The Last Of The Stoner Clans

[AnIdeasman]

Too unique to die, but too rare to live.

Hunter S. Thompson said that. This proverb has always struck me as being
incredibly profound. I feel that it accurately sums up a period of my life, and the
people who lived in it.
When I was 17 my mother moved interstate. My sisters were gone and my father
had scarcely been in my life. These things happen, I hold no resentment toward
them for it, but regardless about how I felt, I awoke one morning to find myself
completely a lone.

I found a room at a place dubbed “skate house”. It was a party house. Here I
spent a decent stint drinking, smoking pot and taking acid. I was living day by day.
Though stricken with suburban poverty, it did not bother me. I had these friends
who were in the exact same predicament as me. We lived a lifestyle that was
completely unique to our circumstances, and we still managed to have a great
time. Some days a whole bunch of us would cram into someone’s car and drive up
the mountains to a river, there we would drink, smoke, tell stories and laugh.

I eventually lost contact with my mother, and my already waning relationship with
my sisters had nearly all but vanished. Once again, I was not bothered by this, my
friends had taken the place of my family ( as callous as it is to say)

Soon enough skate house was shut down, but the party kept going. It moved to
another cheap, high set Queenslander on a street called Brownhill. The place
became known as “the village”. It was alright for a little while, but our era
was soon coming to an end. Rifts began to form, resentment and hatred grew,
With myself being at the root. All this was of course natural, as the friend circle
widened. New faces appeared, who were less like friends and more like people
who shared a common interest (drugs). For a while we carried on like this, with
everyone secretly hating each other.

But one day the rift split cleanly in twain, and the hatred blossomed to bear
the fruits of betrayal. I’m not exactly sure who was responsible for this, or if
one person was even solely responsible for it. Someone had involved the police,
which was the all too obvious end of our party. It was about time (I guess) and in
hindsight it was the only logical way to clean up this mess which had become our
lives. They came in morning, just past 4 am, I remember this because I had woken
up much earlier than usual. I decided that I’d smoke a joint and listen to some
relaxing music, in an attempt to fall back asleep. There I lay, listening to Song to
the Siren by Tim Buckley when I heard the raid. They stomped through the house
like thunderous blue giants proclaiming the end of our lives (as we knew them)
they found (smelled) me first. I was made to sit in the living room, but one by one
they rustled the rest of them out, like scared and confused animals.

We were a rare breed, trying to live in a world that was far too weird for us. Or
perhaps it was the other way around, perhaps we were all too weird for the world.
Either way we were punished for it. We were deemed antisocial, drug users/
dealers and fined money we didn’t have and forced to attend programs which
didn’t really help us. Even now I think some of us were punished too harshly, who
were we hurting? Other than ourselves of course. Yet, when I throw my memory
back to those days, I am not filled with anger, because regardless of the way it all
ended, I’m glad that I got know those people.

[dwells]

AIM - a truly truthful slice of life and those memories will sustain us after we flower and fade. Experiences we endure and then move on to something else more in-keeping perhaps with our age or status. But then maybe that is the problem too: to be pigeon-holed and type cast. This came across loudly in your piece and hopefully all is good in your world of today - cheers, Dan!
BTW - not so sure "Last" is fitting in the title anymore

[flux]

It's refreshing to read something like this and not find self pity, moral judgements, anger, remorse. These things, or something like them, happen to most people at some point, regardless of if they chose these things or not, they happen. I wouldn't take drugs, I see them as a dead end, but it is honestly interesting to read your account of a life lived this way and not have to listen to someone say... well I learned this or that, or I feel so bad about it now.

[Dew]

This kept me fixed from beginning to end. Not only because I find a bohemian lifestyle alluring and intriguing...but also because your odd takes on some of what you describe has a decidedly human and common appeal. In spite of all attempts to assert that you lived as another breed...the flavor of your recollections made it all seem penetrable finally. Even if I could go there and do that...I would still be me. That immutable constant that none can escape! I really enjoyed this! What experiences! And yet, somehow I suspect that even in my alternate dimension...the shame, the betrayal, the fondness, the foolishness...I've just lived your reflection on the other side of a societal window...interesting. I will read this again! - dew

[up2quark]

I really enjoy your story, it seemed to relfect what I am going through in my life in which is the direct contact with a new crowd which uses LSD/E, were I only use smoke, but what can I say, these people may be the openers to the other realms! Glad I could read your thoughts on this.

[devious83]

Great poem, I enjoyed it!

[xBloodyxgemx]

You flipped the saying. "To weird to live, to rare to die". I've been there myself, and it does seem that when we have lost all the things that we are told matter, we're the most free and therefor happy. Maybe having nothing besides other people is a true gift.

[JohnFeddeler]

it's a great tale, the romantic & tenuous adventure of a bohemian lifestyle. fascinating reading...

[JASON]

At 17 I was kicked out of home,to live with my dad in the city and man
did I take advantage of a bad situation.Like you,we were smoking weed
and running from the police most weekends,clubbing and generally going big.
I failed that 2nd last year of high school and through a miracle sorted my life out.
You seem to have sorted yourself out too...nicely written story.

[dornicks]

Much of your story I can identify with and know the highs and lows of being 'alone'. Well told and deserving of it's place on the Spotlight,

dornicks

[LorettaYoung]

Thanks for your story; you bring back memories of other times I've known; it's interesting how with each season we grow; I'm sure you have more stories to tell

[garic]

The tone here I think aligns with a greater milieu in literature where the older and wiser narrator reflects with fondness on personal experiences which "the societal normal mind" would likely judge as "bad" and "unfruitful".

Thanks for sharing this fond memory and the wisdom you draw from it.