The Happyland Brigade: Rave Diaries

By Sean B. Sweeney

Based on the diary of a 19-year-old college dropout who becomes immersed in the freewheeling rave scene of north Texas during the late 2000s. Known only as "Ronnie Boy" after requesting anonymity, the author details an unhinged lifestyle of clubs, love, and drugs before spiraling out of control following the infamous Electric Daisy Carnival in Dallas.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sean B. Sweeney
• Release date: Sep 18, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310985232

Sean B. Sweeney

B.A. in English (Creative Writing) & RTVF (Film) from University of North TexasCurrently resides in Denton, TX

Book preview

The Happyland Brigade:

Rave Diaries

By

Anonymous

Edited By

Sean B. Sweeney

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2014 Anonymous

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Table of Contents

Editor’s Note

BLUE

YELLOW

GREEN

RED

PURPLE

Epilogue

The Happyland Brigade is based on several diaries of a college dropout, concentrating on entries from 2009-2012.

The names, dates, and certain events have been changed in accordance with the wishes of those involved.

The Editor.

BLUE

(March 13)

I was fired today. I don't know what to say about it except I'm a fuck-up. I've accepted it.

I knew I was going to need something more than bud[1] so I went over to Mom and Dad's and stole a bunch of hydros[2]. I knew Mom had some leftover from her surgery. She hated taking pills especially the dangerous, habit-forming ones. I think she's afraid she'd like them too much. Mom and Dad were both at work still. I had to get in through the garage. Their house has that old person smell, but they don't seem that old to me. I guess I still see them the way I did when I was a kid.

I found the hydros easy—a half bottle of plain white cylinder-shaped 500s in the medicine cabinet. She had more than I thought. First I had to buy some look-alikes (the off brand extra-strength Tylenol worked the best) so I could switch them out. Hydros are fun. They make me feel like I'm wearing a suit of clouds or something. I get all numb and relaxed. But I'm not a pill-head. I'm too lazy most of the time to hustle for pills. Fuck that. I'll steal them when they're around, but that's it.

On my way out, I saw a picture of myself right before I dropped out of college. It's only been about a year, but I don't even know who that person is anymore. Back then, I had direction and focus, shit was falling into place. That's gone, Brittany's gone, and now my job's gone. It was the last anchor I had. I'm going to be lost in the tide with the rest of the fish.

(March 20)

I hung out with Beth last night. I keep going back to her. I'm not sure why. She's a good fuck buddy and everything, but it doesn't seem worth it with all her hang-ups. Beth isn't pretty, but I guess you could say she's cute. She has brown curly hair and big teeth like piano keys. She's skinny and small and delicate-looking. Beth isn't much, but the sex is amazing—way better than anyone in college. I remember the first time we fucked Beth scratched me until I bled. I wasn't expecting that from a librarian.

Beth has issues though. I mean she's fucked up, but in a way that's beyond her control. She told me more stories of how her dad was an alcoholic and used to smack her and her brother around; how her mom loved her older sister more; how her ex-fiancée stole all of her Xanax and left her a week before their wedding. I didn't have anything like that to tell her. I almost wanted to make something up so she wouldn't feel alone. My parents never got divorced and I don't have any complaints about the way they treated me. Nothing traumatic happened in my childhood except white middleclass suburbia.

I remember when I first met Beth at Sherry's going away party. Back then she was just this sweet little Slavic girl that was really quiet and shy then got shit-faced off two Lemon Drops and started yelling, George Bush is a fascist pig! and grinding on everyone. It still makes me laugh. That was a good party.

I don't know what I'm doing with her. She's fun sometimes, but I think Beth has become a safety net for me. I needed someone last night and she's the only one I've got.

(March 21)

Sometimes Texas feels like the last place on earth. I split a qp[3] with Kelsey today. We had to drive out to Northside in her tiny, barely alive Daihatsu. We hotboxed[4] for the journey. When I smoke I get really quiet sometimes and fall deep inside myself. Kelsey talked a lot anyway so she never noticed. She's the type that isn't comfortable in silences.

On the way we passed the grain mills in Saginaw. They stood by the train tracks watching over the town like giant concrete soldiers. Brittany used to tell me about those grain mills—how they were the largest in the whole world and that they could explode at any minute and obliterate the entire town. The grain mills passed by my window like luggage on a conveyor belt and then they were gone.

Northside was a few exits away. Northside is like a city without lights. Forgotten people eat themselves alive. It isn't my neighborhood, it's Kelsey's. She knows the people. She knows the streets. I wouldn't go there if I weren't with her. That place puts me on the edge.

Old Man Jesse was home. Sometimes he was gone and we'd have to waste time at Wal-Mart or Dollar General and keep checking back. He didn't have a phone so it could be hours. His house, like all the other houses in Northside, is a piece of shit. There are dusty aquariums and broken furniture piled under the porch. The mortar's disintegrating between the bricks—black crevices zigzagged up and down the walls. Old Man Jesse looks just as gnarly with his boiled Meth-skin and a few wild strands of hair on his bald head. Only someone like him could live in a place like that.

The bud was dry and fluffy and there were a lot of seeds. Kelsey and me smoke reggie[5] just because it's cheap. I mean it's harsh like a motherfucker, but we can get a lot of it.

As soon as we got out of Northside I broke up enough for a joint on an old birthday card I found in the backseat. Kelsey rolled it while she steered with her knees. I can't roll joints. It's fucking embarrassing. Kelsey gives me shit about it all the time. She says you're only a real stoner if you know how to roll a joint. It pisses me off. I smoke every day now. I'm a stoner. I mean I haven't done it as long as she has, but still. I don't really like joints because I always get resin on my lips. Kelsey rolled the fattest ones though—they were almost blunts. Today she had blueberry-flavored papers. It was extra tasty. We hotboxed again before she dropped me off.

We've been hanging out a lot lately. I don't like her like that. She's just a really cool chick. I don't even think of her as a chick actually. She's more like a dude. Kelsey just used to be my weed dealer and now she's becoming a legit friend. I can't believe we went to high school together, but I didn't know her. She was a senior when I was a freshman. I was way different back then. I'm sure she was too.

(March 27)

I don't feel like doing shit. Dad called me, but I didn't pick up. Then Terry called and I didn't pick up. I don't feel like talking to anyone I'm related to. I haven't told Dad or Mom or Stevie I was fired yet. I don't feel like it. I don't feel like getting another job. I just want to bum around for a while. Rent is due in less than two weeks. I think I have enough to cover it idk. I shouldn't have got that qp. I guess I could sell some if I need to, but I don't want to. I don't really give a fuck about Stevie. He's overcharging me anyways. He won't let me smoke bud inside even if I open my window, turn my fan on, and light incense so fuck him and his rent. I don't feel like writing in this stupid journal anymore. All I feel like doing is smoking bud, taking hydros, and listening to Oracular Spectacular.

(April 4)

Hangovers suck balls. I'm never drinking again.

(April 5)

Besides the hangover part, the other night was the most fun I've had in a long time—since college even. Kelsey's a piece of work. I'm glad I crossed paths with that girl. I've never met anyone like her. We went to this bar called Hailey's out by UNT[6] in Denton. It was '80s night and '80s Night at Hailey's is all about cheap liquor and drunk college girls shaking underneath disco lights to '80s pop music. I was nervous about the idea because I can't dance for shit, but I didn't have anything better to do. I took four hydros to make things more interesting. I've never mixed that stuff with liquor before. I wasn't sure what to expect.

When we left the night was cool and breathless. It had a lot of potential. I drove because Kelsey wanted to drink on the way. She calls it pre-gaming. She threw down Jagerbombs as we hotboxed down I-35. I was nervous about driving with open alcohol containers in the car, but I figured if a cop pulls me over he's going to smell the bud anyway. Might as well. Fuck it.

At night, I-35 is nothing except the Texas Motor Speedway and miles and miles of flat empty black road. It's the kind of ride that can kick open doors to bottomless pits if you're not careful. And on the other side was Denton college town—the place where I sold my soul.

Kelsey had a weird moment on the way there. We were listening to the radio and She Talks to Angels by The Black Crows came on. Kelsey got real sad all of a sudden. She sighed and her head hung a little bit. Her sea-green eyes were fixed in a dead stare. It was disarming. I think that's the right word. I've never seen her sad or serious before. For once she didn't have anything to say. We just sat in silence and listened to that song.

By the time we got to Hailey's, it was packed. Students, locals, drifters were everywhere—all stark drunk laughing mad. I popped two hydros before I went in. I got nervous when the girl at the door checked my ID. I think she could tell it's fake. She liked me though so it wasn't a problem. She had really small breasts—I mean really small like mosquito bites—but it was kind of hot. Chicks with small breasts are always demons in the sack. I think it's a compensation thing. I didn't say anything to her, but I think I smiled.

Kelsey was already sloppy drunk, tripping and ricocheting off everything like a bumper car. She was on a mission. She yelled out, I'm gonna get some booty tonight! I can feel it! right before we walked in. All night she swore up and down that the bartender looked exactly like Mark Wahlberg and kept calling him Marky Mark all night even though he looked nothing like him. Then she kept going behind people, grabbing their asses, and running away. I was laughing so hard my ribs hurt. Crazy Kelsey.

We played pool for a while then I hit the dance floor. By then I was feeling those hydros. Nothing bothered me. I didn't even care I didn't know how to dance. I jumped around doing 360s, spilling my drink, acting like a damn fool. Later I caught up with Kelsey to take a weed break. She could barely make it out to the car she was so drunk. I'm surprised they hadn't cut her off. We Mexican-sweated[7] a joint then went back inside.

I didn't get much play all night. I danced with this cute Mexican chick. I kissed her neck and she shoved my hand down her pants then giggled and took off in the crowd. I was in no shape to be chasing after anyone. She was gone before I could even try. Then the bar started closing and I couldn't find Kelsey anywhere. I went out to the car and there she was all over some random chick. They were making out and Kelsey had her hand down her pants, going to work and everything. I was fucking shocked. I mean I've only seen her dance and flirt with dudes. Kelsey told me later she turns lezbo when she gets drunk. Maybe I'm just naïve. It's cool and everything. I don't judge. I just wasn't expecting that.

We all smoked a joint together then went to Whataburger. The chick split afterwards and we drove home. Good times.

(April 10)

Stevie asked me for rent today. He was getting impatient and being a real dick about it so I paid him. I have $73.45 left in my account. I finally told him I was fired. The first thing he asked me, Was it for drugs? Did they drug test you? What an asshole. I smoke bud and take pills every once in a while. That doesn't make me some crazy drug addict. I'm just a fuck-up.

I need money. I'll figure something out.

(April 13)

Kelsey and I fit together so well. It's a yin and yang situation. We balance each other out.

We were hotboxing in my driveway today. I never worry about my neighbors calling the cops. People here keep their yards neat and trimmed and mind their own business. The smoke hung around us like ghosts. I was coughing so hard I could taste my lungs. She told me about the song She Talks to Angels and how it reminded her of her ex Reggie. He's half-Indian, the American kind, and receives free checks from the government every month. He doesn't do shit, but play his X-Box and smoke dro[8] (which I thought was funny since his name was Reggie). She said he's a mean bastard and a fuck-up, but he's her soul mate. It was the only thing in life she was certain about. That's intense. It reminded me of how I used to feel about Brittany. I shared some of my hydros with Kelsey. I had to. She looked beat. Before I knew it she crushed them up with a credit card and a dollar bill, cut up a line and snorted it. I've never seen anyone do that before.

I told Kelsey about the night I found Brittany making out with that Cole douche bag at Kush Hookah Lounge. I'll never forget that pain. I went home and swallowed an entire bottle of Dramamine to get rid of it. I remember when it kicked in. My legs felt like weights. When I moved, it was like walking in water. I ended up lying in bed watching Kill Bill in the dark. I swear I had to go to the bathroom every ten minutes. About halfway through Volume One, my feet began to itch. I scratched and scratched, but it wouldn't stop. Then it was like my feet were trying to run away from my body. They were kicking and flopping and I couldn't control it. It went on for hours. I was scared. I thought I was OD'ing. I was sure something was going to happen. I waited and waited. I eventually fell asleep and woke up fifteen hours later. I felt shitty, but I made it through the night.

I've never told anyone that story before. I've barely even written about it. I told Kelsey because I think she understands why I did it and wouldn't judge me. Then she cut up a line for me and said, Don't bitch out. It was my first line of anything ever. It burned like a motherfucker, but I liked it.

(April 15)

I'm pretty sure MGMT is my new favorite band. I think they're coming to Dallas in June. I wish I had money for tickets. Not a good time to lose a job. Lame.

(April 20)

4/20 motherfucker!

Kelsey re-upped[9] today. She wanted company and promised to smoke me out so I went with her. The more Kelsey and I go to Northside, the more she talks about it. She's lived all over DFW—mostly the shitty parts around Arlington, North Richland Hills, and Bedford—but the most hardcore stories come from Northside. She was there during her meth days. She called it the most carefree days of her life—she didn't worry