Chapter Twelve
Upon waking up the next day, Jules feels nice and recharged. Without hesitation, he reaches for his stash of DMT. He has been itching to talk to the aliens since he got off the phone with Evelyn the day before. Taking his second to last dosage, he hopes – desperately – that this works. The build-up that comes with the inhale causes him anxiety. As, in the past, there hasn’t been any build-up. But there’s not much he can do but to just accept the process as it is. So, he sits in his most comfortable chair and waits.
Eventually, it kicks in and, again, he’s blasted past the realm of normal consciousness. At first, all he sees are geometric shapes dancing around him. It is like a normal DMT trip, nothing too extraordinary. But the shapes slowly begin to form around him and no sooner than that happens do the aliens appear. This time it’s the “bad” race. They tell him:
[What do you want?
We are on a mission.
What do you want?
We have to get goin’.
Can’t you see you’re distracting us.
What do you want?]
Jules tries to communicate. Similar to the first time, he struggles to get many words out at first. But once he finds his footing, he’s able to speak full sentences which he uses to ask the aliens, “Listen, I don’t know if you guys are bad, but I think you are. But the bigger question I have is this… What are you going to do?” To which the aliens respond truthfully to, saying…
[Us…
Bad?
Yes.
Tell you?
No.
LEAVE
US
ALONE.]
They respond before melting away, leaving Jules alone. There’s a great silence that begins to surround him. It starts to become haunting. At a point, it grows completely maddening. With the darkness blinding his vision, it is as though he is nothing more than a lonely star in the cosmos. He awakens, drenched in sweat. The only thought in his mind being, “What are they going to do?”
Chapter Thirteen
Jules stands up, changes his clothes, and goes for a walk – trying his best not to think about what happened with his odd DMT trip that happened just moments prior. He gets home after a rather lengthy walk and makes a list of what he knows so far; in an attempt to better organize his thoughts.
…
Aliens are bad
- Won’t say what they’re up to
Went for a walk
- Was calming
Struggling to find a sense of clarity
- How do I find it?
…
He sits and stares at the list, reading it over and over again. Unsure what to do, he remains sitting. Frozen in thought. “Are they going to kill us?” He thinks to himself before calling up Evelyn. She doesn’t pick up. He tries again, and, still, there’s no answer. He tries David, getting the same results. No answer. Lastly, out of desperation, he tries Evelyn’s boyfriend, Raheem. He answers.
“Hey, brother man. How’s it hanging?” Raheem introduces. “It’s, uh, hanging.” Jules responds. “Listen, Raheem,” he says, “Shit’s going down. There’s been more than a handful of U.F.O. sightings and…” “Hey, yeah! Your sister was telling me about that. Says you’ve been talking to some aliens or whatever?” Raheem interrupts. “She told you that!? Yes. I have. Anyways, Raheem, that’s not the point. Listen, I don’t know what to do.” Jules continues. “What do you mean?” Raheem asks, interrupting again. Jules – becoming noticeably irritated – responds, “I mean what I said. I don’t know what to do. Aliens are coming. I have this information. I don’t know what to do with it. Am I supposed to save the world? Like, what the hell am I supposed to do? I’m freaking out, Raheem. FREAKING. Out.”
There’s some background noise on Raheem’s end, it sounds like Evelyn just got home. You can hear a faint, “Hey, babe! Can you come help me?” on Raheem’s side of the conversation. Raheem then becomes eager to end the conversation. He goes, “Hey, Jules… Man. Sorry, but your sister just came home and I gotta help her or she’ll kill me. Y’know? Just take some deep breaths, it will be okay. Okay?” “Yeah, whatever. Thanks, Raheem.” Responds Jules, before hanging up.
Now as he sits alone, profoundly confused, Jules decides to write a poem about it. Hoping that by getting it out it will help him to gain more clarity. Or, at the very least, help him calm down some. The poem itself isn’t very good, but it does help ease of some Jules’ stress.
{Odd patterns
Is all I see
Full of colors
And happiness.
Unsure of the implication
Feeling lost in these shapes.
As I try to find my way
In this vast, barren landscape.
My last trip didn’t go so well
Causing a panic within
As I struggle to understand
Whether or not
I am the hero in all of this.
Or perhaps I’m just a filthy drug addict
Going insane with the amount of drugs
Pumping through my veins.
The book I’m working on
Will never be finished.
This is all a waste of time.
I am a failure.
Aliens are coming
And I don’t know
How to stop them.
I’m afraid.
So, very afraid.}
He writes with intense focus, tears streaming down his face as he’s forced to face his greatest weaknesses. He feels so lost. The anxiety overwhelms him. He passes out.
Chapter Fourteen
He wakes up and, like most other days, goes for his drug stash. He sees that he has enough DMT to last one more trip. He struggles to remember which drug dealer he bought it off of last time, but it finally clicks. He picks up his phone and calls Terrence. The phone rings. On the fourth ring, Terrence picks up.
“Hey, what’s up?” He answers, sounding high as fuck. “Yo, Terrence… It’s me, uh, J. Les. I’m wondering if you got any more of that, um… We’ll call it, delicious, meaty turkey?” “Oh, hey J! Uh, no. That stuff isn’t coming in until about a month from now.” “Damn!” Jules exclaims. “Sorry, buddy. Anything else I can help with?” Terrence responds, empathetically. “Nah, man. It’s cool, it’s cool. Take it easy.” “Yeah, you too.” “And, hey…” Jules goes, “Let me know when you get it in. I’m getting low and I’m planning on feastin’ soon.” “Yeah, no problem. Bye.” “Bye.”
The conversation ends which leaves Jules alone with his stash. He’s fiending quite hard, so he decides to look through it and see if there’s any other drug he can take in the meantime. “Cocaine? No. Meth? Nah. Heroin? Perhaps. Marijuana? Always. Molly? Could be relaxing. Acid? Tempting. Alcohol? Bitch, please.” He says aloud as he cycles through what he’s got.
He checks the calendar and sees that the month is almost done; just two more weeks. He thinks to himself, “I can make this last two weeks. I can! I can do it.” Because, despite having so many drugs, all he cares about is DMT. So, he closes up his stash and puts it back in its hiding place before sitting cross-legged on the floor in complete silence. He begins to meditate, focusing, mainly, on his breath; doing what he can to calm down and center himself. This barely works and he struggles to find something else to do, so he calls up David for support.
Chapter Fifteen
David answers to an off-sounding Jules, immediately David asks about the alien situation. Jules, tired and suffering from fear of withdrawal, responds with, “I don’t know, David. I don’t know.” David can sense that something is wrong and goes, “Is everything okay, Jules?” “Not really, I’m getting low on some stuff and I don’t know how to cope.” “What kind of stuff, Jules?” “Drugs, David… Drugs.” “Ah, gotcha. Well, listen buddy… Just take a deep breath—” “DON’T YOU THINK I ALREADY TRIED THAT!?!?” Jules erupts. “Woah. Hey, buddy… Just calm down.” “Sorry,” Jules says, “I’m just… Panicking. And taking a deep breath can only go so far.” �
��That’s okay,” David responds.
Silence fills the air between the two as both of them try to think of a way for Jules to calm down. Eventually, David asks, “Have you tried exercising?” To which Jules responds, “A little bit. Here and there. Nothing too extreme though, why?” “They say exercising is good for you. And I’ve heard from some other friends that it helps to calm their anxiety. Maybe try raising the intensity of your exercises and we can take it from there?” “Sure,” Jules responds, “that sounds like a good idea.” Soon after, the conversation comes to a close and Jules walks to the gym nearby his house.
Once he gets in the gym, he becomes intimated by, both, the people and the equipment. After taking some deep breaths, he walks to the free-weights section and starts lifting. Starting first at thirty pounds, five pounds more than what he’s used to. He begins to sweat and this calms him. Eventually, thirty becomes too heavy so he drops down to twenty-five. Then fifteen. Then ten. Once the weights become too cumbersome for Jules’ scrawny arms, he moves onto the treadmill to walk while listening to music. He intends to walk for about fifteen-to-twenty minutes. Yet, at the five-minute mark, he feels the desire to start jogging. But as soon as he picks up the speed, the desire leaves. So, he quickly drops the speed back down to match his optimal walking pace. The desire to jog then happens again, at each five-minute interval. So, every five-minutes he puts the speed up to ideal speed-walking standards. It’s a compromise that works for him. He ends up walking/jogging for thirty-five minutes.
As he does this, he’s listening to a variety of music on his phone. Ranging from rap to punk, metal to pop, and all sorts of stuff in-between. He loses himself and finds peace in what he’s doing. He forgot why he stopped going to the gym as much, but in this moment, he remembers why it’s good to go more often. Once he gets done and goes home, he begins to plot out a gym routine to follow for the next few weeks. He calls David back.
“Hey, David. It’s Jules. Getting out to the gym really did help. Thanks for the advice! Bye.” Jules leaves David a voicemail.
Chapter Sixteen
A couple weeks pass and Jules continues to keep up with the more intense exercise regimen. While it does not fully diminish his drug cravings, it helps to maintain them in some sort of healthy way. He calls Terrence again to see if the DMT came in. “Yo!” Terrence answers. “Hey, man. J. Les again. Just wondering if the delicious, meaty turkey came in yet. Since it’s the end of the month and all.” “Yeah, hey J. Uh, no. It has not come in yet. Sorry to disappoint, buddy. But hey, I have some pretty strong grass that could help in the meantime… You interested?” “Uhhh… Nah. I already got enough of that stuff as is. Thanks though.” “Okay! Again… I’m sorry, man.” “It’s all good, just keep me posted.” “Will do. Bye.” “See ya…”
Except, it wasn’t all good. Jules was getting low and he needed more. Thankfully, he still had enough left – enough for one more trip – that he kept holding onto. He goes to his stash and looks at it, the last bit of DMT he has. It is as though the gates of Heaven have opened; the Angels are singing and the light is shining perfectly upon it. He is very much tempted to smoke it now, but waits. Deciding, instead, to smoke some marijuana and take a bath. As he sits in the tub, an idea for a new poem emerges from within. He gets out and dries off, rushing to his typewriter with his towel around his waist.
{Rub-a-dub-dub
I chill in a tub
With a joint in my hand
And my body doused with wet.
It’s mindless;
Enjoyable.
As a cacophony of emotion
Rushes through
Before peace subdues
Me.
If you never have smoked
Marijuana while taking a soak
In the tub
I cannot help but to
Feel bad for you, bub…
You’re doing yourself a disservice.
It’s like receiving a
Million tiny kisses
All across your body and skin
It hurts a bit at first
But then the bubbles
Start to sink in
And you feel connected to the world around you.
Another metaphor
Is that it is like skydiving.
Your body
Kissing the clouds
As it falls…
Aimlessly.
Hoping you don’t hit the ground
With a fatal splat!
Smoking a joint
In the bathtub
Is one of the best experiences
An individual can take part of.
If you haven’t tried it for yourself
You’re sorely missing out
And I’m sorry.}
Once finished, Jules tosses the poem aside. And, without thinking, starts to write anew.
{Words
What are these marvelous things?
But a gift to us
From some sort of
Higher being.
For those that struggle to believe in a God
Just focus on these…
Words.
And see
What I write and what I speak.
They are magnificent
And make me so happy.
The beauty within them
Is that they can never be fully explained
A gift from above,
Truly.
Words
They’re mysterious
And playful
Full of love and of fun.
They put my mind at ease
Granting me an unimaginable peace.}
Jules then sits back in his cruddy office chair and breathes a sigh of relief. As though whatever built up tension or discomfort that was inside of him has finally been released. He celebrates by smoking what’s left of his DMT and has a fantastic trip. No aliens. Just him and the endless abyss of life deconstructed. After his trip, he eats some cereal then goes to sleep.
Chapter Seventeen
He wakes up the next day, naked, in a panic as he remembers that he smoked his last bit of DMT. He quickly gets dressed then calls Terrence. “Hey, Terrence. It’s me, J, again. I was wondering if you, by chance, got any more of that delicious, meaty turkey in stock last night. I smoked my last bit and I’m officially out (and officially panicking). Please call me back as soon as you get some more. All the best, J. Les.” He leaves a voicemail for Terrence since he didn’t answer.
Jules starts to pace around his apartment as he eagerly awaits a response from Terrence; a response that seems to never be coming. Struggling to figure out what to do, he looks at his stash. He becomes tempted to shoot some heroin because he’s heard that it’s pretty fun. And he’s done some in the past, remembering it to be a rather trippy experience. But as he has gotten older, he’s learned how dangerous heroin can be so he decides to hold off (for now). Instead, he uses this anxiety and newfound free time to write more and more. Until, eventually, there grows a towering stack of papers in the corner of his room filled with poems on them. He forgot how much he enjoyed writing.
Still, no matter how much he enjoys writing… It doesn’t feel the same to him without the DMT to help mask his downtime. He continues to feel anxious. At one point, he just writes…
{DMT
DMT
How I am empty…
DMT
DMT
If you’ve got some,
Give it to me.
For I am starving
For some DMT.
I’m not an addict
I just like having fun
And nothing quite does it
Like DMT does.
DMT
Oh, how I love thee
And need in my life
In order to feel alright.
Okay…
Maybe I am addicted.
Doesn’t matter.
All I care about is
DMT.
DMT
DMT
Give
it to me.
Give it to me…
NOW.}
It’s an awful poem, but it helps to satiate the horrible cravings he’s having. The worst part is that he gets stuck in this loop for some time. His future becomes dark as all he can think about is DMT and how much he misses it/needs it/wants it. It’s a vicious cycle and no amount of exercise can help him break it. Still, he continues to persevere; calling up Evelyn, David, and Raheem on a regular basis in an effort to find better coping mechanisms. Thinking to himself that maybe this is a good thing. That, “Maybe, uh, if Terrence gets some more in, I’ll deny the offer. Because, like, let’s be honest here… It’s sort of destroying me and only now am I realizing that.” Jules remarks aloud to no one in particular.
After admitting to his problem he begins to remember the aliens. Which the news has been quiet about lately. But, just to be safe, he checks it out anyways. And it would seem as though the U.F.O. sightings have stopped altogether. This makes Jules thinks that the drugs were messing with his brain. All of this causes an overload, resulting in one of his worst panic attacks to date. This is when he decides to check himself into a mental health ward.
Chapter Eighteen
Once he gets to the hospital, Jules rushes up to the front desk asking for help. Telling the lady, “Hey. I’m kind of going insane. I believe aliens are going to come and attack us. Is there any way I can go to the mental health ward in this facility?” The lady just looks at him with bored, miserable eyes and says, “Take a seat… Someone will be with you momentarily.” So, Jules takes a seat and waits.
Jules Page 3
