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.

My earliest memories are rooted in an underlying sense that something’s wrong with me, that everyone else is clued into a group consciousness from which I’m excluded. Like something in me is broken. As time passes I become more comfortable with this strange sense of being apart, but it never leaves, and on occasion, I go through phases of intense and debilitating anxiety. Gnarly fucking panic attacks. Perhaps it is a form of self-loathing, that I’m often unable to find comfort in community. Am I the only one who’s fucked up like this? Can I get a witness?

If I was ever gonna turn to religion, it woulda been Christmas that dun it.

Turn and face the strange. —David Bowie

There are things in life that you remember with different senses, some by image, some by sound or talk, some by physical sensation. Some memories are so transformative, so laden with guidance, so blissful and/or violent, it feels like God speaking directly.

I figured parents come and go, families are weird and undependable, but a true friend is a rare and beautiful thing.

For the first time it dawned on me, Lesson # 1: What you do now can fuck you up later for real.

Peace and love, dude. The world is cruel enough as it is. Everything that is not love is cowardice.

I understand how good-hearted kids end up in gangs. We all wanna be loved.

Jane Sager was a beautiful teacher and I am eternally thankful to her. She is the only private music teacher I ever had (except I took a bass lesson once and the guy told me to play “Take It Easy” by the Eagles, and I said fuck off).

If Jane Sager had been a man she’d be acclaimed as a great trumpeter, but sexism is a bitch, and she lived in that little apartment on Selma teaching the likes of me………

I often think about what a better player I’d have been if I was diligent. But then I wouldn’t be the animal I am.

It’s a special kind of pain when a friend betrays you, but never actually a surprise. If you’re paying attention, they let you know long before they do it.

The universe gives us the ones we need. And the ones we deserve.

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.

How fervently I tried to regain her love! How many bad poems I wrote and arguments I made on my behalf! How insecure and jealous I was if she dated someone else, even after I’d callously trampled on her heart! How vicious the self-flagellations on the frayed netting of my nervous system……Please come back to me so I can escape this searing, sleepless, and foodless pain. So I can escape this obsessive need for your love. So I can escape myself. Like a little orphan baby who cries out to be held, only to cry again when they are picked up, because they can’t handle the closeness.

If someone truly expressed love and devotion to me, I assumed they must be defective. That’s how fucked up my sense of self-worth was. A common and pathetic emotional/spiritual issue for sure, but one that has hurt me and others in my life. I still struggle to rise above it.

I treasured that job cleaning up dog shit; there was a lot of love there. Enlightenment never comes where you expect it.

Oh, the comedown.…one always has to pay the piper one way or another to get back in to the real world.