Sex and Drugs and Techno in LA: The Hogan Torah Story — Part 2

I should be dead many times over

(Part 1 is here. After editing this I feel like I’ve ran a few miles. It’s painful to remember all that happened to me all before I was 22. I’m glad I wrote this out when I did because I only have vague recollections of this time. Drugs are bad.)

All the money from my father was given to my mother, which meant unless it was for school, it was all on me. And it was a lot of money. Two commas. As I rack my brain to remember what I did between his death and my next job, I draw a blank which usually means I was getting really high, somewhere or another…. Ah, yes there it is.

I had met this guy who came to L.A. to become famous as many people from the Midwest do. Living in L.A. you see these kids come to this mosh pit of a city with stars in their eyes and they go to some club and meet some other compulsive liars and they are the newest member of the almost famous club. Everybody’s got a script, everybody is waiting for a call back, everybody is a D.J./Hip hop artist, everybody was chillin’ in the club with Paris, Brittney, and Puffy. They make 25k a year being Waiter/waitresses and spend about 50k a year trying to show people that they all playas. My point: I had some noteworthy clients, but mostly dumbasses like this were funding my lifestyle. I knew who I was and what my purpose was, I wasn’t trying to do anything but pad my pockets. If you are their dope dealer now that’s all you will ever be to the elite.

I’m 19 and it’s the summer. A good friend and I got our shit together and moved out from our parents and moved into the cheapest, biggest apt. we could get for 700 a month, which back then would get you more that the closet that you could rent for that amount today. I was in walking distance from CSUN and the word on the north side was out, Logan had what you need. 315-JAPO was the number. We had a tv sitting on a cooler and a dining room set, a coffee table, and a bong. It was heaven. I had moved out of my mom’s house and proved my independence. I retired from my job as a lifeguard at the waterslide park because I lost too much revenue when I couldn’t be reached. I traded with anybody who had something I hadn’t tried. I collected pills like kids collected Pokémon.

Got to try them all!

Enough with this decadence, this story is about why I am the way I am. I’m not trying to impress you or tell you that everybody should sell dope. A problem that came up through my dealings is that I am about as intimidating as ALF. I’m 5'9" and weighed about 130 back then. Some people would front and just try to avoid you for the rest of their lives. Some people would try to take advantage of your generosity when they thought I wasn’t looking. Then there is the jacker.

My 1st experience was this fall. I had sold E to my friend and his roommate on a Friday. My friend was a Jewish kid I had known for years. His roommate was the biggest, scariest, fresh-out-of-county (for homicide, of course) cholo, I had ever met, but don’t worry, he’s cool. Sunday night there comes a knock on my door. Guess who. They both walk in and my friend’s roommate does not look too happy. The cholo didn’t have very much fun on those mollies. He wanted his money back. I never gave refunds, but this seemed like a wise time to make an exception. As I was fishing around for a couple of bucks, the ex-con and his 6'3" frame came into my room and shut the door. He asked if I thought I was hard. It was at that moment I knew I was fucked. He hit me with a right that broke my cheekbone and I fell straight back onto my linoleum bathroom. He pounced on top of me and pulled out his knife. He shanked me in the side and tried to cut my inner thigh. I was saved again by my huge pants. He settled with carving up my arm and some more punches to my face. I was a bloody shaking mess of a Logan. He only made off with about 1k in cash and merchandise of the 5k I had on hand. After a final uppercut he was off. I was on the floor hyperventilating, wondering how bad I was hurt. My friend came in for a moment and said, “I tried to stop him but I guess you just had this coming…”

You sold out one of your own people. Do you know what it feels like to be stabbed? You were smart to stay away, but time doesn’t heal this wound. Don’t let me catch you slipping….

Fast Forward to Christmas, My girlfriend and I exchanged gifts, then dropped a tab, then another, then 3 more each. Woooo Hoooo. The wall is melting. Again, we are rolling around the floor of my apartment/crack den, talking gibberish. Her mom needs the car by 6am so she leaves and its still raining smells. Time for a Phenobarbital. My first experience with them involved me eating 3 75mg pills (normal dose=10 mg) I slept for 3 days straight, no bull, I woke up twice to pee and get a drink. 72 hours. I was sick of the voices and color fractals so I popped a pill in hopes of finding sleep. I felt it kick in soon after taking it. I retired to my bed for a long winter slumber… WRONG!!! To make a long story short, this combo caused a serotonin effect, which is bad. Before paralysis took effect, I was able to get to the toilet to barf, but it was a little too late. Imagine the worst headache ever with total paralysis while your heart and breathing stops and starts at will. Help is not an option when its five in the morning and you are unable to lift your head out of the pool of vomit that surrounds your head. I was conscious for the next 5 hours while my body struggled to regain control of itself. I finally passed out for the next 12 hours & woke up feeling like someone had used my brain as a punching bag.

New Year’s Eve and we were going to the desert party that everyone was talking about. They didn’t tell us that I and my crew were not invited because I had a tendency of getting everyone too high. I finally begged someone for directions. It was the longest drive to a party ever. It took us 6 hrs to get to the Arizona border, middle of -fucking nowhere. We got there at 2am and the wind was blowing, like REALLY blowing. 20 minutes later as we had finally gotten our tent up, the music stopped. Huh? Too windy to spin, they told me as they realized I had found the party. No music? No problem as I ate

10 hits of cid

3 rolls (1 blue dolphin, 1 pink champagne, and a pure from a certain fellow)

1/2 gram of k

1/2 gram of coke

7 in the morning I was still standing. Let’s do some G! (swig, swigg) “Oh wow man. You know I so glad we all came! You guys are the greatest! Whoa! Man! Like Wow! HAHAhaha….” One moment I had my arm around my girlfriend, the next, I woke up outside the tent. WTF? I opened the tent and someone said something to the effect of, “he’s alive.” Yeah I’m alive. How did I get outside? My friends looked at each other looking for words. “I told you he wouldn’t remember anything.” Said someone. Looking around, it seemed everyone had left and we were one of the only ones still there. What time was it? 3pm. The fuck? Really, what happened? As I was told the story I remembered it like a bad dream.

I had just sort of fallen over giggling while in the tent with everyone. Everyone one thought I was just lying down. But then I started screaming a scream that started from the depth of hell and rose to a pure pain and terror crescendo. I started convulsing, then vomiting, unfortunately my teeth were clenched and my jaw was locked. I was choking to death on my own vomit. My friends were just slightly more sober me and just sort of watched like it was a bad dream. Someone heard my death moan and came to help. He held my jaws open as I purged and coughed, then passed out for 8 hours.

It was a long drive home for so many reasons. I had humiliated myself in front of the people whose admiration I craved, and was consequently banned from any event for the next year and a half. We were out of gas, making it to a gas station was divine intervention. I had almost killed my self twice in one week. I was out of control and no one knew what to do. Especially me…

Then it got worse.

After the experience I had had I knew my limits and stayed within them, but I was still getting hella faded. Fortunately I lived close to a college campus where there was a ready supply of customers, foolish customers. I could put cat shit in a bag, told them it was hash and they would have come back for more. I was very well known on campus, even though I wasn’t even enrolled. But the spot got hot so it was time to move.

I found this *gorgeous* town house in North Hollyweird. This place had 2000 sq ft, vaulted ceilings, 2 fire places, balconies and more windows than we would have liked. This place has got to be going for no less than 1700 per month today, we got it for 1100 a month which was still a steal. It was ideal….

My mind state at this time was not good. I told everybody that didn’t/shouldn’t know that I was an errand boy for a recording studio, which was partly true. If this errand involved any drug known to man I was called. My days went like this, I Woke up sometime around noon. I had a few hours to come in before calls started coming in so I had to re-up and get the tank filled quick. Nitrous Oxide that is, laughing gas, hippie crack. I would do this about every other day. Then the calls would start. By the time my roommate would come home at 5 I would have a party going which would last until about 11 at which point, I could eat or get freaky with my girlies. Pass out, wake up, repeat until arrested or dead or famous. I had no direction, no goals. Who the fuck needs goals when you are making a grand every week, tax free? You might not think it’s so great but when you are surrounded by people who kiss your ass it all seems so normal. I could work at Starbucks for 8 bucks an hour, go to junior college, and live with my mother or I can sit on my ass, make a phone call and ride around in my Bravada.

What would you do?

I’m dating this blonde girl who lives by the beach in San Diego. The problem is I used to date her roommate and she still had a thing for me. I was actually trying to get them both at the same time but the girl I used to date got all jealous and boned out. I had been dating the blonde for about 6 months and it was always awkward.

The girl whom I was originally dating comes to town (she lived in LA) and came over to my house. My friends were all leaving for this desert party but I canceled at the last minute. It was cold outside and I had all the drugs I needed there. We are sitting there and we decide to roll or take MDMA. We pop our pills and we were off! Actually, we were just sitting on a blanket in my living room. We are talking, we are going deep. She says she wants to ask me something but is afraid I will be mad at her. I encouraged her to ask her question. What happened to your father? I started my story (see part 2). I didn’t hold back. I told her every detail including the fact that he had a tracheotomy tube and when you pressed a button it would trigger a gag reflex in my comatose father. My mother would press it over and over, just to see him move. We cried, we hugged, I felt so much lighter. That night I acknowledged that my drug abuse was just a slow suicide because I never got over my father. We danced. Then I was informed that my girlfriend, her roommate was at the desert party.

I’m sure her roommate was thrilled when she was told that her boyfriend spent the night with his ex-girlfriend and we took drugs and we had the most intimate of intimate conversations. She was hurt, I was mad, and I’m sure my friend had thought we were through, but no. We saw each other for over a year. It was perfect for me. I would make my money in L.A. all week, drive down to Ocean Beach in SD, screw like rabbits all weekend, maybe make a trip to Tijuana, and come back tan relaxed and with a bunch of K, which leads me to my point….

I was having a rough week. I had blown a chance to be a camp counselor for the JCC day camp. I had taken way too much Klonipin before going to the counselor orientation and it was obvious I was high. I sat through it trying my hardest to stay conscious but I nodded out half way through and was told the next day that they had too many counselors and because I signed up last… It turned out to be a blessing in disguise. It was that summer at the Jewish Community Center in Granada Hills, summer of ’99 The year of the JCC shooting. If I didn’t get all doped up I would have been there.

I had broken up with the girl in San Diego. It was a preemptive strike by myself, god forbid anyone ever dumped me. I said those three little words and she said “That’s nice.” I wanted to move down to San Diego and be with her but she had outgrown my rock and roll lifestyle and just wanted to focus on school.

One morning I awoke at 5am with an idea that was planted in my head while I slept. I was given a mission. I got dressed and got in my car. I crossed the border at 10 and hired a cab. I was driven to the Vetranaro and purchased 10 vials of Ketaset, which I emptied Into a water bottle. I crossed back into the US and declared the blanket I had purchased. I was back in L.A. at 2pm and began my week long binge.

I could sit here all day trying to tell you what doing massive amounts of ketamine is like but I’ll sum it up like this. Ketamine is in a class of drugs called disassociates. Which means it takes you away from reality. Other drugs that are disassociates are Nitrous Oxide and PCP. It is used on anesthetic on animals for surgery. The reason they don’t use it on humans it because it can cause hallucinations. Instead of being knocked out you would be talking to a deity for reals.

I am doing enough of this shit in a day to knock out a horse and the longer you are on this drug the further and further you get from reality. Sometimes I would leave my body and enter into the afterlife. Sometimes heaven, sometimes hell. Sometimes It would be like the sixth sense/ Ghost (I see dead people) It had seemed weird that I had just driven so far just to get drugs. Just like the idea had come to me when I was asleep, the force that compelled me to do this was revealed.

I had known this guy since I had moved to L.A. when I was 8, let’s just call him Sparky. Sparky didn’t use drugs, he would drink beer and smoke a bowl on occasion, but he was by no means a user. He was a brilliant musician and went to a UC school where his was majoring in music. He was just the most laid back, easy going guy you would ever meet. The boys wanted to be him and the girls wanted to be with him. He had been dating a girl I went to elementary school with who we will call Dee. It was an open relationship, but they would always come back to one another. It was just after New Year’s 99. Dee had stayed with him for a few days and then left for 6 months to go to Israel. The day after Dee left, Sparky’s roommate invited him to leave their dorm to get some food in the cafeteria. Sparky wasn’t feeling well and passed and went back to bed.

When the roommate came back, Sparky was dead.

No one had any idea he was sick, not even himself. He looked like a picture of good health. The autopsy said he had an enlarged heart that had never been diagnosed. His funeral was the saddest fucking thing I had ever seen. I’m tearing as I write this. About 1000 people showed up. The band he was in played before they put him in the hearse. No one cried. We sobbed, moaned, bawled, and were hysterical, but no one just cried. The rabbi was even unable to finish. The worst thing was, Dee was on the other side of the world, and her parents wouldn’t let her come back early.

Dee came back, but she was never the same. She was using as much as I was, but had never tried Ketamine.

As I came out of my K-hole the reason I was compelled to buy so many drugs was because this was to be given to Dee so Sparky could tell her what he needed to tell her before he could leave. It sounds crazy. Think of this what you will, but I had never been so sure about anything in all my life. I called Dee and told her I needed to talk with her. Face to face. We agreed to meet at club Giant (now Spunday) the next day because Oakenfolk was spinning and because we both had guest list tickets.

That night I attended Slipknot’s first LA performance at the Palladium. I readied myself by doing a huge amount of ketamine. Ketamine is in the same family as PCP so when Slipknot came on I was fucking ready for war. I was throwing fools twice my size and everyone stayed the fuck away from me. During the third song I became aware of the fact that I was out of air and my heart was about to explode. As I exited the pit, I realized I had lost my watch. Damn.

The next night I met Dee at giant.

“Okay Logan, What was so important that you needed to tell me in person?” I told her my story and she listened to me talk expressionless. I finished my story. She just looked at me. I asked her if she thought I was crazy.

“I don’t think you are crazy at all. Everywhere I go I just feel his presence and everything I see somehow reminds me of him. Everyone thinks I’m crazy and to get over it already, but I can’t I just don’t feel closure at all. I’m willing to try anything. When you told me you had something to tell me I knew it was about Sparky.” I gave her a big hug and we both wiped away a tear. We entered the venue and Camel was doing a promotion. You filed out a card and got to spin a prize wheel. The grand prize was this 300 dollar men’s swiss army watch. Dee won the watch and gave it to me. She had no idea that I had lost mine. Spooky, isn’t it. We just partied that night but made a date for the next night for the seance. Dee had a big smile on her face for the first time in a year.

Shit, I hope this works….

We meet on Sunday. We both have a few close friends there to witness…. Whatever was going to happen. I bust out the ketamine. I cut up the last vial of K into 1/3’s and instructed her to take one. I took mine and that was the last thing I remember. I’m in my k-hole, but I can’t find Dee. Finally, I find her and take her across the… um, it’s hard to explain but I showed her the way. I then came to.

I was out for 45 minutes. I asked the people that were there what they saw. Apparently, we had both put our heads down for a minute. Then we both sat cross-legged on the round and mirrored each other. I asked them what exactly they saw and all they said was that we mirrored each theirs hand movements, exactly. Then after about a minute of that we both fell to the ground with our eyes closed. To this day the people that saw what happened are reluctant to talk about what happened, which is how I knew something happened. 2 hours after taking her dose, Dee woke up.

“Well?” I asked. It took her a while to find him, but she always felt his presence. She finaly found him on a warm beach. They talked for a while and then she hugged him one last time and she came back.

It worked. It really fucking worked. I was a medium. Or really high and delusional.

I may have been able to open the gate, but apparently, I didn’t close the latch. The spiral continued.

(The final part 3 is here where the shit hits the fan)