🔵 By Timothy Freegard. Photo by lauragrafie.
My first memorable acid trip:
It was 1978, I had just turned 18. I was in San Diego, California, in the Navy, stationed on Coronado Island, called North Island by people in the military. There is no more beautiful place anywhere in the contiguous United States. Paradise!
I’d been offered lots of different drugs. Most while stationed in southern California. I smoked Thai stick laced with phencyclidine (PCP) on base in my barracks. Boy! I would not ever do that again! Smoking, ingesting PCP is not for me.
I ate blue ringer and liberty cap mushrooms. Mushrooms come on like a milder form of LSD. I went to rock concerts.
I swam out beyond the breakers in the southern ocean every day. Alone, with the sharks, away from the children playing in the breakers and in the foaming surf.
I am in love with the ocean and the Sun. Nothing else matters, everything else is clutter and annoying. Women, I am in lust with all of ‚em. I desired every single one. It was impossible to satisfy my libido. I would learn later about myself that it would never be possible. Women, water, Sun, and music. Those made life worth living. That WAS my philosophy. A simpleton, I did not realize this about myself. Know thyself. -Socrates. I’m working on it.
This essay is about three separate LSD experiences. The first while stationed in southern California. I had joined the Navy two months after I turned 17. March 15tth 1977, according to my DD214 „military certificate of discharge.
It was an upper class home in Delmar, California. Delmar is an enclave of millionaires; movers and shakers. It’s a southern California oceanside city just north of San Diego. I cannot recall who invited me to the party. A now faceless low ranking sailor. Someone like me. I didn’t know it was an LSD party ‚til I got there and discovered, everyone was high on LSD.
It was in a luxurious Delmar, California home. Swimming pool, movie stars. Someone sold me one hit of orange sunshine. I dropped the acid without hesitation. As it came on I felt power swell up inside. My voice dropped several keys to a voice I’d never heard from me. Low, strong, powerful. It frightened me. This new voice was not me. Another version of me had taken over and whatever this was it was controlling others not just me.
I feared whatever it was but I was simultaneously exhilarated. This new me was powerful. I commanded everyone’s attention their respect.
A dormant power was coming from a part of me heretofore I hadn’t realized existed. It was not the LSD. LSD removes a brain’s filters. That is what LSD does. LSD removes the filtration of extraneous incoming information, or what the mind ASSUMES is extraneous information.
In this experience LSD had done something else, it had awakened and empowered something. I exuded a commanding presence. Oh, and speaking of command. To my dismay, the home I was droping acid in belonged to the commander of North Island Naval Air Station. The base where I was stationed. He and his wife were not there, they were out of town, their children were throwing this LSD party. How on earth did I wind up here? Leaping lizards batman! Pun intended. Most people don’t get my pun. Too bad. Try to figure it out. It will terrify you if you can.
A first I felt this tremendous but foreign power swelling up inside me and then I began noticing that my „presence! commanded everyone’s attention. I didn’t know how to act. I had never experienced this kind of power. I was divided. One side of me loved my ruthless power. The other side was warning, „be careful!“ I am dangerous and ruthless and lethal and maybe, self destructive. „Be careful.“ I can barely control it. How should I act? I must ACT so I don’t frighten them; so they don’t realize how powerful I am. I have to pretend to be nice, I have to pretend to like people, I have to pretend that I’m no threat to them. Those thoughts run through my reptilian mind. I can’t let them know what I am.
I didn’t need to speak. People acknowledged I was the alpha. My power was acknowledged with unspoken obvious admiration and respect. Any male who challenged me I verbally spared with and swiftly swatted aside. I knew I would not have normally been able to do that, what I was now doing. I was one of the youngest at the party, barely 18! I was powerful, excited and scared. Another male’s age or physical size did not matter to me. I crushed any male who challenged me. Jesus Christ this is intense. I wonder to myself if I’ll still have this power when the LSD wears off. I hope so.
I had never been, „the man“ and now I was, taking on all strangers. I saw through their silly bluffs and manufactured facades. That is what most males are, bluff and facade, total bullshit. I could see that, and they knew I could see it, those that didn’t know, I could see through their act and pushed it, were embarrassed into silence.
Briefly I watched the news that was tuned in, on their living room television set and I noticed that the news anchors were reptiles and while they were saying one obvious thing to the human audience, I watched and in awe I realized that those news anchors were communicating another thing to the reptilian viewing audience, and I thought, wow! This is strange. They were speaking to the human viewers and simultaneously they were saying something quite different to the reptile viewers, and I could see and understand them. LSD removes the brain’s filters, I could see that the news is a communication hub for the hive mind reptilians that humans are not aware of. It was a terrifying day that I have not forgotten. Mind you I had never heard the theory of the existence of shape shifting reptilians at that point in my life. I hadn’t read David Icke’s The Biggest Secret. I was a dumb 18 year old kid. I hadn’t heard of anything like that. David/Icke’s, „The Biggest Secret“ hadn’t even been written in 1977.
My second memorable LSD trip
A few years later, in 1980 I dropped LSD and took my beautiful girlfriend, Barbara Wright, to a Who concert in the Seattle Coliseum. I was 20, Barabara was sweet 16. It was an assigned seating venue. We were about 30 rows back and to the left of center stage. We were close to the band, about 50 feet away. Roger Daltry jogged in place while he sang, he jogged the entire time. What an energy level.
The Who was known for putting on the loudest rock concerts in the world. The Who are in the top 10 of my all time favorite rock bands. Back then the Who was in the top 3 of my favorite bands. The higher their energy the higher I rated the band. AC/DC was number 1. „Born to be Wild“ by Steppenwolf was my favorite song for twenty years.
Caveat: I am extremely affected by music, much more so than most. I do things to music. I move to music, drive to music, walk in rhythm to music, rob banks to music. I dance to music but not on a dance floor. I don’t do that. Dancing like that is for fools. I use music as an enhancement to life, a tool to raise my power level. To increase my energy, enhance my focus, and to hypnotize myself. I use music and the music uses me. I know and I don’t care. Everything has its price. Right? All my favorite songs have that in common, they are hypnotic and they raise my power levels. The U.S. army blasted AC/DC as they invaded Iraq. Alexander the Great used drums. Music excites us, raises our kundalini, our Ka. Everyone was seated when the Who launched into one of their most powerful ballads, „Won’t get fooled again.“ I stood and then stood on my chair. The power coursing through me was electric, wonderful.
I basked in it like a Snake in the Sun. Once again just like at the base commander’s home in Delmar, California, a feeling of Raw Visceral animal magnetism. I am in supreme command, animalistic knowledge washes over and through me. I am strong again. This power is inhuman. It’s something almost uncontrollable. I recall thinking, „This is not normal.“ Humans do not experience this. They see colors and all that nonsense, and the other silly shit they talk about experiencing. I intuit that most humans are not capable of experiencing what I am. This strange kind and degree of strength. It’s not physical it’s mental. This is beyond my understanding.
Everyone is beneath me, inferior and I know it. I’m not delusional, I’m not experiencing delusions of grandeur. This is not my imagination. This power I’m experiencing is real. I’m overflowing with it. I am positively dangerous, I might be the most dangerous person in the arena. I know I am different and knowing that frightens me. I feel like I’m something more than human. LSD has awakened something that’s always been there. My Ka, kundalini? I do not know what it is. Is my kundalini coiled and flexing? I don’t know. I am glimpsing a power that normally lies dormant. It has always been there. I realise I am capable of taking control of anyone, or any group should I want or need to. Like in Delmar. I walked into a group of people and took over complete command and control of the conversation of a gaggle of strangers. They didn’t mind, they liked me, they acquiesced to my strength.
I now recognize when I see it, this strength in other men. They tend to use it too much, consequently they age quickly as it consumes them. They die young, like Alexander the Great. I use mine sparingly, I age well. That’s my hunch, maybe I’m wrong, but I highly doubt I am.
I slow my heartbeat down to 56BPM when I sleep I don’t engage my reptilian power unless I’m riled up and threatened. I’m almost 65, my body feels like it did when I was 40, no different. I bench pressed 365lbs when I was 45, I deadlifted 520lbs. I haven’t worked out in 19 years, I just started lifting weights again. I’m not as strong as I was when I was 40, but I feel my strength coming back…at 65.
But that’s not my point. These are peripheral points that garner my attention, like bee stings.
At the Who concert I learn something else. That my power is telepathic, telepathic may not be the right word for it.
Chairs had been set up by laborers for the Who concert on the floor of the Seattle sports coliseum. It was a concert venue with assigned seating. Barbara and I were slightly left of center stage about fifty feet from the band. We were close. When I stood on my chair, when I did that everyone else in the coliseum was sitting in their metal folding chairs. I surveyed the coliseum, I knew that. The music doesn’t seem to affect others as it does me. Some dudes don’t even like music. Losers.
This was the event in my life when I realized their is something special about me. I possess something, or maybe I’ve got it wrong, maybe something possesses me.
I had very quickly stood on my chair. Barbara followed and stood on hers, it was if I had commanded her to do so. Barbara is a little bit, not too much just a little bit shy. What I mean is that she isn’t an exhibitionist, she wasn’t that way. She had somehow sensed my commanding „presence.“ This new power made her do it, she couldn’t keep from doing it. For about half a second maybe one full second it was just me and Barbara standing on our folding metal chairs, no one else in the Seattle’s indoor basketball arena was standing on theirs, the place isn’t that big, in the flashing strobes it was easy to scan the entire areana.
Then, though those concert goers in front of Barbara and myself did not know could not have known that I had stood on my chair, the music was 120 decibels, they were enrapt staring at the band onstage, they got up and stood on their chairs. They did that not knowing I was behind them standing on my chair.
A few seconds later everyone within a six foot radius of me was standing on their chairs, I was at the epicenter of about twelve people standing on flimsy metal folding chairs. Have you ever tried to stand on a flimsy folding metal chair? It’s dangerous, so I was surprised to see anyone else doing it. I had exceptional balance, I could ride a unicycle, I held the neighborhood and high school record for a wheelie distance on my ten speed bike as a kid. I raced dirt bikes. For me it was nothing, but I wouldn’t recommend everyone within a 6 foot radius of me to try to attempt it. It’s dangerous, place your weight wrong and the chair will fold, with your legs caught between the framework as you fall. I scanned the area waiting for anyone else to stand in their chairs. No one did, just us twelve. Me at the center.
I knew I had somehow telepathically influenced everyone around me to stand on their chairs. But I hadn’t intended them to. I was moved to stand on my chair, is all. I didn’t like that Barbara stood on hers, I didn’t want her getting hurt. She seemed confident so I let her be, she was just following my lead, I couldn’t fault her for that.
What power moved those twelve people to stand on their chairs? I had never said a word to any of them, I had no eye contact with any of them. I didn’t‘ know any of them. When the concert ended Barbara and I left without having introduced ourselves to anyone.
Some sort of unspoken power had caused everyone near me to mimick my behavior. As we walked to my van I asked Barbara, „Did you see that? Everyone surrounding us stood on their chairs after I did.“ She looked at me her expression changed to awe as she recalled it and whispered, „Yeah, how did you do that?“ I said, „I don’t know. I just stood on my chair and everyone surrounding us stood on theirs. That was weird.“
My third LSD trip:
I thought I was smart. I felt like an outcast, I still do, different somehow, I didn’t feel like I fit in. I still feel that way. I was angry at the world. My life sucked, and that’s now I felt. I was turning to criminality. I didn’t like criminals, I didn’t like crime and so I didn’t like me. I still feel that way too. I had been kicked out of the Navy for bringing marijuana onto the base.
The VS31 squadron commander accused me of selling drugs on base. I wasn’t. There was no evidence because I wasn’t selling drugs on base, or anywhere else. The truth was, I met a blue eyed blonde haired registered nurse. Her name was June. June had two horses, and she liked to smoke pot. She lived in Spring Valley 15 miles east of San Diego.
It was payday, a Friday night. Myself and other sailors were coming back from an excursion to San Diego specifically to buy pot. It was going to be a surprise for June. The pot I bought, two ounces for $20.00, was for her. I didn’t like pot, I still don’t, except for every 50th blue moon when I might smoke it to heighten my senses during sex. Maybe take one puff mo more than two. I don’t like its other effects on me, paranoia, and for that reason I stay away from pot.
In 1997 I grew pot commercially in Happy Valley, Clackamas County, 10 miles east of Portland, Oregon. That’s another story. I’m very good at growing weed, bypassing the power meter and stealing the electricity. For two years I had studied under a man. We were imprisoned together in McNeil Island from 1990 to 1992.
Raymond Hendrickson made 11 million growing pot. Ray, among other assets had accumulated 14 homes and 60 vehicles. He parked at least 3 vehicles at each of his homes and rotated them so the homes appeared occupied.
The city of Kent, Washington State, confiscated lots of gold and silver bars, along with 1,800 pounds of unmanicured marijuana from Ray. Ray had saved the front page of the Kent newspaper. It documented his arrest and the seizure of all his assets. I read it. What I say is true.
In prison I taught Ray to play chess and three months later I couldn’t beat him, and I’m pretty good. I beat a chess grandmaster one time, but only that one time. By using both knights. Ray taught me how to grow marijuana indoors and play golf. He and Fred Couples grew up together in West Seattle. Yes, that same Fred Couples that won the Masters in Georgia. Ray and I made it to McNeil Island’s farm where there is a 9 hole golf course for the inmates. That’s when Ray taught me to play golf. When they were juniors in high school Ray used to beat Fred Couples at golf. Ray was pretty good at golf too.
McNeil Island opened in 1864 and is the sister prison to Alcatraz located in San Francisco Bay. The feds shut McNeil Island down in 1978. The State of Washington then leased McNeil Island from the feds for a $1.00 a year.
Yup, I did time in the same prison as All Capone and machine gun Kelly. When I got there in 1982, it was my very first prison experience. The guards took us on a tour so we’d know our way around and showed us the cells where they were housed. I’ve done time in 7 United States prisons, on both coasts of the United States, and one in the middle, Tucson, Arizona.
The marine guarding the entrance to North Island naval air station stopped our van. Everyone but me had been smoking pot. The van was filled with pot smoke. From the rear of the customized van where I was sitting on the edge of the bed I saw smoke waft in a stream out of the driver’s window and surround the mariner’s head like a rope. I looked out the windshield to the right. There was a loading dock. Several men and women were standing there. A cute yellow lab was with them full of energy wagging its tail. They were looking our way.
The marine pointed at them and said, „drive over there. You’re vehicle and persons are going to be searched. Busted!
Commander Christiansen stripped me of my rank at the captain’s mast. I was an airman. Took my avionics electronics submarine warfare A school. Took my rate, antisubmarine warfare technician. He fined me half months pay for two months. He restricted me to the restricted man’s barracks for 2 months. I was living off base. Four of us sailors were renting a nice home in Chula Vista.
It was then that I turned against the world. First the Catholic Church separated me from my brother and sister and now this. Fuck society, fuck people, especially people in positions of power, fuck every single one of you! And so I began fucking them, hard!
I went from sailor to avenging criminal.
I had purchased a 1962 corvette while at my former duty station in Millington, Tennessee where I was taught basic electricity and electronics. Stuff I already knew from watching my father build televisions in his workshop located on the lower floor of our home, for our living room, and lots of other electronic stuff we used around the house.
I would eventually lose my corvette because I could no longer make the bank payments. When I test drove it near Memphis Tennessee, I took it to 150MPH on highway 55. The prior owner had dropped in a bad ass road racing engine. I got the classic car to 70MPH in first gear. The 350C.I. engine could wind to 11,500RPM and I could safely hold it there. With a 3:36 ratio differential and that RPM range my corvette was capable of speeds over 170MPH. I loved it. I lost it, and I was mad about it. Really, really mad. No, really!
So, my first criminal exploit would be ripping off all the really cool training and stereo equipment from the second floor of VS31 headquarters and pilot training offices and rooms, located on North Island Naval Air Station.
The building was patrolled on the inside by officers, not by enlisted men, 24/7/365. I would have to climb up the wooden slats of a ladder that accessed the two story world war 2 building’s flat roof, hang a rope from the toilet closet’s vent pipe, shimmy down the rope, open the second story window I had unlatched earlier that day, climb in and quietly empty the rooms by lowering everything to the ground using electrical extension cords.
As the duty officer patrolled in the building’s hallways I was already inside in its rooms. I tied the high end stereos, amplifiers, reel to reel tape recorders and other equipment to electrical extension cords and lowered them out the window and down to the ground. After a great big pile of stuff was laying on the ground I climbed up the rope back to the roof. I coiled the rope up and left it on the rooftop. I took the extension cords with me.
No one ever bothered to look on the roof, had they they would have realized it wasn’t the watch officers that committed the crime. They all just jumped to the conclusion that it had to have been an bad officer, a crooked pilot. What a bunch of idiots. Not the sleuths that Hollywood wants you to believe they are, not by any measure.
Nuclear warheads are secreted on North Island Naval Air Station. Those storage bunkers are less than 100 yards from the building I burglarized. I had committed the crime over the weekend, when only the building’s watch officers had access to the building. Monday morning came, all officers reported for training.
It was like someone had thrown a rock and hit the hive. NCIS, the FBI, Shore Patrol, the Coronada Island police, even the San Diego police surrounded the building. They forced all of VS31’s officers to submit to lie detector tests. Meanwhile, I’m floating on air, I’m gloating outside VS31’s building. Having been demoted to boatswain’s mate I am busy raking leaves and painting bannisters while watching all the brass and assholes enter and egress their wounded hive. Nuclear weapons are nearby, those at the top wanted to know who did it. No expense would be spared to find the perpetrator. Could nuclear weapons be stolen next?
I gave Commander Christianson a black eye. That was my objective. I was also looking forward to listening to music on my new high end stereo equipment purchased overseas. Equipment one couldn’t buy in the United States. There was that too. A kid barely 18 did it! Me Asshole! Fuck you asshole! They forced all VS31’s officers to take lie detector tests.
I had gotten got away with it. They didn’t find out I had committed the crime until long after I was discharged from the Navy and long gone from Coronado Island. I was in Seattle when they found out.
My mistake. There was one problem. Burt Tyrone! Burt Tyrone was one of the four sailors who rented the house overlooking the ocean, in Chula vista. Burt Tyrone was a misfit, a loser. He wasn’t military material. I was. I could have been a Navy Seal. Anyone with a brain could see that I had guts, brains, very little fear, that I enjoyed taking risks and taking on people and things larger and more powerful than me. I like it most when odds are against me.
Christianson had accused me of something I wasn’t guilty of and stripped me of everything. I’m not gonna put my life in the hands of stupidity. Commander Christianson was stupid and he was mean. I don’t like stupid and mean people. Do you? My mother Cecile Freegard was stupid and mean. She’s why I ran off to the Navy in the first place. Mr. Freegard was brilliant why would he marry a woman with an 8th grade education? She wasn’t even pretty. She looked liked the witch that rode off on the bycycle with Dorothy’s dog Toto in the basket on the back, in the move „The Wizard of Oz.“ That’s exactly what Ms. Freegard looked liked. I never liked her. Most people didn’t.
Eight months went by. I was back in my hometown, Renton, Washington. The Navy discharged me. I had 110 unadjudicated reports when discharged. I didn’t iron my shirts, cut my hair, or show up for duty.
I was swimming in the Ocean off Coronado Island every day. I made a bumper sticker, it was on my car, it read, „Go Fly away Navy.“ All the report chits were minor. Years later I had my discharge upgraded to Honorable. I’ve got military benefits.
Burt Tyrone was still in the Navy and doing poorly. I had asked him, „Hey I’m going to burglarize the squadron headquarters and steal all that stereo equipment they use for officer training would you like to go with me?“ He said, „Yeah.“ As I was tying knots every 18″ in the rope I would use to repel from the roof at our rented house in Chula Vista, I said to Burt, „We’re going tonight.“ He responded, „I changed me mind.“ I said, „I didn’t.“
Burt went to the FBI and said, „If the Navy agrees to give me an honorable discharge I’ll tell you who burglarized the base.“ They agreed to grant Tyrone’s request, so he ratted me out.
I’d been out of the Navy several months when on a Saturday morning an old station wagon drove up to the house where I was staying. Two plainclothes FBI agents came to the door. Tonya opened it. They said, „We are special agents with the FBI. Is Tim Freegard here?“ She said, „I’ll check.“ I had headphones on. I was listening to my stereo equipment when Tonya opened my bedroom door and whispered, „The FBI’s here what should I tell them?“ I said, „Tell them I’m not here.“ I heard her say, „He’s not here,“ and her five year old chimed, „Yes he is mommy he’s in the bedroom.“ Busted.
Tyrone also fucked the registered nurse I was dating. Hopefully the little scumbag is dead by now. Asshole!
Anyway. I had been out of the Navy a few years. It was on a Sunday, May 18th 1980, around 12:15AM. Yep, the same day that Mount St Helens located just 75 miles south by southeast of Seattle, blew the top1/3 of itself away. That happened around 10:00AM. At that point I was already in hospital undergoing surgery.
It was earlier in that morning. I was high on LSD. I had drank a case of beer, 24 of them, 12 ouncers, earlier that previous day’s afternoon. It’s amazing isn’t it how alcohol does not have any deleterious effect in you when you’re high on LSD. Well, anyway, IT IS amazing.
Like I said, I was high on LSD. I had just used a 5/16th hexagon socket attached to a ratchet to remove the fasteners holding one of the 2′ X 8′ foot metal sections that jacketed the exterior of a Tool Rental and Sales business called Super Rents that was about 3 miles south of Seatac airport. Then I removed the fiberglass insulation that was stuffed between the buildings 2″X4″ framing that the removal of the 2′ X 8′ siding exposed.
I kicked the drywall out until I had created a hole large enough for me to squeeze through and get inside the building.
I figured I was pretty smart burglarizing all the Tool Rental business within a 50 mile radius of Seattle. I’d already hit around 20 or so. I figured I was smart because any tool I could possibly need to get inside the safe was right there. New cutting blades, new drill bits, grinders, pry bars, cutting torches, you name it, it was there. The safe didn’t stand a chance. I only had to wear my gloves to work. Everything else I needed was waiting for me. I slipped sideways through the hole I had made. I ran across the floor surveying everything as I ran and yelled to set off any motion or sound sensors, climbed back out the hole I’d made and felt the cool Spring, night air washed my face. I walked halfway up the hillside behind the business, crouched down in the ankle high brush and ivy, and waited for the cops to come, and hoped that they didn’t.
They did!
I’m high as hell on LSD. I didn’t go far enough away from the building. Cop cars coast to the front of the building, lights flashing, no sirens and they all stop. I heard a motor accelerating behind me on the street above then slow down and then stop, right where I was. I heard a car door open and police chatter on a radio.
Trapped!
The cop walked in my direction. I hoped he wouldn’t see the hole in the building. He did. He walked towards it, and me.
As he closed the gap, 10 feet, 8 feet, 6 feet. I believed he knew I was there. Five feet…
I bolted!
In four strides I was near full speed. By that time I was crossing the street.
FLASH……
„I’m in Australia. I’m a kangaroo. A hunter has thrown a bolero and it has wrapped around both legs. I’m falling face first into the middle of the street.
I’m down!
I’m laying on my stomach. I’m not a kangaroo anymore, I’m me. There’s something wrong with my leg. He straddles me and grabs the back of my head and then he tries to slam my face into the pavement. I flex my upper body so that he can’t. Something’s wrong with my leg.
I realize something is wrong I need to look at my leg. I decide to let him smash my face into the pavement one time hoping that will satisfy his lust for violence. It was a mistake. The impact almost knocked me out. I flexed so that he couldn’t do it again. He rolled me over. My foot was sideways and moved in a weird way like a rag doll with no bones.
He had thrown his mag flashlight at my legs and it had broken both bones that connected my foot to my knee. My left tibia and fibula were completely broken in half. It was a compound fracture.
The story ends here.
The point is that I came away believing that I was a kangaroo, in a past life. I was brought down by hunters. It is in my DNA. I therefore now consider that we have not only lived past lives, we’ve lived them as other creatures.
Where else could that vivid thought have come from, and why? I have absolutely no interest in kangaroos. None zilch. At the exact time my leg was snapped in half, at that microsecond I was a kangaroo that was being brought down by a hunter’s bolero. Why?