Acid for the Children: A Memoir

by Flea

As difficult as it was, I’m stoked I had the opportunity to forge my own way.

As dysfunctional, imposing, and wounded as Walter was, he was also my angel.

Pain was something to be grateful for, not to be pursued, but inordinately valuable.

Lost in hoops, I feel a profound joy, just like disappearing into music, the infinite possibilities, the poetry unfolding, the unspoken conversation between the dudes I’m playing with.

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

I realized that music was a force that brought people together and gave them power. People living outside society need a sound to believe in. A sound that cannot be owned or emulated by squares. It inspires the marginalized and the rebels. It gives a soundtrack to their walk that only they understand. It speaks for people who might not otherwise have a voice.

we’ve got to love with all we are, not for some reward down the line, but purely for the sake of being a loving person, and that creativity was the highest part of ourselves to engage.

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

The way I bonded with my friends had always been intense, but with Anthony it was next-level shit—the spirit of adventure, the street hustle, the getting high, the art, the philosophy, the burning desire to make something happen.

I was in the NOW when reading, playing basketball, or playing music though.

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.

Fuck, I’m so lucky I didn’t die doing that stupid shit. But it hurt me bad. For clarity’s sake, I’ve never been a drug addict. A wildly out of control and misguided experimenter, yes. I thought there was something to find there, but those drugs play tricks on your brain, toying with your chemicals, your serotonin, dopamine and shit, making you think something meaningful is happening. It’s all bullshit. There is no romance there, there is nothing. Experiments that yielded sadness, neurosis, and physical damage. It takes from you and gives you nothing. Zero.

Because your childhood beat you around and left you in pain doesn’t mean that you’ll continue the cycle. Let your hurt be the source of the greatest compassion, the deepest love and understanding. You can do anything. Walk through it, don’t numb or hide. It’s been twenty-eight years since I stopped drugs and dedicated myself to a spiritual path, but those hard drugs I did, the heroin, cocaine, and meth, they hurt me bad, it took a long time to really recover from ’em. I hope for you that you don’t waste your energy there. Even the weed.