CHAPTER 1


                                 LSD #1






               Although  Nebraska  March  afternoons   glowed  with  summer
          warmth,  nights were chilly  reminders of winter's  reluctance to
          secede.  We walked the side streets of Omaha slowly, enjoying the
          summer-like  weather;   coats  slung  over   shoulders;  we  were
          seventeen.  The girl I walked beside was a new friend.  "Hi!  I'm
          Sharon," she  announced  one morning  before  school as  I  stood
          leaning against  the wall  waiting for my  first class.   "What's
          your name?"   Can't get any friendlier than that.  "How long have
          you been blind?   I've seen you around school this year.   Do you
          like poetry?"   Well, you can't tell  a girl who has,  out of the
          clear blue,  just walked  up and  touched you  on  the arm;  that
          poetry isn't where it's at.
               "Sure," I squeaked, "why not?"
               "Maybe I'll  bring some of  my poetry I've  written tomorrow
          morning and  read some to you.  How's  that?" she said, her voice
          smiling as the bell rang.
               "Sounds great," I  mumbled; knowing I'd never  hear from her
          again.  She  was back that next  day though and with  her poetry.
          It  was  pretty good,  too.    Different,  though; even  sort  of
          strange, but who cares.  She was friendly, after all, and I could
          live with a little bit of poetry if it meant making a friend.
               Touching her arm lightly, she  guided me down the quiet side
          streets toward  her home after school.   We had known  each other
          for just about two months.  We had shared time together every day
          at school.  We had taken walks,  talked over the phone for hours,
          and she had read poetry.  We had gone to a rock concert together,
          the Grateful Dead, and we had smoked marijuana.  Now, as  soon as
          we reached her home, I would take LSD for the first time.  
               Leading me to the living room couch she said, "I'll clean up
          the house some before my mom and step dad get home.
               "How long will that be?" I inquired.
               "Oh, a couple of hours,"  she guessed.  "Don't worry though.
          They never stay  home very long because  my step dad likes  to go
          out on Friday nights.  We'll have  the house to ourselves most of
          the evening and then when Rick gets off work at about 10 O'clock,
          he'll drive us over to Mike's place."
               "Mike's?"  Whose Mike?"
               "Oh, Mike's a  real neat guy with long hair.  His mom leaves
          for the weekend all the time and everybody goes over to Mike's to
          shoot  speed,  drop acid,  listen  to  music  and to  make  love.
          There's nobody to bother us all weekend."
               "I've got to be home by midnight, is that a problem?"
               "Naw!" she sniffed, "my boyfriend Rick will take us home any
          time  we want  to go.   Don't worry..."  her voice fading  as she
          walked off to begin her cleaning.
               A few moments later she  returned and said, "Wanna' try some
          acid now?"
               "Sure" I said nervously.
               Placing a fourth of a tablet on  my tongue she said, "Let it
          dissolve slowly.  Don't chew it."
               "How long does it take," I asked after it dissolved.
               "Oh, maybe thirty minutes to an hour.  It varies."
               Over  an hour later Sharon said, "Aren't you coming on to it
          yet?"
               "I don't  know," I confessed.   "I don't even know  what I'm
          supposed to expect."
               "Mmmmm," she hummed, "maybe I better give you some more.  It
          doesn't look like you're coming on to  it.  I'll give you another
          quarter tab just in case.
               "Okay," I agreed, "whatever you say."
               Sharon  quickly  introduced  me to  her  parents  upon their
          arrival  and then just  as quickly  ushered me  away to  her room
          where we  spent the next couple of hours  talking.  She read from
          current hippy magazines and we talked about our different  lives.
          Occasionally Sharon's myna bird squawked from the living room and
          whistled loudly.   More than three  hours had passed and  I still
          felt no effects from the  LSD she had given me.   "I can't figure
          it out," she frowned, "you should be stoned by now."
               "I don't know," I shrugged, "maybe it won't work with me."
               "Are you hungry?"  she asked, tugging at my  arm and leading
          me  to the  door.       "Let's  go out  to  the  kitchen and  eat
          something."
               "What about your folks," I said hesitantly."
               "Oh, they're out in the living room eating.  Besides they'll
          leave shortly.
               The television  roared from  the living  room; covering  our
          kitchen conversation.  The myna screeched;  His  laugh remarkably
          similar to  Sharon's step  dad's.  "Here,"  Sharon said,  "let me
          read  a couple  of my  recent poems  to you.    A moment  later I
          laughed beatifically.  "What's so funny," she said suspiciously.
               "I  don't know," I  said grinning.   "I just felt  like it I
          guess."
               "Are you sure you aren't coming on to the stuff?"
               "I don't think so," I said with a sudden burst of laughter.
               "Oh,  you're coming  on to it  all right,"  she said  with a
          vaticinal grin.
               "Oh, really," I laughed, "how can you tell?"
               "Well, beside that silly laughing you're doing, you've got a
          smile ten miles wide on your face!"  We laughed harmoniously.
               The rocket stood hissing on  its pad; the count down echoing
          metallically  across the  acres  of  concrete  through  the  loud
          speakers.  Vapors billowed voluminously from beneath the powerful
          craft.  The  morning air was crystal;  the sky purple haze.   the
          seconds ticked one-by-one.   Suddenly it  belched huge plumes  of
          thick  milky clouds  high  into  the air  and  began to  shutter.
          Slowly at first, almost imperceptibly, but rising inch-by-inch it
          moved,  as  though  some colossal  hand  was  lifting, straining,
          pushing.   Multi-colored sparks  began showering the  ground from
          about the base of the metallic  monster, throwing up a curtain of
          brilliant  rainbow electrified  colors,  as though  some demented
          blacksmith's hammer  had begun striking  super heated iron.   The
          cacophony of  sound grew  deafening.   Suddenly the  machine spat
          brilliant orange,  red and blue  flames, carving a crater  in the
          earth,   as it  catapulted from its  launching pad;  throwing the
          machine gone wild  screaming into the sky.     The  rocket tilted
          slightly in its  projectry to the stars and  flashed as lightning
          in the darkened blue sky.  Reaching zenith, the rocket burst into
          brilliant Colors - yellows, greens, golds, blues, whites, violets
          - expanding...expanding...expanding.   The  rainbow whirled  into
          metallic bands encircling my thoughts.
               I heard  a  horse  laugh on television  in the  living room.
          Green water foamed  from the set and floated  like jello into the
          room.  I giggled!
               "You are stoned!" she announced confidently.
               "I  think  so," I  snickered through  multi-colored luminous
          bubbles of laughter.   "If this is what you mean by being stoned,
          I guess I must be.  I know one thing," I said.
               "What?"
               "I'm high!"
               The voices in the living  room faded as though sucked slowly
          from the house by a silent vacuum  sweeper.  "There gone!" Sharon
          announced as she turned up the radio.  "Listen to this."  Musical
          notes  painted every color in the rainbow tumbled head-over-heels
          from  the  speakers into  the  room.   I  bumped into  them  as I
          snatched  Sharon's dog  up and  hugged him.   I  was  swimming in
          translucent ink.   Music -  music - music.   I could touch  it; I
          could  feel it; I  could taste it.   I patted  one of the musical
          notes on the head,  "Be a good boy,  now," I giggled.  He  nodded
          obediently and danced away.
          "Hey,  see  that  guy  over  there  on  the  couch?"  he  pointed
          excitedly.  They all nodded enthusiastically.  "This is his first
          acid trip."  Their little eyes flashed brightly.  "Let's show him
          a good  time.   What-da-ya' say?"   They all  bounced up-and-down
          laughing  uncontrollably  bursting  into tiny  points  of  multi-
          colored Christmas tree lights.
               "Hey,"  Sharon  said turning  the  radio down.    "What's it
          like?"
               "I  can't really  say," I  laughed.   "It's  all lights  and
          colors and sound.  It's like I just dived into a kaleidoscope and
          I'm one of  the colors.  Hey," I  said, "why are you  turning the
          radio off?"
               "I'm not!"  I heard the dialing of the telephone.
               "What are  you doing?   Tell me,"  although I  really didn't
          care.
               "I'm calling the FM radio station we're listening to."
          "What?"
               "I'm calling the radio station."
               "Why?  What for?"
               "You'll see...Hi, my name's Sharon and I have a blind friend
          here setting on my couch.  He's on  his first acid trip.  Can you
          play something for him?  Great!  Do it!"
               "I don't believe  it!" I said laughing  uncontrollably.  She
          sprang for the  stereo, twisting the volume full on,  just as the
          last song died away.
               "Someone  just called  in,"  the announcer  said,   "with  a
          special request.  Here it is, then.  Jimmy Hindrix."
               A  paper thin  ribbon  began  to flow  from  the speaker  of
          Sharon's  stereo.  It looked like the sound of a guitar.  It shot
          to  the ceiling,  striking it  dead center  and exploding  into a
          shower of  red sparks.    Music rushed  out of  the speakers  and
          flowed  over my mind.   I became music.   Shining colors overcame
          and sucked  me into  the vortex.   I breathed  the music  and the
          sound.  The music  became me.  I soared into  the night, bursting
          above the  atmosphere into  dazzling starlight.    Tiny beams  of
          light traversed the universe ricocheting off my brain waves.  The
          shining lunar orb smiled.  "Enjoying yourself?"  I laughed.  gold
          and  blue fog  escaping my  lips like  chilled  breath on  a cold
          morning.   I  ran...my  feet  touched  stars  which  became  tiny
          explosions of electric energy.  I  flew faster and faster.  Space
          dust clinging to my skin.  spreading my arms and legs, I became a
          four-point  star whirling end-over  end, passing brightly through
          the darkened blue void, weightless, free, uninhibited.  
               Suddenly I was being pulled back...back...back...back.   The
          earth  loomed  ahead.    Its   shiny  blues  and  greens  somehow
          comforting.    The  oceans shown  luminescent.    The polar  caps
          glittered with silvery brightness.  I was falling into a bubbling
          fountain  of colors.   I  struck  the waters;  laughing with  the
          impact.   I drank in the  geometric shapes.   They bumped against
          each other as they tumbled into my open mind.
               "He's stoned" I heard a hexagon whisper.
          "Yeah, but I think he knows that," said a winking circle. 
          I drifted down  and felt the coolness of the water shining in the
          night about  me.  Luminescent fish twinkled in  the darkness.   I
          floated slowly, nearly weightless, and free.
               A turtle blinked on; His feet shining purplish and his shell
          glistening orange.  Smoking  a hash pipe.  he spoke;  White smoke
          puffed  from his mouth and nostrils.  "Your first trip, huhh?"  I
          nodded with a  smile.  He  grinned, "Not bad, kid,  not bad.   It
          looks like you're doing pretty well, too."
               "Thanks," I said.  "Who are you?"
               "I'd tell you but the songs almost over."
               I  dropped like  a  stone  into the  deep  and thumped  hard
          against the couch where I had started.  Jimmy Hindrix  was fading
          away.    The  musical notes were  scampering for  their speakers,
          their little  legs moving  quickly.  The  last dozen or  so notes
          dived into  the open speakers  just as  the song whirled,  like a
          tiny tornado, back  into the  depths of  the stereo.   I  sighed.
          "Wow!"
               "Pretty neat?" It was a woman's voice close to my ear.
               "Is that you Sharon?"I questioned.
               "Its  me," she  confirmed.   "Don't  worry.   I'm not  going
          anywhere.  In  fact, I won't trip at all tonight  just to be with
          you on  yours.   I'll make  sure nothing  happens.   How was  the
          music?"  There was a knock at the  door.  "Oh that must be Rick."
          She jumped to her feet and unlocked the front door.
               "Phil, I want you to meet my boyfriend, Rick.  He's a senior
          at West.  Rick, this is Phil.  He's stoned," she announced with a
          tiny giggle.
               "Hi Phil.  How's the trip," Rick said with a friendly laugh.
               "Wow!" is all I managed to say.  They both laughed.
               "That seems to be a common word with heads," Rick confessed,
          lighting a  cigarette.   "You'll find yourself  saying it  a lot.
          Don't rush anything tonight, Phil.  Don't try  and fight the trip
          in any way.  Just flow with it."
               I plunged my arms down into two cavernous black holes, which
          I suddenly realized were the sleeves of my  coat.  The hiss of my
          zipper sounded  like the sky ripping.   We pushed into  the chill
          night.  The cold air snapped  like a flapping flag in brisk  wind
          and  I sucked its  freshness into my  lungs.  I  touched the cold
          metal of the car.
               "Hi," the  car said, its  hood springing  up-and-down as  it
          annunciated.  "Wanna' go to Mike's place?"
               "Yeah, Mike's place," I agreed and got in.
               The house was filling up with teenagers.  LSD was exchanging
          hands, needles were being brandished.  Music  was thundering from
          large speakers in the corners of the room.  Marijuana and hashish
          smoke mingled  with incense.   Strobe  lights blinked  ominously,
          Bodies  lay  on the  floor  or  twisted  on couches  and  chairs.
          Mobiles hung from the ceiling.  Beds infolded naked bodies.
               "Mike this  is the kid  from Benson High  I told  you about.
          His name is Phil and this is his first trip!"
               Good going Phil," Mike coached.   "My mom is always  gone on
          the weekends  so we  have the  whole place  to ourselves.   We've
          never been busted here so enjoy."
               "Open your mouth," Rick said touching Mike on the  shoulder.
          "I've got something for you.  He dropped a tab of LSD into Mike's
          open mouth.
               Somewhere the music was playing, now, but softer.
               I  heard conversations  all  around  me as  I  sat.   Little
          voices, big voices, squeaky, soft.  Mice  talking?  The radio had
          a mouth.   What happened to  the roof?   It began raining  stars;
          tiny diamonds sprinkling down like  glistening snow.  A fish swam
          by.   Her florescent  scales sparkled as  fins blinked off-and-on
          like blue florescent signs.   Her eye looked back at me sparkling
          like a emerald.  "Care for a swim?"  It had Sharon's voice.  "Let
          me  show you what  water feels like when  you're stoned," I heard
          the fish say speaking  with Sharon's voice.  She held  out a hand
          and I let her lead me to the kitchen.  Water was turned on and my
          hands held under  the glistening stream of liquid  silver flowing
          from the spout.  "It feels like oil doesn't it?"
               Sharon was  perched on  the arm of  the over  stuffed chair.
          "How do you feel," she asked.
               "Fine," I sighed.
               "Are you okay?"
               "I'm  doing   just  great,"  I   replied  with  a   note  of
          nonchalance.
               "Here,"  Sharon said,  "try   a hamburger.   A  pickle burst
          greenly into metallic color.  "How can green taste like  that?" I
          wondered.  "Back In The U.S.S.R" drifted from a radio.  Marijuana
          smoke hovered in the air.  I began to awake from my dream.
               "What did you do tonight?" Mom questioned.  "you look kinda'
          pail."
               "Oh,  nothing  much,"  I  said  deprecatingly.    "Is  there
          anything to eat?  I'm starved."
               "Didn't you get anything to eat when you were out?" she said
          suspiciously while prying open a container.
               "Oh, I had a little hamburger I guess but nothing much."
               "You look pail," she said again.    "Do you feel okay?"
               "I  feel great," I said  crunching on a  potato chip.  "Just
          fine!"
               The next morning I became a psychedelic evangelist.  Rolling
          a  sheet of  paper into my  typewriter, I  began to write  to the
          Reader's Digest to tell them in great detail of  my experience on
          LSD  and recommended  everyone do  it for  themselves soon.   How
          could something  so exciting, so thrilling, so far out  be wrong?
          Six months later I would dramatically discover the answer to that
          question.
               As I wrote  this chapter, and reread it, I was struck by the
          power of  deception and  how easily I  was misled.   There  is an
          unusual verse in the book of Hebrews  that says:  "But exhort one
          another  daily, while  it is called  To day;  lest any of  you be
          hardened through the deceitfulness of sin" (Heb. 3:13).  
               Though   sin  is   deadly  and  destructive,   with  eternal
          ramifications, its most corrupting characteristic is deceit.  The
          word used  by the  inspired writer of  Hebrews for  "hardened" is
          translated (to  render  stubborn).   The  heart  of  a  Believer,
          therefore, is made stubborn by the deceitfulness of sin; not just
          by the act of sin alone.  How could this be true?  The committing
          of sin by a Believer is quickly rendered forgiven upon confession
          of that  sin (I  John  1:9).   The deception  employed by  Satan,
          however, is  not easily defined  and is often  so complex and  so
          cunningly devised that it is not easily discerned.  In short, the
          blood of Christ is applied to sin and when applied by confession,
          it no longer  exists.  The Deceiver, however,  remains active and
          the deceit employed is spiritually evil in nature.
               The word for "deceitfulness" is  apate from which we get our
          word (apathy).   The Greek word means (delusion) and comes from a
          root meaning (to cheat).  (apathy), according to the  dictionary,
          means  (indifference  to  the appeal  of  feelings  or interest).
          (delusion) is defined  as (a misleading of the  mind).  Certainly
          Satan uses such  misleading of  thoughts to  trick, or  otherwise
          fool, a Believer into committing sin; even if we know what we are
          doing is wrong (I.E., sin).   It is the "delusion" which  creates
          an attitude of apathy -  spiritual indifference - which hardens a
          Believer's heart toward God.
               In my situation, I had faced a life change in reentering the
          public school system.  I had only  been blind four years but upon
          enrolling  in the  public school, I  felt isolated and  alone.  I
          wanted friends; I wanted escape from the pressure of my blindness
          and school; I  wanted freedom.   The  devil used this  to spin  a
          silky psychedelic  web which  generated  apathy toward  spiritual
          things.  In  other words, I  was so cunningly deceived,  I simply
          didn't care what  happened.  Satan, however, never  informs us of
          the consequences of our actions.   He makes what he has to  offer
          look exciting,  fun, and thrilling.   It is, of course,  at first
          but the price  is too high.   Fortunately, Jesus Christ paid  the
          price in our behalf when He gave His life upon the cross.  Though
          we are instantly delivered from the price and penalty of sin, the
          power of sin's deception still can fool even the best.
               The way  of avoiding such  deception, and temptation,  is to
          remove as much of the worldly influence as possible.  In  my day,
          Christian schools  were few and  home schooling had not  yet been
          introduced to Christian society.  Our church, school, and friends
          produce a protective  perimeter which affords safety,  and though
          not fail  safe, it  can give,  coupled with  the Word  of God,  a
          degree  of  protection  otherwise not  available.    pick friends
          carefully and  know the Word  of God.   Avoid  temptation at  all
          costs.


                            End Of chapter 1

                             LIQUID PURPLE

                                   BY

                              PHIL SCOVELL




                          Copyright 1991-2004

                            By Phil Scovell

                          All Rights Reserved



          Reproduction of the book  entitled "Liquid Purple" is granted  by
          the copyright holder, Phil Scovell,  if such reproduction is done
          in the  spirit in which it  was given.  It may  not be reproduced
          and sold  for financial gain  without written  permission of  the
          copyright  holder: Phil  Scovell.    Electronic  formats  may  be
          distributed freely  but this  copyright notice  must remain  with
          each  copy and  the  text cannot  be  altered in  any  way.   For
          convenience, this copyright notification may be placed at the end
          of the document  if reproduced electronically.   If chapters  and
          sections  of the  book entitled  "Liquid Purple" is  separated in
          file  form   for  convenience  of  electronic   reproduction  and
          distribution,  this copyright notice must appear somewhere within
          each individual file.


          CONTACT INFORMATION

          Phil Scovell
          840 South Sheridan Boulevard
          Denver, Colorado  80226-8017
          Email:  phil@redwhiteandblue.org
          Web:  WWW.RedWhiteAndBlue.ORG
Go To HOME: The Zenith Tube Website: RedWhiteAndBlue.org