Filed Under: Tripping The Light Fantastic
Part 1: Baptism by Blotter
The summer of ’88 was one of the most pivotal times in my life. I was sixteen years old, living in South Lake Tahoe, California, and my friends and I were camped out at Reagan Beach, waiting for the sun to set and the acid to kick in. This was to be the first time I watched the Harrah’s Fireworks show on acid. This was going to be fucking amazing. Everything had to be timed perfectly.
My best friend “Tony” procured the acid from a Dead show in the Bay Area. Back then, you didn’t need tickets to a Dead show to get some good acid—just gas, four hours, and the right person in the parking lot. Tony was our group’s go-to guy for things. He always knew where to get the best weed at good prices. Tony dressed like a hippie but wore Chuck Taylors and a bag of crystals around his neck, usually adorned in tie-dye and dark sunglasses.
We laid out our blankets and set up our spot on the beach. The sun was still high, and we had a few hours to kill before the main event. We spent the time talking, laughing, and getting high. The anticipation was electric. The plan was simple: drop the acid just before sunset, let it kick in as the sky darkened, and be peaking by the time the first firework exploded.
Tony pulled out the blotter paper, each square adorned with a tiny, colorful cartoon. We each took our dose, letting the paper dissolve on our tongues. The taste was bitter, but it was a small price to pay for the journey we were about to embark on.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the familiar tingling sensation began to spread through my body. Colors started to shift, and the world around me began to take on a new, vibrant life. The beach, with its throngs of people, felt like a living, breathing organism. The sounds of laughter, waves, and distant music blended into a symphony of sensation.
The acid was kicking in, and everything was falling into place. The sky turned from a deep orange to a dark, velvety blue. Stars began to twinkle overhead, and the crowd around us grew in anticipation of the fireworks display. Tony and I exchanged excited glances, our pupils wide and our minds expanding.
Joining us was Tony’s girlfriend, “Alison,” the oldest child of two. Alison’s mom was always at work and never home. Our buddy “Paul,” the oldest of the group and a self-proclaimed ladies’ man with stories of an older girlfriend who taught him the ways of love. Paul was a skinny, tough son of a bitch who could fight if he needed to and was a master bullshitter. He and his sister lived in a small cottage near Reagan Beach, our go-to hangout in the summer. Then there was Paul’s girlfriend, “Kelly,” the youngest of the group at fifteen. She and her sisters looked like typical California blondes straight out of David Lee Roth’s “California Girls” video. The five of us were thick as thieves and had some crazy adventures.
As for me, I was a skinny, pimple-faced kid with braces who liked to write, argue, and had a pretty good cursory knowledge of various substances, having tried a lot. I was good with words and often served as the group’s counselor and even saved a few friends’ lives.
The first round of fireworks shot into the sky, and as they exploded, the world around us erupted into a kaleidoscope of color and sound. The fireworks seemed to dance in slow motion, leaving trails of light that lingered in the air. The sand undulated under the bright aerial explosions, creating a surreal, shifting landscape beneath us.
Looking around our small group, I saw Paul and Kelly were less interested in the fireworks and more interested in each other, putting on a public display of heavy petting and even heavier breathing. Tony, Alison, and I tried to focus on the fireworks, doing our best to ignore what was happening just feet away. Paul and Kelly looked like they were trying to eat each other’s faces. The horror, the horror.
We sat there, entranced, as the show continued. The acid amplified every sensation, turning the fireworks display into a transcendental experience. I felt connected to everything around me—the people, the beach, the stars, the very universe itself. It was as if the barriers between us had dissolved, leaving only pure, unfiltered existence.
As the finale approached, the sky filled with a barrage of explosions, each one more spectacular than the last. The colors, the sounds, the vibrations—they all blended into a single, overwhelming moment of pure, unadulterated bliss. It was a baptism by blotter, a rite of passage that would stay with me forever.
When the last firework faded, and the crowd began to disperse, we remained on the beach, basking in the afterglow of the experience. The acid was still coursing through our veins, and everything around us seemed to shimmer with an otherworldly light. We talked for hours, sharing our thoughts and feelings, and exploring the depths of our minds.
That night, on Reagan Beach, I felt like I had discovered a new dimension of reality. It was a night of firsts—a first acid trip, a first fireworks show on psychedelics, a first glimpse into the infinite possibilities of the human mind. It was the summer of ’88, and it was fucking amazing.
This is just one slice of that unforgettable summer of 1988. I hope you enjoyed this true story. I changed the names to protect the not-so-innocent. If you liked this story, please let us know. There’s more to come—stay tuned for the next chapter of our wild adventures.
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