A Night on the Town — The Acid Trip From Hell

WARNING: This story contains recreational drug use, frightening hallucinations and dangerous behaviour. If this kind of content offends you, please don’t read any further.

Ever wondered what connects The Beatles’ I Am the Walrus, Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds, Day Tripper and Happiness Is a Warm Gun?

Drugs, psychedelia and a fair bit of controversy!

These songs have all been associated, in different ways, with the drug culture of the 1960s. Not all were actually written about LSD, but they certainly evoke an era when experimenting with mind-altering substances was becoming part of popular culture.

Which brings me to a rather disturbing experience from my late teens.

This is a story about a Saturday night on the town, roughly 45 years ago. A night involving LSD, a drunken driver, the bright lights of Kings Cross and a journey into a world where reality became increasingly difficult to distinguish from imagination.

And let me tell you, it was bizarre!

Now, drugs are a touchy subject, but looking back, the behaviour of my so-called ‘driver’ was every bit as disturbing as the effects of the acid.

To protect their identities, I’ll refer to the two main characters as Mr. Doe Senior and Mr. Doe Junior.

Believe me, these two were quite a combination.

An Invitation I Should Have Refused

It all began around 8:30 pm on a Saturday night.

I was out the front of our neighbour’s house with a tab of acid tucked away in my wallet. I had just received the ‘Blue Moon’ acid tab from a friend and was about to walk back home. For those of you reading this article that don’t know – LSD, (or lysergic acid diethylamide), is a powerful hallucinogenic drug capable of dramatically altering perception, emotions and a person’s sense of reality.

I was about to find out just how dramatically!

I heard someone call my nickname from behind me..

It was Mr. Doe Junior, a former high school mate and neighbour. We were  friends back then, but we definitely drifted apart over time.

“Hey, Chook, got any plans tonight?” he asked.

“Nah, not much,” I replied.

I certainly wasn’t going to mention the acid.

Junior wasn’t into drugs, his passion was martial arts. He was a muscular young bloke who took his personal training seriously. He started with weights training at the gym, went on to boxing lessons, followed by martial arts training. From my observations, inflicting pain was his gain.

“My old man’s taking me to the Cross,” he announced excitedly. “You can come if you want. Be ready at nine!”

And with that, he disappeared.

Well, that sounded interesting!

Kings Cross was Sydney’s notorious nightlife district, famous for its strip clubs, bars, colourful characters and rather unsavoury reputation.

I had half an hour to get ready.

So what did I do?

I pulled the tab of acid from my wallet and swallowed it.

Brilliant decision, eh?

I’d taken LSD once before, about six months earlier, and that experience had been an absolute nightmare. The trip had lasted around 24 hours, or at least that’s how I remember it. Fortunately, I’d been with a friend, and we’d supported each other through the ordeal.

Now I was preparing to take another trip, this time without anyone who knew what I’d taken, while heading into Kings Cross with two people I wasn’t entirely comfortable with.

What could possibly go wrong?

As I mentioned in my earlier Article, Up A Tree Without A Paddle, I haven’t always made the smartest decisions!

The Point of No Return

As I got ready, a rather unpleasant feeling began creeping over me.

Dread.

What if this acid trip was as bad as the first one?

What if it was worse?

What if it never ended?

Then there was Mr. Muscles, otherwise known as Doe Junior. What if he started giving me grief while I was tripping? I certainly didn’t fancy getting into an argument with a martial arts enthusiast while my brain was attempting to communicate with another dimension.

And what about Mr. Doe Senior?

What if he discovered I was on drugs and reacted the way my own father would have?

Oh well.

Too late now!

I arrived at the Doe residence on time, doing my best to appear perfectly normal.

Mr. Doe Senior greeted me at the door.

His words were slurred, and he staggered slightly as he spoke.

My mind went into overdrive.

Oh shit! Am I hallucinating already?

I watched him carefully, desperately trying to determine whether my senses were beginning to betray me.

It took about five minutes before the penny dropped.

I wasn’t hallucinating.

Mr. Doe Senior was just stone cold drunk!

And this was the bloke who was going to drive us into Kings Cross.

Wonderful.

Death Wish on Parramatta Road

About thirty minutes into our journey, we were hurtling along Parramatta Road.

Mr. Doe Senior was behind the wheel, Junior was in the front passenger seat, and I was perched in the middle of the back seat.

The two Does were arguing like cats and dogs.

Honestly, it was like watching Steptoe and Son or The Two Ronnies, except this comedy routine was taking place inside a moving car with a drunken lunatic at the wheel.

And I wasn’t laughing.

Not yet, anyway.

Back then, seatbelts weren’t mandatory so I wasn’t wearing one. Sitting in the middle of the back seat gave me an uninterrupted view through the windscreen.

A view I was about to wish I didn’t have.

We were approaching a set of traffic lights.

Red.

Cars were banked up in front of us.

And we were travelling far too fast.

I remember thinking that perhaps I should politely suggest something to Mr. Doe Senior.

Something along the lines of:

“I think now would be a good time to brake!”

or maybe something a little more assertive…

“STOP you fucking idiot!”

But of course, I would never say that.

Before I could say anything, Senior did something completely unexpected.

He accelerated.

“WATCH THIS!” he shouted with delight.

What happened next was sheer madness.

The car bounced violently over the median strip and onto the wrong side of Parramatta Road.

We were now hurtling along against the flow of traffic!

For two entire blocks!

I sat there watching the road unfold in front of me, fully aware that one approaching vehicle could turn our little Saturday night outing into a multiple-fatality accident.

And Mr. Doe Senior?

He appeared to be thoroughly enjoying himself.

Junior was absolutely furious, threatening to kill his father as the two continued screaming at each other.

Eventually, Senior swerved back onto the correct side of the road.

Somehow, we were still alive.

And me?

I dissolved into uncontrollable laughter.

Not because it was funny. It was utterly insane! But the absurdity of the situation, combined with the effects of the LSD, had completely overwhelmed me.

My original fear had been that Mr. Doe Senior might discover I was on drugs.

Now I was sitting in the back of his car, having narrowly escaped what could have been a catastrophic accident, while his son threatened to murder him.

My worries about being caught taking acid suddenly seemed rather insignificant.

Anything goes now, I thought.

And we hadn’t even reached Kings Cross!

*An AI generated image of a drunken man driving on the wrong side of Parramatta Road, heading towards Kings Cross

Welcome to the Cross

Against all reasonable expectations, we arrived in Kings Cross in one piece.

If my memory serves me correctly, this was only my second visit to the Cross, and Junior’s first.

Naturally, we were both excited about exploring the notorious ‘girly’ bars.

The place was alive with activity.

Neon lights, crowds of people, traffic, music and the general chaos of Sydney’s nightlife.

And somewhere in the middle of it all was me, with a head full of LSD.

We started walking along the main drag, grinning like idiots, eyes wide with anticipation.

Then came my second unforgettable moment of the evening.

Mr. Doe Senior staggered over to a telegraph pole.

Stopped.

Unzipped his trousers.

And started urinating.

Right there, in the middle of Kings Cross!

I was gobsmacked.

We were surrounded by establishments where we could have stopped for a drink, watched some dancers or simply used the toilet.

But no.

Senior had apparently decided that a telegraph pole was perfectly adequate.

He stood there muttering to himself, and when disgusted passers-by objected, he told them to “fuck off.”

Charming bloke.

At this point, I was beginning to wonder whether the LSD was actually the least dangerous thing I’d encountered that evening.

*An AI generated image of a drunken man urinating on a telegraph pole in Kings Cross

Into the Twilight Zone

Now, you might expect me to describe the incredibly sexy and talented dancers we encountered in the clubs.

Perhaps some memorable performance, a particularly beautiful woman or an amusing conversation.

Sadly, I can’t.

It was so long ago that most of the details have disappeared into the fog of memory.

I need a memory pill lol!

That reminds me of a long-running joke amongst my workmates.

“Hey, Puff, did you remember to take your memory pill?”

Very funny, fellas.

Anyway, back to the Cross.

What I do remember is that the excitement gradually gave way to something much more sinister.

The atmosphere began to feel hostile.

Dark.

Threatening.

My eyes were registering everything with extraordinary clarity, yet my mind was becoming increasingly confused.

The world around me seemed unnaturally intense. I was surrounded by strangers, unfamiliar surroundings and two companions whose behaviour offered little reassurance.

The more I tried to make sense of everything, the less sense it made.

I was no longer interested in the dancers.

I wasn’t interested in the bars.

I certainly wasn’t interested in another demonstration of Mr. Doe Senior’s driving skills.

All I wanted was to get the hell out of there!

Home.

Somewhere familiar.

Somewhere safe.

Somewhere I could crawl into bed, close my eyes and wait for this nightmare to end.

But the night wasn’t finished with me.

Not by a long shot.

Home Sweet Home… Or So I Thought

Eventually, I made it home.

Thank goodness!

I don’t remember much about the journey back, and I’m not going to invent details to fill the gaps.

What I do remember is the enormous relief of finally being in my own bedroom.

No drunken drivers.

No screaming arguments.

No threatening strangers.

Just me and my bed.

Surely I could sleep this horrible experience off?

Not a chance!

I lay there staring into the darkness, exhausted but unable to switch off.

My mind was racing.

Thoughts came and went, overlapping, changing direction, dissolving into other thoughts.

I must have lain there for five hours without a wink of sleep.

I was drifting into a rather pleasant fantasy, you might call it a dream sequence. But gradually it transformed into one of the most bizarre dream experiences of my life.

I can tell you one thing, though…

BOOBS!

Attack of the Killer Breasts

Yes, you read that correctly.

Breasts.

Everywhere!

*An AI generated image of a dream sequence – great concept for a painting collection

At first, it was wonderful.

Big round breasts, small perky ones, dark areolas, pointy nipples, firm breasts, bouncing breasts…

You get the picture.

All shapes and sizes.

A veritable paradise!

I was lying there enjoying this extraordinary procession of female anatomy when things began to change.

Something wasn’t quite right.

One of the breasts sprouted legs.

Then another.

And another!

Suddenly, they were chasing me.

What the hell?

Some began squirting acid instead of milk.

Others appeared to be attacking me, crushing me, smothering me, suffocating me.

The situation had taken a decidedly unpleasant turn.

My beautiful fantasy was transforming into a grotesque nightmare.

Breasts were no longer my friends.

They were the enemy!

And there seemed to be no escape.

The Eyes Have It

Just when I thought things couldn’t become any stranger, the breasts began transforming again.

Eyes.

Human eyes.

All shapes, colours and sizes.

Staring.

Watching.

Judging.

At first, they appeared randomly. A nipple would suddenly morph into an eye, glaring at me with an expression of disapproval.

Then eyes began appearing everywhere.

One would peer out from behind a tree.

Another would burst through a television screen.

Soon, they were multiplying.

Dozens of eyes.

Then hundreds.

The individual eyes began arranging themselves into patterns, each occupying a differently coloured square.

The patterns shifted and repeated, filling my entire field of vision.

Then the rows began moving.

Horizontally.

Vertically.

Zigzagging.

Layer upon layer of eyes and breasts, twisting, changing, merging and separating in a continuous procession of grotesque imagery.

*The 2nd AI generated image of a dream sequence – great concept for a painting collection

There was no pause.

No relief.

No way to turn it off.

I could close my eyes, but that didn’t make the images disappear. My own mind was producing the nightmare.

And I was trapped inside it.

The chaos was complete.

Looking Back

It’s strange how some memories fade almost completely while others remain etched into your mind for decades.

I can’t remember much about the dancers at Kings Cross, but I can still recall that terrifying drive down Parramatta Road and the extraordinary hallucinations that followed.

Looking back, I recognise how reckless the whole adventure was.

Taking LSD after a previous frightening experience was foolish enough. Getting into a car with an intoxicated driver was potentially fatal.

And while I can laugh about certain moments now, there was nothing particularly funny about the risks we took that night.

We were extraordinarily lucky to make it home alive.

As for the hallucinations?

Well, I suppose there’s something rather ironic about spending a night chasing the bright lights and beautiful women of Kings Cross, only to end up being chased around my own imagination by an army of murderous breasts!

I certainly didn’t see that coming.

Would I recommend the experience?

Absolutely not.

But it does make one hell of a story.