KrispedKritter
Glandeuse pinéale
- Inscrit
- 10 Déc 2011
- Messages
- 240
This was some 18 months ago now, so my memory might need some jostling to really do its thing, but it might work out. This is THE trip for me, and those of you who have read posts where I mention my ego-death/revival episode, this is where it's at. Hopefully, an interesting read.
The trip comes in two parts, actually two nights: the first with a mild-large dose of Hawaiian Baby Woodrose seeds, and the second with a similarily sized Morning Glory seeds. Together with this, there was lots of thc in the form of backbush lowgrade weed, some high potent Skunk-or-whatnot, some hashish and, unfortunately, random strains of cigarette-packeted tobacco.
Setting: a four bedroom apartment in a larger complex in a somewhat rundown "immigrant" part of a Stockholm (Sweden) suburb; the apartment was basically dirty and shifty, the complex of three dudes mellowing out in a an abuse-or-be-abused cannabis culture--the middlepoint of local cannabisophilia. We were the dealers, and our friends lived above us and in a building right next to us in sprawling communes, so it came that people very often came to us to get their dopage on. In the living room (where most of the time was spent) there were couches, a table, hifi-speakers and a computer (with myself as the dj); upon the wall a fractal cloth and on the side large windows with the view of trees and other large building complexes. There's a kitchen, and two bedrooms that will also be featured: one of them is mine, containing a large bed and a large, colour-sprawling OHM-signed cloth upon the wall. Generally the mood of the whole apartment is one of "burr, I'm stoned, brah", but that's not to say that it's negative or anything... Just a bit filthy
1st night:
There's three of us. Me, (Kris), my best friend (Adas) and the third guy we were living with (Sebs). Adas and I prepare the HBW: since it's only our third time with psychedelics (the first time being a massive dose of cubensis, the second a blot of shiva at a rave party), we decide on going mild; 5 seeds each, brushed, crushed, seeped in hot water, downed in a thrashing of "oh shit, that was nasty-tasting." As we're preparing the seeds, Sebs walks in, stoney-eyed and generally in a good mood. We ask him if he wants to join us, and as he's got no idea of what the heck psychedelics are, he says "of course!". We bring out the morning glories and prepare a mild dose for him (I can't remember, but I think around 50-60 seeds? not sure) in the appropriate way: brush, crush, seep.
We all down our beverages and sit down, waiting. There's probably some mild music going on, mayhaps Pink Floyd or the Dead. We eagerly await, and boom, there it is, nausea. I'm the first to complain. Adas feels it, but thinks he'll be able to stick it out. Sebs is fine, which I find funny, since from what I had read, morning glory is the one to give the worst stomach aches. Buuuuut that's fine: I know my stomach's got problems with me, so I take the hint. I fight it, fight it, ask Adas to start rolling joints and then decidedly walk to the bathroom, sit down for a while until I spew out a small, very toxic-looking white piece of phlegm. Like, it's not vomit, not at all. Rather, it's a mesh of something in the seeds that my stomach just didn't want; much like white froth or the kind of foam you sometimes see at beaches. After throwing up, I get up, drink some water and dazedly walk back to the couch, where I lie down. Now a fever strikes me. That's the best way I can put it: full-fledged Hellish fever. It takes me in one sweep, leaving my body impoverished and immobile. Everything is pulsating, and I wish, to some degree, that I could just leave my body there and go elsewhere, so I go to my head. That's the strange thing; for as much as my body is complaining about this attitude of Strangeness, my head is fine. I'm totally with it, totally Aware of my body and surroundings. We get a joint going. It's handed to me (almost stuck in my mouth, honestly!) and I have a few puffs, fight the tobacco sickness and start to feel how Nicotine moves into my body's field (this is a battle I fight every time there's a joint around, fracking' nicotine).
Now, the music changes from old school psychedelia to new-age electronic trance. Adas and I start to pulsate; it moves, throbbs, from my head to my finger. I start to move it. A finger becomes two, three, a hand, and arm, and a moment later I'm up and dancing in the imagined sunlight of my heart. BY THE GODS, how this feeling is most joyous.
And this is where it gets fun.
*EDITED* I decide that, since I just puked up what probably was a good portion of the LSA-containing bits of the seeds, to take more. So I chewed on a seed, then a second, then a third. The added effect was instantaneous, kicking the trips up every time I chomped down.
Adas and I start to communicate telepathically. If you haven't had HBW yet, but rather LSD (HBW being a natural occuring type of cousin of LSD, lysergicacidamide), then let me tell you that where LSD is a trip in EVERYTHING that is you, everypart of you and All around it, then HBW is very much located in your head. Telepathy (or the notion of telepathy, communication through Non-Word) is amazingly easy and begs the question why we aren't like flocks of birds right outside our window, moving in perfect symmetry and control. Sebs, however, isn't really feeling much yet, or so he says. We smoke another one, and go outside together on a midnight stroll. I put on some freak gear (a hat, some shiny sunglasses and Kingly-sneer) and we walk around in the small town centre like Kings among sheep. Or well, at least I do. The others are not yet so free, so I'm the one who walk into a small community store (actually this has to be before midnight, around 9 pm, maybe, but it was definately dark outside) to buy some cans of coca cola (they come in aluminum cans, MaaaAAaan, can you dig it?) and a snickers bar or some such. Then we walk.
After speaking with the trees, sticks and stones (it's not my first time in this most auspicious realm of consciousness..) we're all grokking on it. Sebs joins us, his Morning Glory seeds (which unlike HBW is located in the gut rather than the head) propels him into our tri-sympathetic-symmetry and WOOPS, now he's got the amazing gift of telepathy, too. We grok. We smoke a joint. We walk. I pick up signals from outer space (seriously, I could hear someone saying "Can you hear me!?" and there's no one around; I grok.) and we're generally just hustling notions of ideas (mostly, me) between each other, and things are nice.
We come back to the apartment, light another one, and to our surprise let in first 2 girly friends, then another one, then two or three chaps too. Full house. There's a party going on, and the three of us are in the centre of it. Adas and Sebs mostly sit and ... explain some of it (some of the visitors are old trippers, most are just the common stoners) while I Connect with the most adamant tripper there, and we discuss all types of matters which the others just can't really hang on to. And then there's hunger. So, what the heck, what's so interesting about cooking on acid?
Well, kids, lemme tell ya. I think there was four of us in the kitchen at once, three of us blitzed and the fourth (I'll call her Nish) just generally zonked on grass. We start chopping and hacking on vegetables to make some kind of vegan stirfry, but we keep interrupting each other moment after moment with thoughts of "what if, but then, how, why, when, where" so forth and so on. Adas comes up with the idea to just Interrupt all mental flow by going bananas; wielding a huge-ass knife (the guy worked a professional chef, so he's socially allowed to own huge-ass knives) he starts to truly Hack away at some rooty vegetables, singing loudly on the chords to WE ALL LIVE IN A YELLOW SUBMARINE, YELLOW SUBMARINE, AND WE'RE ALL MENTAL IN OUR YELLOW SUBMARINE, YELLOW SUBMARINE.
15 minutes later, People leave the kitchen and I take control of the actual cookage. This is where one nice moment of matter-of-factly telepathy occurs: I'm looking for something, and I am told where it is by a person who logically cannot know that I am looking for something.
The kitchen looks something like this: a square kitchen with a door leading to a corridor and in the corridor, the exit, two bathrooms, entries to a closet, my room, another room and another door leading to the living room. Both doors are closed. I'm standing in the kitchen, alone, looking for the wokking pan. In the living room, Y, there is by this time 6 or 7 people, a lot of smoke, a lot of stoned talk, and music playing. I think aloud (without uttering any vocal ululations) "Dude, where's the wokking pan?" and I hear, with my physical ears, "Excuse me, I think my friend needs me." As Adas walks out of the living room, opening and closing that first door, I suddenly see the wokking pan in a cupboard that I just didn't check. As he opens the door to enter the kitchen, I'm already on my knees taking it out, and I utter "that's alright, I found it." He growls or some such in accord and closes the door to resume hosting this animal farm, saying "He was just looking for the wokking pan, and he found it." as he enters the living room. There is no way in hell that he, with his own two physically manifested eyes, saw what I was taking out of the cupboard.
The night proceeds in general harmonics and gentle spirit. Towards the small hours of the morning, Adas and I sit in my room, having converted my futon bed to a sofa, looking at the moving and sprawling OHM-signed cloth on my wall, bong in hands. It was a good night.
So we decided, stupidly, for another one.
We slept a couple of hours, got up, grokked on the night, ate something, smoked something, did something for a couple of hours, then prepared for our next trip. This time, it would just be Adas and I; we took out our morning glories, brushed, crushed, and seeped. A larger dose than we gave Sebs the night before, but honestly, I don't remember how much it was. As it was coming on, Nish and a mutual stoner friend came by, bought some weed, rolled some creeds and gaped awide that we were going to trip this night, too. Well, fair enough, it's our brains we're frying, yadda yadda yadda.
And we did.
The night started out pleasantly enough; we had some fun, grokked over some joints and got into (like the night before) controlling that fractal cloth; the colours, the shapes, motions and speeds that were under our command were just amazing.
Then Adas' stomach said no. He went to the loo to take a dump; I went as far away as possible, out on the balcony, to try and avoid the feeling of his intestines emptying. He farted, I felt it. He shat, I squat. As he came out, he was white as a ghost; apparently he had immense, intense stomach aches. Some thinking about it and I came to the conclusion that what he felt was mostly Me-- All my life, I'd been living with a huge lump in my stomach. Most of it came from being bullied as a kid. Being polish (you fucking jew!), smart (you fucking dweeb!), tall (you fucking oistrich!) so forth and so on lead to me skipping school a lot, going to the doctor for colonoscopies and other medicinal tests to try and find the apparent spectre haunting my stomach. As I grew up into High School, I left the abusive canopy of my old town, to start anew in a Highly Intellectual, International School, wherein I could find others, more like myself. Of course, what had become me by that time wasn't much; All I was was me, I learnt language and skills from the internet and games (EverCrack...) and had no real social skills whatsoever. So I made some up. Throw in an imagined old (old!? I was 16! geez...) coke-habit, a dead girlfriend, a dead friend (them mobsters are tough tits, yanno) and general misery, and there was a Brand New, Stronger Than Ever I.
Well, that came to bite me in the ass. I quickly figured that this was part of the new tumbleweed in my gut (and now, in Adas', my best friend's, to whom I had also lied a lot, but not nearly as much as in high school, now a year behind me. However, that's where I continued, I continued on living on those lies, even though the life I was living was true in the moment, I always went back to reverberate against infantile lies to try and seem ... cool? I suppose), so I started to spill the beans. Come on dude, lets go for a walk, and I'll tell you a story...
And so I did. This I lied about. This, too. And that. And this, I'm sorry, to you too, but mostly to myself, yanno. Oh, and this was moooostly lies, but not really. And this, this and this.
Gradually, gosh, it became so much easier. So much lighter. We walked until we came upon a lake, where we sat and smoked a joint. Now I felt I was done, but I was having trouble thinking (there was this ... storm, in my head, no clarity what-so-ever, very strange!) and Adas was content with my confessions, but he couldn't think properly either. I painted some on the surface of the lake with my fingers, making beautiful trails in the moonlight in my mind. We smoked up, and started to head back.
Now, pay attention, this is where it gets interesting.
Walking, we were discussing this ... buzzing in our minds. Like a tornado, it had become, making it almost unbearable. So, what to do? I plucked it away, and the world fell silent. Adas has had problems with supposed ADHD all his life (no more...) and I've always had problems concentrating (no more...), and it was as simple as going into our heads and plucking the malfunctioning piece away. So I did. And it was beautiful. We stopped in our tracks and looked around us, breathing as if it were the first time we tasted air. Amazing, these hallucinogens, SUCH POWER!
...such power, indeed. Next thing I remember, still stopped in our tracks, I looked at a lamp-post, and I somehow ... wanted too much. Too soon. Too much strain. And everything went WooOOOOOoooP. Suddenly, the world shifted; the visuals were like a widescreen film on an older 4:3 TV screen; I knew that the world itself hadn't changed, but my perspective of it. And it freaked me out. Thus began the two or so worst hours of my life, so far.
I quickly explained what had happened as we were walking back to our pad, and he tried to understand. Suddenly his own issues were of no magnitude; this guy here was just a moment ago performing psychic surgery, and now he'd gone and removed something, or screwed on something, too much. And hell was breaking loose.
As we were walking, I mused myself with the notion that now, truly, I was like the flashing image I had had of an older guy (mid-twenties, early thirties), tin-foil hat on amongt dumpsters, talking crazies (Irunno, past life, maybe? I've some other horrible past-life experiences to share at some other time; my Karmic self is not a nice self, it would seem. At least not parts of it.) I looked at that there building, which we had passed surely ten times before, and I asked of Adas, "it's just the same as it was before, isn't it?" "Yes, yes it is" "...but it's not." We come up into the apartment, and the same thing there... "The room... it's the same size as before, right?" "Yes, yes it is" "...but it's not." We try to jostle my memory by touching things, which size I should know. The fine, usually perfectly circular (now, oval) shape of the pipe of the bong. Adas' head. My lovely laptop (which I'm typing away at now). Momentary breakthrough "Oh, it's normal .... but it's not." I'm trapped. I'm freaking out, because I know that the trip--the actual, chemical trip--is just about to be over. Adas is already down from his, and here I am, thinking I'm fucked. I came down, and I changed during the trip, and now it's here to stay. I start growin momentarily content. "You know what could remind me? An episode of Family Guy..."
Whirrrr, it's on. The projection starts and the little cartoon characters do their dance. I laugh (it's funny!) and then remind myself: hey, dude, you're going insane here ... is this really what you should be doing now? Nervousness comes back, I jump up and go, "fuck, man, hold me." We go into my room and lie down on my bed, holding each other in full, open, brotherly love. I'm freaking out. He's telling me to "breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, brea--" and I realize that he stopped breathing. So I start the mantra: "Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, brea--" and so the pendulum of the mantra of breath goes between the two of us; it becomes a physical impossibility to do two things; either you tell your brother to breathe, or you listen to your brother telling you to breathe and you breathe. Breathe while saying something? Forget it!
We lie there for an hour or somesuch, I honestly don't know. I tell him that I have to take a leak. He says go. I'm all "but dude, it's my bed. There are two matresses on it, sheets, covers, I can't just piss here!" Fair enough, I get up, go to the bathroom, avoid looking myself in a mirror, piss, and come back inside. I ask him to call Nish and ask her over; I need a sober person to talk me down, because we're too sympathetically connected (and still are, today!). He calls her up, wakes her (it's light now, 8 am or so) and she's on her way. While he's doing it, I fiddle around within myself and come to the conclusion that there is another way, that I can solve it, but I can't.
Why? Because there are too many things I'd leave behind. There's The Girl, The Family, The Friends, The ....
Adas tells me, of course you can.
So I do it. These... thoughts, start reeling in my head in 200 mph; my usual two-laned highway of intellectual thought is a 5 lane intergalactical interstate and shit is going WAY fast. Adas collapses, hands against his head saying "TOO FAST!", and I go "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't think about that." So I start talking, instead. While speaking the words in my head, I'm also thinking forwards in an extra lane or so ... and somewhere around here I lose track of what happened. I remember not caring about just-until-now-imminent-psychosis, I do not care about anything; there's a waterfall of light shining down, washing down over me.
And I die. That's the only way I can put it. Everything that is I is demolished, swept away by this tide of light (which is bringing tears to my eyes as I am writing this; it's so beautiful) and left afterwards is a feeling of One. Of ultimate, cosmis One. I am everything. I know everything. Everything is accessible, and everything is just, totally fine. I sit down, sweep my feet up into a lotus (I can't for the love of me do this to this day; I can half-nimbly do a half-lotus) and start to mediate what's on the other side. Nish arrives, glazed-eyed and wondering what the fuck is going on. I tell her that all is fine. I ask what my purpose is, and it is clear: it is a Message of Love. As I bring forth the Universal Love I shine like the brightest sun and Adas collapses into tears from the sheer beauty of it (apparently the only time he's cried since young, young years). I smile and tell him that it is alright, that he too shall learn to be that Love, and that all shall see it, sooner or later (hopefully sooner, probably later).
We get up, I give Nish a hug (I think?) and decide to roll a joint. Adas says something like "Oh, do you feel that, it gives me goosebumps!" I look at him, smile, point at him and Project: "Oh, like this?" and he collapses in physical ecstacy as every cell of his skin stands in salutation to the Forces of Chaos and Love. I laugh a little and stop, and bring him up to his feet, and we hug. We roll, and we share a joint, and so began a week of full exile from human feelings. Amongst the stoner friends, I am one. I am everyone. I hear everything, every thought, and I can project them back to their founders, but they have trouble catching it. The walls breathe with me. The trees bow to my sudden influx of Universal Consciousness, and I've truly either lost it (ego) or gained it (enlightenment).
Same day, I go to my mother's and stepfather's house (the trainride was interesting, hearing all the buzzing noises of thoughts that circulate around cock, pussy, cash, food and telly) and my stepfather's only response is "You don't seem to have all your screws screwed tight."
Right on.
The trip comes in two parts, actually two nights: the first with a mild-large dose of Hawaiian Baby Woodrose seeds, and the second with a similarily sized Morning Glory seeds. Together with this, there was lots of thc in the form of backbush lowgrade weed, some high potent Skunk-or-whatnot, some hashish and, unfortunately, random strains of cigarette-packeted tobacco.
Setting: a four bedroom apartment in a larger complex in a somewhat rundown "immigrant" part of a Stockholm (Sweden) suburb; the apartment was basically dirty and shifty, the complex of three dudes mellowing out in a an abuse-or-be-abused cannabis culture--the middlepoint of local cannabisophilia. We were the dealers, and our friends lived above us and in a building right next to us in sprawling communes, so it came that people very often came to us to get their dopage on. In the living room (where most of the time was spent) there were couches, a table, hifi-speakers and a computer (with myself as the dj); upon the wall a fractal cloth and on the side large windows with the view of trees and other large building complexes. There's a kitchen, and two bedrooms that will also be featured: one of them is mine, containing a large bed and a large, colour-sprawling OHM-signed cloth upon the wall. Generally the mood of the whole apartment is one of "burr, I'm stoned, brah", but that's not to say that it's negative or anything... Just a bit filthy
1st night:
There's three of us. Me, (Kris), my best friend (Adas) and the third guy we were living with (Sebs). Adas and I prepare the HBW: since it's only our third time with psychedelics (the first time being a massive dose of cubensis, the second a blot of shiva at a rave party), we decide on going mild; 5 seeds each, brushed, crushed, seeped in hot water, downed in a thrashing of "oh shit, that was nasty-tasting." As we're preparing the seeds, Sebs walks in, stoney-eyed and generally in a good mood. We ask him if he wants to join us, and as he's got no idea of what the heck psychedelics are, he says "of course!". We bring out the morning glories and prepare a mild dose for him (I can't remember, but I think around 50-60 seeds? not sure) in the appropriate way: brush, crush, seep.
We all down our beverages and sit down, waiting. There's probably some mild music going on, mayhaps Pink Floyd or the Dead. We eagerly await, and boom, there it is, nausea. I'm the first to complain. Adas feels it, but thinks he'll be able to stick it out. Sebs is fine, which I find funny, since from what I had read, morning glory is the one to give the worst stomach aches. Buuuuut that's fine: I know my stomach's got problems with me, so I take the hint. I fight it, fight it, ask Adas to start rolling joints and then decidedly walk to the bathroom, sit down for a while until I spew out a small, very toxic-looking white piece of phlegm. Like, it's not vomit, not at all. Rather, it's a mesh of something in the seeds that my stomach just didn't want; much like white froth or the kind of foam you sometimes see at beaches. After throwing up, I get up, drink some water and dazedly walk back to the couch, where I lie down. Now a fever strikes me. That's the best way I can put it: full-fledged Hellish fever. It takes me in one sweep, leaving my body impoverished and immobile. Everything is pulsating, and I wish, to some degree, that I could just leave my body there and go elsewhere, so I go to my head. That's the strange thing; for as much as my body is complaining about this attitude of Strangeness, my head is fine. I'm totally with it, totally Aware of my body and surroundings. We get a joint going. It's handed to me (almost stuck in my mouth, honestly!) and I have a few puffs, fight the tobacco sickness and start to feel how Nicotine moves into my body's field (this is a battle I fight every time there's a joint around, fracking' nicotine).
Now, the music changes from old school psychedelia to new-age electronic trance. Adas and I start to pulsate; it moves, throbbs, from my head to my finger. I start to move it. A finger becomes two, three, a hand, and arm, and a moment later I'm up and dancing in the imagined sunlight of my heart. BY THE GODS, how this feeling is most joyous.
And this is where it gets fun.
*EDITED* I decide that, since I just puked up what probably was a good portion of the LSA-containing bits of the seeds, to take more. So I chewed on a seed, then a second, then a third. The added effect was instantaneous, kicking the trips up every time I chomped down.
Adas and I start to communicate telepathically. If you haven't had HBW yet, but rather LSD (HBW being a natural occuring type of cousin of LSD, lysergicacidamide), then let me tell you that where LSD is a trip in EVERYTHING that is you, everypart of you and All around it, then HBW is very much located in your head. Telepathy (or the notion of telepathy, communication through Non-Word) is amazingly easy and begs the question why we aren't like flocks of birds right outside our window, moving in perfect symmetry and control. Sebs, however, isn't really feeling much yet, or so he says. We smoke another one, and go outside together on a midnight stroll. I put on some freak gear (a hat, some shiny sunglasses and Kingly-sneer) and we walk around in the small town centre like Kings among sheep. Or well, at least I do. The others are not yet so free, so I'm the one who walk into a small community store (actually this has to be before midnight, around 9 pm, maybe, but it was definately dark outside) to buy some cans of coca cola (they come in aluminum cans, MaaaAAaan, can you dig it?) and a snickers bar or some such. Then we walk.
After speaking with the trees, sticks and stones (it's not my first time in this most auspicious realm of consciousness..) we're all grokking on it. Sebs joins us, his Morning Glory seeds (which unlike HBW is located in the gut rather than the head) propels him into our tri-sympathetic-symmetry and WOOPS, now he's got the amazing gift of telepathy, too. We grok. We smoke a joint. We walk. I pick up signals from outer space (seriously, I could hear someone saying "Can you hear me!?" and there's no one around; I grok.) and we're generally just hustling notions of ideas (mostly, me) between each other, and things are nice.
We come back to the apartment, light another one, and to our surprise let in first 2 girly friends, then another one, then two or three chaps too. Full house. There's a party going on, and the three of us are in the centre of it. Adas and Sebs mostly sit and ... explain some of it (some of the visitors are old trippers, most are just the common stoners) while I Connect with the most adamant tripper there, and we discuss all types of matters which the others just can't really hang on to. And then there's hunger. So, what the heck, what's so interesting about cooking on acid?
Well, kids, lemme tell ya. I think there was four of us in the kitchen at once, three of us blitzed and the fourth (I'll call her Nish) just generally zonked on grass. We start chopping and hacking on vegetables to make some kind of vegan stirfry, but we keep interrupting each other moment after moment with thoughts of "what if, but then, how, why, when, where" so forth and so on. Adas comes up with the idea to just Interrupt all mental flow by going bananas; wielding a huge-ass knife (the guy worked a professional chef, so he's socially allowed to own huge-ass knives) he starts to truly Hack away at some rooty vegetables, singing loudly on the chords to WE ALL LIVE IN A YELLOW SUBMARINE, YELLOW SUBMARINE, AND WE'RE ALL MENTAL IN OUR YELLOW SUBMARINE, YELLOW SUBMARINE.
15 minutes later, People leave the kitchen and I take control of the actual cookage. This is where one nice moment of matter-of-factly telepathy occurs: I'm looking for something, and I am told where it is by a person who logically cannot know that I am looking for something.
The kitchen looks something like this: a square kitchen with a door leading to a corridor and in the corridor, the exit, two bathrooms, entries to a closet, my room, another room and another door leading to the living room. Both doors are closed. I'm standing in the kitchen, alone, looking for the wokking pan. In the living room, Y, there is by this time 6 or 7 people, a lot of smoke, a lot of stoned talk, and music playing. I think aloud (without uttering any vocal ululations) "Dude, where's the wokking pan?" and I hear, with my physical ears, "Excuse me, I think my friend needs me." As Adas walks out of the living room, opening and closing that first door, I suddenly see the wokking pan in a cupboard that I just didn't check. As he opens the door to enter the kitchen, I'm already on my knees taking it out, and I utter "that's alright, I found it." He growls or some such in accord and closes the door to resume hosting this animal farm, saying "He was just looking for the wokking pan, and he found it." as he enters the living room. There is no way in hell that he, with his own two physically manifested eyes, saw what I was taking out of the cupboard.
The night proceeds in general harmonics and gentle spirit. Towards the small hours of the morning, Adas and I sit in my room, having converted my futon bed to a sofa, looking at the moving and sprawling OHM-signed cloth on my wall, bong in hands. It was a good night.
So we decided, stupidly, for another one.
We slept a couple of hours, got up, grokked on the night, ate something, smoked something, did something for a couple of hours, then prepared for our next trip. This time, it would just be Adas and I; we took out our morning glories, brushed, crushed, and seeped. A larger dose than we gave Sebs the night before, but honestly, I don't remember how much it was. As it was coming on, Nish and a mutual stoner friend came by, bought some weed, rolled some creeds and gaped awide that we were going to trip this night, too. Well, fair enough, it's our brains we're frying, yadda yadda yadda.
And we did.
The night started out pleasantly enough; we had some fun, grokked over some joints and got into (like the night before) controlling that fractal cloth; the colours, the shapes, motions and speeds that were under our command were just amazing.
Then Adas' stomach said no. He went to the loo to take a dump; I went as far away as possible, out on the balcony, to try and avoid the feeling of his intestines emptying. He farted, I felt it. He shat, I squat. As he came out, he was white as a ghost; apparently he had immense, intense stomach aches. Some thinking about it and I came to the conclusion that what he felt was mostly Me-- All my life, I'd been living with a huge lump in my stomach. Most of it came from being bullied as a kid. Being polish (you fucking jew!), smart (you fucking dweeb!), tall (you fucking oistrich!) so forth and so on lead to me skipping school a lot, going to the doctor for colonoscopies and other medicinal tests to try and find the apparent spectre haunting my stomach. As I grew up into High School, I left the abusive canopy of my old town, to start anew in a Highly Intellectual, International School, wherein I could find others, more like myself. Of course, what had become me by that time wasn't much; All I was was me, I learnt language and skills from the internet and games (EverCrack...) and had no real social skills whatsoever. So I made some up. Throw in an imagined old (old!? I was 16! geez...) coke-habit, a dead girlfriend, a dead friend (them mobsters are tough tits, yanno) and general misery, and there was a Brand New, Stronger Than Ever I.
Well, that came to bite me in the ass. I quickly figured that this was part of the new tumbleweed in my gut (and now, in Adas', my best friend's, to whom I had also lied a lot, but not nearly as much as in high school, now a year behind me. However, that's where I continued, I continued on living on those lies, even though the life I was living was true in the moment, I always went back to reverberate against infantile lies to try and seem ... cool? I suppose), so I started to spill the beans. Come on dude, lets go for a walk, and I'll tell you a story...
And so I did. This I lied about. This, too. And that. And this, I'm sorry, to you too, but mostly to myself, yanno. Oh, and this was moooostly lies, but not really. And this, this and this.
Gradually, gosh, it became so much easier. So much lighter. We walked until we came upon a lake, where we sat and smoked a joint. Now I felt I was done, but I was having trouble thinking (there was this ... storm, in my head, no clarity what-so-ever, very strange!) and Adas was content with my confessions, but he couldn't think properly either. I painted some on the surface of the lake with my fingers, making beautiful trails in the moonlight in my mind. We smoked up, and started to head back.
Now, pay attention, this is where it gets interesting.
Walking, we were discussing this ... buzzing in our minds. Like a tornado, it had become, making it almost unbearable. So, what to do? I plucked it away, and the world fell silent. Adas has had problems with supposed ADHD all his life (no more...) and I've always had problems concentrating (no more...), and it was as simple as going into our heads and plucking the malfunctioning piece away. So I did. And it was beautiful. We stopped in our tracks and looked around us, breathing as if it were the first time we tasted air. Amazing, these hallucinogens, SUCH POWER!
...such power, indeed. Next thing I remember, still stopped in our tracks, I looked at a lamp-post, and I somehow ... wanted too much. Too soon. Too much strain. And everything went WooOOOOOoooP. Suddenly, the world shifted; the visuals were like a widescreen film on an older 4:3 TV screen; I knew that the world itself hadn't changed, but my perspective of it. And it freaked me out. Thus began the two or so worst hours of my life, so far.
I quickly explained what had happened as we were walking back to our pad, and he tried to understand. Suddenly his own issues were of no magnitude; this guy here was just a moment ago performing psychic surgery, and now he'd gone and removed something, or screwed on something, too much. And hell was breaking loose.
As we were walking, I mused myself with the notion that now, truly, I was like the flashing image I had had of an older guy (mid-twenties, early thirties), tin-foil hat on amongt dumpsters, talking crazies (Irunno, past life, maybe? I've some other horrible past-life experiences to share at some other time; my Karmic self is not a nice self, it would seem. At least not parts of it.) I looked at that there building, which we had passed surely ten times before, and I asked of Adas, "it's just the same as it was before, isn't it?" "Yes, yes it is" "...but it's not." We come up into the apartment, and the same thing there... "The room... it's the same size as before, right?" "Yes, yes it is" "...but it's not." We try to jostle my memory by touching things, which size I should know. The fine, usually perfectly circular (now, oval) shape of the pipe of the bong. Adas' head. My lovely laptop (which I'm typing away at now). Momentary breakthrough "Oh, it's normal .... but it's not." I'm trapped. I'm freaking out, because I know that the trip--the actual, chemical trip--is just about to be over. Adas is already down from his, and here I am, thinking I'm fucked. I came down, and I changed during the trip, and now it's here to stay. I start growin momentarily content. "You know what could remind me? An episode of Family Guy..."
Whirrrr, it's on. The projection starts and the little cartoon characters do their dance. I laugh (it's funny!) and then remind myself: hey, dude, you're going insane here ... is this really what you should be doing now? Nervousness comes back, I jump up and go, "fuck, man, hold me." We go into my room and lie down on my bed, holding each other in full, open, brotherly love. I'm freaking out. He's telling me to "breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, brea--" and I realize that he stopped breathing. So I start the mantra: "Breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, brea--" and so the pendulum of the mantra of breath goes between the two of us; it becomes a physical impossibility to do two things; either you tell your brother to breathe, or you listen to your brother telling you to breathe and you breathe. Breathe while saying something? Forget it!
We lie there for an hour or somesuch, I honestly don't know. I tell him that I have to take a leak. He says go. I'm all "but dude, it's my bed. There are two matresses on it, sheets, covers, I can't just piss here!" Fair enough, I get up, go to the bathroom, avoid looking myself in a mirror, piss, and come back inside. I ask him to call Nish and ask her over; I need a sober person to talk me down, because we're too sympathetically connected (and still are, today!). He calls her up, wakes her (it's light now, 8 am or so) and she's on her way. While he's doing it, I fiddle around within myself and come to the conclusion that there is another way, that I can solve it, but I can't.
Why? Because there are too many things I'd leave behind. There's The Girl, The Family, The Friends, The ....
Adas tells me, of course you can.
So I do it. These... thoughts, start reeling in my head in 200 mph; my usual two-laned highway of intellectual thought is a 5 lane intergalactical interstate and shit is going WAY fast. Adas collapses, hands against his head saying "TOO FAST!", and I go "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't think about that." So I start talking, instead. While speaking the words in my head, I'm also thinking forwards in an extra lane or so ... and somewhere around here I lose track of what happened. I remember not caring about just-until-now-imminent-psychosis, I do not care about anything; there's a waterfall of light shining down, washing down over me.
And I die. That's the only way I can put it. Everything that is I is demolished, swept away by this tide of light (which is bringing tears to my eyes as I am writing this; it's so beautiful) and left afterwards is a feeling of One. Of ultimate, cosmis One. I am everything. I know everything. Everything is accessible, and everything is just, totally fine. I sit down, sweep my feet up into a lotus (I can't for the love of me do this to this day; I can half-nimbly do a half-lotus) and start to mediate what's on the other side. Nish arrives, glazed-eyed and wondering what the fuck is going on. I tell her that all is fine. I ask what my purpose is, and it is clear: it is a Message of Love. As I bring forth the Universal Love I shine like the brightest sun and Adas collapses into tears from the sheer beauty of it (apparently the only time he's cried since young, young years). I smile and tell him that it is alright, that he too shall learn to be that Love, and that all shall see it, sooner or later (hopefully sooner, probably later).
We get up, I give Nish a hug (I think?) and decide to roll a joint. Adas says something like "Oh, do you feel that, it gives me goosebumps!" I look at him, smile, point at him and Project: "Oh, like this?" and he collapses in physical ecstacy as every cell of his skin stands in salutation to the Forces of Chaos and Love. I laugh a little and stop, and bring him up to his feet, and we hug. We roll, and we share a joint, and so began a week of full exile from human feelings. Amongst the stoner friends, I am one. I am everyone. I hear everything, every thought, and I can project them back to their founders, but they have trouble catching it. The walls breathe with me. The trees bow to my sudden influx of Universal Consciousness, and I've truly either lost it (ego) or gained it (enlightenment).
Same day, I go to my mother's and stepfather's house (the trainride was interesting, hearing all the buzzing noises of thoughts that circulate around cock, pussy, cash, food and telly) and my stepfather's only response is "You don't seem to have all your screws screwed tight."
Right on.
