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Back You are here: Home Stories Words for the People Poetry Writers in Residence: Dennis Cruz Acid Story - June 2011 Writer in Residence: Dennis Cruz, Part 1
Monday, 06 June 2011 04:39

Acid Story - June 2011 Writer in Residence: Dennis Cruz, Part 1

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I can’t remember now if I knew or if you knew before we headed over there that it was going to be an acid party. I don’t even remember where the acid came from or why there was so much or who did some and who didn’t. I remember me and you did two each. I remember that girl started kissing a boy, then a girl, then the boy and the girl...

and I started coming on and she was just turning her head left right and to the front and whoever put their mouth there got some of her tongue and I remember staring at her tongue and it got longer and longer and longer and next thing I knew you were there and there were tongues everywhere by then and I didn’t want to look at your tongue because I knew it would grow longer and I knew I’d have to talk to you later and I did not want to hyper-focus on your tongue while you talked I had enough problems talking to people on acid what with all that shit that happens to their eyes….i remember the girl that threw the party was nervous because she would have rather that the tongues remain boy girl boy girl and all that boy-boy / girl-girl was starting to fuck with her high. I was nervous about all those tongues darting in and out of everywhere.

I can’t remember that white girl’s name but she was there and she had hairy armpits and was very strong and it wasn’t until she tackled me and sat on top of me and began grinding her pelvis into my nether region that I noticed how strong she really was. We had fallen under a Christmas tree, and suddenly I remembered that it was Christmas eve. At first I thought only happy horny thoughts of maybe getting to fuck the curiously strong and hair-covered white girl with the darting tongue and the muscular lips but then the grinding turned more and more aggressive and strange animal sounds started erupting from her like some ravenous carnivore that’s happened upon some meat…and then the grinding got so bad I felt she might bruise my penis or perhaps crush and/or rupture my testicles and I didn’t want a bruised penis or crushed testicles so I struggled to get out from beneath her but it was hard to maneuver myself and I hadn’t realized that she had pinned down my arms with her hands and like I said she was very strong and there were Christmas tree branches with dangling lights everywhere …..and just when I thought the panic would set in I somehow I managed to break free...

The only thing to do at that point was to look for beer and I was hoping to God there was beer because beer can turn anything around and I wanted shit turned around….and thank god there was beer. But before shit could get turned around that weird witch showed up with her daughter and God damn if they didn’t look like some fucking witches…walking into the house in their black witch dresses carrying those tall fucking Santeria candles with the pictures of the saints stabbing demons and everything and I’m thinking who fucking walks into a Christmas Eve party carrying lit Santeria candles and wearing all that crazy witch shit? Of course I locked eyes with both of them immediately because I’ve always had real bad luck with witches and spontaneous eye contact and I can’t tell you how strange that felt to lock eyes with a mother/daughter witch combination because you know what happens to people’s eyes when you’re on acid and boy oh boy was I on acid... and to make things worse... I was just hitting my acid telepathy phase which was terrible timing because immediately I read both their minds and they were discussing me silently with their minds and I asked them if they were on acid and they said no but wouldn’t mind some if we had more and I said no and started panicking because who the hell can talk silently with their minds if they’re not on acid and that’s not even the worst part. The worst part was that I distinctly heard the mother asking her daughter if she wouldn’t mind flirting with me so I could get hot so they could then take me into one of the bedrooms and share me and I distinctly heard her daughter say sure and damned if she didn’t start smiling at me right then with her witch eyes all mascaraed up and twinkling with the damn candle in her hand lighting up her pupils all flame flickers and demon shapes and she seemed so damned seductive and delicious and sexy and horny that I actually began to wonder If I could separate her from her mother maybe it would turn out all right you know? But just one look at that mother of hers and you knew that was fucking impossible and no way in hell was I gonna fuck some witch and her mother at the same time on acid on fucking Christmas Eve. So I did what I had to do: I snuck out pretending I needed some air… and if you hadn’t seen me that might have been the end of it but you did see me and you followed me and sure enough when I started to tell you all the crazy shit that had happened I noticed… something had gone wrong with your tongue and your eyes...




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Dennis Cruz

Dennis Cruz is a vital Los Angeles poet and artist. His signature live reading style has placed an indelible stamp on the poetry and lives of the thousands of people that have seen him give voice to his work. To say Dennis Cruz is a live poet is to only insinuate a fraction of the meaning of the word. He is a practitioner of the experience, the improvisational, the essence of poem as a means to understanding self, pain, loss, and transcendence. Born in Costa Rica and brought to the United States as a young boy, he inhabits the voice of the perpetual outsider and the purely American dissident. He lives in Northeast Los Angeles with his family.

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