Acid for the Children: A Memoir

by Flea

The greatest fault of humankind belongs to those who think their view of what’s real is the only truth.

“That man is richest whose pleasures are the cheapest,” said Thoreau,

George Clinton told me that Woodstock was the end of the hippie truth, after that, it was all for sale. He also said the song that summed up the sixties best was the Beatles’ “She’s Leaving Home.”

and breaking through to the other side of self-imposed limits that constricted adventurous spirit. While reading, all my confusion and hurt dissolved, and when I reentered reality, I was a little bit better of a person, a little bit more capable of learning from my missteps.

Nothing special about me, we’ve all got our own sacred place, but to access it, your mission must be pure and your aim true. Just a little thought of trying to use it for a power tool, a career move, and the process becomes corrupted. You gotta go for the joy, the pain, the adventure, the search, the journey to love. I learned that from Kurt Vonnegut. You have to be willing to dedicate your life to that journey, not as a means to an end, but just as an opportunity to trip the fuck out. Ya gotta suspend all self-judgment, and embrace all. The reward is the journey itself.

There were Crash-penned lyrics printed in the obituary, though, and I totally identified with them; an excerpt from the song “Manimal.” I came into this world like a puzzled panther Waiting to be caged But something stood in the way I was never quite tamed

pabulum

I had to rely on my innermost core of strength and focus to come out of this psychedelic jungle unscathed. This was serious business. I stayed focused on the light within me. In the process, I experienced a sad realization that the meth had dimmed my magic light. But I kept faith that my little glow would pull me through, and as always, it did.

the Germs album (GI).

“What We Do Is Secret” flew into my earhole, everything else completely disappeared, casting a magic spell, the music having its way, reverberating through all my dimensions.

It became clear that virtuosity and musical sophistication were no longer essential to me and could even be an impediment to the power of expression! This realization did not diminish my love for the most complex music, but made my world a less limited place, blowing to smithereens the walls of judgment that obscured my view of art. I was a freed man. All that mattered was the integrity of motivation, the ability to express your own world, your own emotion, with whatever vehicle was available to you.

Mikhail Bulgakov

For years and years, I made the mistake of trying to run away, before I learned to surrender, accept my pain as a blessing, trust in the love, and let it change me.