. And he's not. And I can't call to him, for him. And I'm here, pacing, and zoomin, and trippin out. And I got hours to go, fuck. Can't fuckin sleep. Don't got a smoke. Can't fuck neither. What good would it do anyhow? Gonna make me another baby, but as beautiful as him?
Ain't no more rushes comin and goin now. Window's just a window. It ain't meltin, I was just trippin. And I can't feel the spinnin under me no more. But I still can't sleep, and I don't wanna yell my name no more either. Yeah, I'm here, living, not alive though, baby. It's dark as shit in this room. Dark and empty and quiet. Shhh, shhhhh, shhhh. I just wanna sleep. I'm fucking hungry, man. My gut is empty, sore from rolling around so much, hollow to the core. I'm tired, but I'm still wired from that shit. I don't wanna dream. I don't wanna dream 'bout him. I don't even know what to call him, man. Cause my baby died without a name.