Post by tripp von halle on Sept 1, 2012 1:29:32 GMT -5
how high can you fly?
you’ll never, never…
reach the sky.
Tripp had a passion for the out door camp scene. It occurred as an escape from the metropolis in which he was accustomed to spending most of his days. Their was a distinct pungent aroma of the sodden earth, and the lofty evergreen trees’. As well as a sense of serenity within the overgrown brush that enclosed their large circle of friends. There was no way the Fuzz would go out of their way to search for hippies and trippers deep in the woodland in which they were within. It was as if they had no idea that they were setting up a temporary commune of entertainment, and fulfillment of hippie values. It was a ritual for Tripp, to go along with a majority of folks’ out into the vastly stretching woods’ every other weekend. They’d spend from one day…up to two sometimes; partying, conversing about their philosophical view points, and just plain having fun. Tripp knew that each time he came, he’d leave with a new narrative of the time he spent out in the forest.
With each wild period out in the forestry, he brought his guitar and sang. Some would take out their guitars and strummed along, while others either hummed along or sang. Tripp was proud when it came to his singing. He had strong, bright vocals that seemed rare to hear to most ears. Oh, how he liked to sing loud, and play loud. Sometimes, he could retrace the sound of his vocals echoing throughout the timberland. Yet, he thought most people found satisfaction to listening to it. As the night grew dark, he knew some people began to trip on a assortment of drugs. He didn’t mind he just sang away.
“Headin’ down south, to the land of the pines…finding my way to north carolin’. Prayin’ to God I see headlights.†He seemed to sing above the voice of others. He strummed against the metal chords of the acoustic, in a rhythmic pattern that followed his own folk rock song. His eyes searched solemnly around the bustling campfire while he sang, he could see a generally unique amount of people. Some were talking, some were dancing, and others were either drunk or tripped out of their minds. Then there were those that were sitting along side him playing and singing. He didn’t mind, he was more content than most.
Tripp ended the song with holding one last long note, and strumming in a upbeat tempo. Stopping abruptly, those who were listening turned to him and nodded. It was the beginning of the night, and he needed to smoke grass to put his mind at ease. Those around him passed him a small pipe with the remaining of charred green, he pressed the pipe against his lips and lit the bowl. Allowing the smoke enter his lungs, then passing it to his buddy next to him. It was going to be a good night, he could feel it.
He began venturing around the fire, setting his guitar upon a small table with a collection of different types of hard alcohol. It seemed to him, those who were drunk were making a separate group than those who were tripping. However, some were scattered about. He went around saying his “hellosâ€, adding little comments in everybody’s conversation every once in awhile. He tried to be apart the entire party, but some of it was just too large for that. Tripp scoured the area, finding a few unfamiliar faces. As well as one that was familiar, one that he hadn’t seen around too much. He was quite surprised he found Jules here of all places, though inviting him, he didn’t expect him to come.
He made his way towards Jules with a sunny smile coasted over his warm lips. Standing next to him as he watched her take a couple pills. “Righteous, Jules. Poppin’ pills, never know until you start feelin’ it. Maybe it’ll be a upper or downer...maybe LSD. Anyways, glad you came.†He chuckled after ending his sentence. He looked around briefly before beginning another sentence, pushing his fingers through his dark locks.
