I still remember that camping trip, it will be forever burned into the wrinkles in my brain--for one very particular reason. I had never, up to that point, witnessed someone lose their mind. I’d met those who’d long since lost it, sure, and certainly I’ve met a couple people who still possessed their mental faculties (though, fewer than one would expect), but I’d never witnessed the actual process of one losing it until that day. And for it to happen with such eroticism? Such drama?
Stress attacked me the second I woke up, an omen for things to come. I had agreed to help a close childhood friend of mine move out of his apartment for the first time, but I slept through the event several times over. Waking was immediately coupled with apologies. With that out of the way, it was time to focus on the day at hand, or what I had left of it. It was Rena’s birthday. Rena, sweet dear Rena, bizarre and not all there behind the eyes but beautiful in a very uniquely alien manner. She stood almost 6 feet tall, thin but with noticeable breasts, when she (rarely) had them on display. Long curly hair topped her birdlike physiognomy, with her big round eyes she always looked like a deer in the headlights. Her eyebrows tilted slightly upwards in the middle which inspired a protective instinct within me. The things she would say would make your head spin. Theories of psychic energies, empaths, energy reading, fortune telling—she was the single most esoteric woman I have ever encountered. She had a post humanist streak, thanks to her obsession with AI and attraction to the eccentric billionaires the rest of us would rather see beheaded, if just to shut them up. She always adorned herself with glittering makeup which accentuated her alien appearance and truly made her seem beyond human.
Was she gorgeous? Absolutely. Did she inspire curiosity, make you hang on every word she uttered out of sheer interest? Undoubtedly. Was she particularly intelligent? Not even slightly. You can imagine the success of the plan she had decided on for the annual celebration of herself. After hours of wrangling, changed plans, driving to one side of the city and then to the exact opposite side, we finally successfully made it to a campground. With us we brought Kazmer, the drummer in my band at the time, Jean, a gorgeous woman with whom I felt and still feel I have much unresolved tension with, and dark, fair and beautiful Angel. Kazmer supplied the drive, I the tent and firewood, and the lovely ladies brought with them the real entertainment of the night, a bag of psilocybin mushrooms. This maddening fungus was sure to provide us all with an enjoyable time. Rena, with her weak constitution and love of all substances besides, strangely enough, marijuana, was already chomping at the fungus on the car ride over. Next most consumption was done by Jean followed by Angel and me.
Jean was a terribly erotic woman under any sort of influence, a fact she pretended to be unaware of. Many times had I, intoxicated, and she, intoxicated, gazed into each others eyes and considered the possibilities shared between our bodies. The only thing that had stopped us was that I had of course been romantically monogamous with her closest friend Angel for several years at this point. Jean was short and scruffy, with small breasts and a plump derriere. she was French ethnically, and hairy beyond belief, a fact which multiplied her eroticism tenfold in my eyes. She also held a sexual attraction toward Angel which she never made an attempt to deny or conceal. My objective for the trip was clear: finally release the tension between our little triangle, and potentially include exotic Rena in the mix as well. Kazmer could get bent. He was, after all, involved with a horribly jealous and evil woman, who sadly he was in love with. The fact he was able to join us on this excursion at all was a miracle, only possible due to him being in the process of ignoring the hourly angry essay she sent his way through the telephone.
At first it seemed I would be successful in my single-minded libidinous goal. The women had changed into swimwear and were dancing around the fire in gypsie fashion, complete with headscarves and tambourines. Kazmer was, as always, distraught by the wrath of his evil attachment, and he decided to retire early to the tent. I was lying on a blanket, near naked myself aside from my underwear and white tank top, pretending to read in order to affect an air of indifference to the sight I was entirely focused on. The women were gyrating, singing, laughing, stripping, teasing, ecstatic and joyful. I felt connected to my ancestors through this primal scene, one I’m sure I can recall witnessing in a past life, from the mouth of a cave or the threshold of a hut. Jean began speaking of her desire to feel more comfortable in her skin
, of her respect for those in nudist colonies. I, of course, greatly encouraged this line of thinking, and soon she had stripped off her clothing under the pretext of changing out of her swimwear. My eyes drank the sight like a dog on a hot day lapping at his water bowl. Her skin folded in on itself at the sides of her waist as she skillfully moved her hips in mock belly dance and my mouth began to water. I felt I could smell the sweat trapped within the tufts of hair poking out from her underarms and, like a hunting dog, could use the scent to track her for miles.
Now as you can imagine I was at the height of my excitement. The outing appeared to be going in the exact direction I was willing it to, and the pace was increasing as the sun set. The women were shedding clothing like a snake sheds its skin. They appeared to me as Nausicaa and her handmaidens must have appeared to Odysseus as he awoke stark naked in the bushes. Life was putty in my hands, and I was skillfully molding it into the image of a harem, with myself as Sultan. Rena’s inebriated brain craved physical contact, as a mushroom riddled skull has a tendency to do.
Why are you all so far? Come closer!
She requested
Soon we were all pressed tightly against each other, I could feel the warmth of their skin seeping into my bones. Vision obscured, we were a pile of limbs and appendages. I wasn’t even aware of who’s body I was groping but it did not matter, all three options were enjoyable. I could feel the blood departing from my brain for its southward journey. Pure bliss.
One must always remember the best laid plans are destined to fail. When I truly felt on top of the world is when it all came crumbling down. After a while Kazmer woke up, and we untangled our limbs. Despite this setback I remained steadfast and hopeful as I walked over to the tent which he emerged from.
I think I just had a psychotic break.
He stammered. It was dark but even still I could see he had gone pale.
Man, you missed out. You ought to dump that she-devil and enjoy yourself. You’ll regret not being single tonight for the rest of your life.
I replied. I thought my overt arousal at the prospect of what might unfold would cheer him up.
Shut the fuck up. Listen to me. How long was I out?
Like, 45 minutes? What’s gotten into you?
I just had the weirdest dream. I felt like I was awake the whole time, in the tent. The entire forty-five minutes is accounted for in my head. Seems like I didn’t even blink. But I must have been dreaming. You guys didn’t come over to the tent at all, did you? No, It couldn’t have been you. I knew that voice.
Kaz, calm down. We didn’t go near the tent. We were a little pre-occupied.
I shot him a grin.
The whole time I was staring at the roof of my tent, wide awake. After about ten minutes I could hear voices calling my name. Softly at first. Didn’t think much of it, figured I was just dosing off. But I recognized the voices. All of them came from people who were close to me. People who I haven’t seen in a while. Then the voices got louder. Kazmerrr…. Kazmer….. KAZMER. It was impossible to avoid them. But I’m pretty hard to shake. I ignored them as long as possible. I couldn’t take it anymore when they started tapping on the walls of the tent. The whole thing was shaking violently, man, I swear it. Only stopped once I made a move to leave.
Kaz seemed shaken. Confused. But he didn’t seem like he was lying. It made me think of campfire stories I was told as a kid.
You ever heard of Skinwalkers? They’re demonic entities that roam the countryside, hiding in people disguises that are never quite right. They get the proportions wrong, limbs are too long or too short, and they don’t know how people move either. So, they shift their weight in inhuman ways instead of walking.
As we were conversing, the ladies had begun cooking sausages on sticks in the fire, and this had Rena feeling primal. She placed the biggest magical mushroom I had ever seen on the tip of her crude cooking utensil and was posing for a photo with it. Distracted with conversation, I was unable to stop her as she tore every edible item off the stick as a tigress devours a gazelle. It didn’t take long for the fungus to take effect. The shamanic visions were too much for sweet simple Rena. The synapses in her brain were fusing new pathways by the second, her pattern recognition was cranked up to such a degree that the line between objects began to blur. Glowing symmetric two-dimensional lines projected themselves onto the ground and the sky. Trees became the sum of their fractal formations. Faces began to shift and melt, we became to her other people. She appeared to believe that I was Nirvana frontman Kurt Cobain, and Angel to her was electronic musician Grimes. My Skinwalker lecture seemed to unnerve her.
Shut up, SHUT UP !
Rena was screaming.
STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP!
Her consciousness couldn’t keep up with the things she was witnessing. Higher vibrational creatures were funneling orgonic energy into her skull at such pressures it was sure to shatter. She stood up and began twitching and shaking erratically, right next to the bonfire. Angel was forced to tackle her so she would not set herself alight. She stroked Rena’s face.
shh, it’s okay, oh Rena it’s okay. It will pass.
She lied.
STOP TALKING, SHUT UP!
It was hard to look her in the face. The girls felt the same, I could see them lowering their eyes. Suddenly, I was struck by a sense of morbid curiosity. Like a train crashing into a bed of roses, I couldn’t look away, yet I found the disaster oddly beautiful. I looked her directly in the eyes. Her face was beat red and appeared swollen. She was making guttural noises, like she had phlegm she wanted to expel from her throat. Her visage was twisted in pain and confusion. All of a sudden, she fell and landed on her hands, arms backwards. She was on all fours, but with her torso pointed upwards. She had her waist tucked in, so her butt nearly touched the ground. Then she began thrusting her hips into the air, seemingly in mockery of my desires. Between the choking sounds, the twisted face and the thrusting she looked as if she had been possessed by the devil. It was as if she was being transformed into a Skinwalker before our very eyes.
Needless to say, everyone was frightened by this point. The thought crossed all our minds: This is it. Rena is broken, for good. Kazmer and I were still situated next to the tent, which was a couple meters away from the fire where the scene was unfolding. My morbid curiosity grew until it completely replaced my fear for Rena’s safety. My compassion dissipated, thankfully, and I could witness the scene as it truly was. She was back on her feet, screaming her lungs out. Illuminated by the flicker of the fire, completely nude, in front of the reflection of the moon in the lake, she was more beast than woman. God was she beautiful. She was no longer arousing, I’ll admit. My sexual desire for her had been replaced by something closer to worship. I felt that she was ascending. Or perhaps it was the opposite. She was deep in the ocean, no way to know if she was headed up or down. She was beyond humanity, beyond compassion, beyond lust and reason and all base emotions. She truly was alien now. Not of this world. A woman possessed. She understood the secrets of the universe, she had more knowledge than any poor sweet woman was ever meant to have. Rena, my Goddess, was sacrificing all that she was.
Observing a woman lose her sanity awoke something in me. The fact that it appeared so beautiful, so sublime to shed the veil of consciousness, of humanity, made me realise. The things humans hold onto the tightest, our minds, our identities, our health and sanity, are nothing but cages. The mad and the mentally sick understand more than any of us can ever hope to. They lead happier lives inside themselves than we ever could in the cartesian coordinate system we call reality. I know now that there are no greater saints than the schizophrenic homeless living in gutters and alleyways.
Rena never was the same afterwords. It never did pass. She remained in a waking dream for the rest of her short life. Half lucid, half braindead, she was alive. A week later her family checked her into a mental hospital. Less than a year later she was dead. I consider this the greatest failure of modern society. A saint woman, a walking Goddess, abandoned to die tranquilized in a hospital bed. In the tribal days she would have been revered as she deserved. She would have enjoyed the life of a prophet, of a shaman, and the rest of us limited by our sanity might have been able to gleam the truths locked away in her cranium. But that’s not how things work anymore. The irrational is not considered real. This is our fatal flaw. This is why we will rot from the inside as our societies decline, slow enough not to arouse suspicion. We will rule our kingdoms of trash as Rena looks down on us from outside our dimension.