'The Mythical Calculus', 50mg insufflated FXE (2-oxo-3'-fluoro-PCE).
Setting: a land far across the Atlantic, at a gathering of hard-core entomologists, night-time on a sandy riverside.
Set: I have embarked on an intense 2-month internship at the greatest research lab in the world. The stress has led to a constipated mindset that I would like to be unravelled. I am somewhat experienced with dissociatives: 3-MeO-PCP, 3-HO-PCP, ketamine, nitrous oxide, dextromethorphan, have all been bioassayed in previous years.
Approx. 50mg insufflated on a knife edge, terrified that my columella will be sliced. It is hoovered up in one nostril swoop; a bitter taste, with undertones of outer space.
Onset is felt within 5 minutes. Gravireceptors seem over-activated, my spinal cord is heavy. This is undoubtedly centrally active, no PNS-activation in these parts. The world appears acausal, discombobulated. How did I get here? Who are these people? Who am I? I have no idea. It seems as though I've been in a state of amnesia for weeks, and have only just woken up to the fact that I am alive...I begin to feel lost in the social situation, and quickly resort to the fantastical world of my imagination.
+15 minutes: Balance is noticeably off-key. I speak in calculated, atomic prose. The moon, in its geometric majesty, becomes an object of worship. My outstretched fingers form mirrored series, triangles, squares, around its light. The Moon, her vaginal essence, shines brightly in my triangulate worship. In a sober state of consciousness, I would usually reserve such weirdness for my own company, but I had no such inhibition under fluorexetamine's influence. I had ideas to pursue, and so I pursued them voraciously. The Pythagoreans really missed out on FXE, in its hexagonal beauty...
I make a conscious decision to become more like the Pythagoreans, to worship and pray to the Sun, Moon and Star's glorious symmetries.
+30 minutes: I stare at the insects that gather around a UV light. The strangeness of their existence is felt with force. Weird angels with green blood, frantic arachnids. I contemplate on the absurdity of the gene stream, its strange serpentine movement, that my existence is merely a note in the Song of the Gene. I am inconsequential to Entropy's transcendental hand. I began to feel a faint terror of the Second Law of Thermodynamics.
Ideas surrounding physics rummage through my internal monologue. The insanity of Life is made fully visible, that Science is merely a childish game played in order to think we know what we're doing.
+45 minutes: π becomes substantiated into my loins, heavily. π seems to be bleeding into my mind. The world is infinite. I tell my new friends that my name shall henceforth be Pythagoras, that shapes should be worshipped, their ecstasy felt. I laughed in the shadow of the question mark, I juggled it and transmuted it to the groaning pause of a semi-colon. Thoughts were abstract, mathematical, mystically mathematical: there was no 'I', the 'I' refrained from his game, FXE did not go inwards into my emotional fibre, into the archaeology of my psyche. No. I delved into the emotional core of π. This opened the mathematical chorus of heaven directly into my cerebrum, its mathematical chorus sang so sweetly, so joyously, that my ears began to weep.
I want to apologise to π for my Sins, for masturbating and smoking marijuana, for not dedicating more of my precious Life to understanding Nature's grand mysteries.
+1-1.5 hours: This seems to be the peak. The emotional constipations that had been accumulating for weeks in my mind had vanished into thin air. I was lost in the present moment, curiosity was a ferocious wind driving me. I was surrounded by people of Knowledge, and probed them as to why Waves form, the sex life of insects, and the role of Alsace-Lorraine in WWI. I felt an overwhelming satisfaction that I had found the loveliest of people, the best type of weirdos.
Newton occupies my mind. Mystical calculus; Newton absorbed God's genital and ejaculated its atomic prose. Quanta that spin, fandango, cha-cha slide their sinuous tongues around the delicate flavour of their quark neighbours.
I feel as though I could embarrass God with my mathematical insights. The pernicious viciousness of Yahweh, his jealous tentacles unable to fathom the raw arylcyclohexaminergic power of FXE. I want to shit on the Bible using recitations of mathematical axioms. I feel so powerful, intellectually powerful, that I could fart on Yahweh's grave. (Is this a consequence of arylcyclohexylamine's Ego-inflating power, or a result of a superiority complex that was already ingrained into my psyche?...)
A cosmic serenity holds me. FXE is psychopharmacologically tailored for communication with Aliens. If a UFO was to land on our terrestrial land, then ensure that at least 50mg FXE is snorted beforehand. This will ensure that unknown forms of communication will become more tangible and easier to grasp. I then realise why John Lilly used ketamine and sensory deprivation tanks to communicate with dolphins...the malleability of my mind to abstract concepts is at its peak.
+2 hours: I decide that the Universe is in the shape of a Klein bottle. That the frilly outskirts of the Universe are the electron's kilt. That our conceptions of space are wrong and infantile, that the Universe is recursive, that Its outermost regions occupy the very same boundary as the innermost regions. I worry that this is merely dissociative delusion, and that my ideas are not as paradigm-shattering as I believe them to be.
It is time to leave. It takes me around 10 minutes to decide whether I want to leave in the first place. My thoughts are discombobulated when it comes to resolving a minor social kerfuffle. I become obsessed with the geometries of the passing city. I have a strong desire to watch an Adam Curtis documentary, to understand Control Systems.
I arrive home and re-write a pamphlet I have been writing for the past few months. Ideas sprawl frantically from mind to pen to paper. I am so intellectually stimulated that I have no desire for sleep. I draw an understanding as to why Dr. Jason Wallach has dedicated his Life to attempting to understand these mystical substances. This fragile neuronal jelly whiplashed by FXE's numerical grace. I feel prophetic, writing away in the crevices of my room, as though I am a prophet who has been revealed forbidden wisdom straight from the Tongue of the Lord.
The mental stimulation is wonderful. I refrain from amphetaminergic stimulants due to their cardiovascular effects, yet FXE's stimulation appeared to be entirely intellectual. If only there was a way to chemically maintain the intellectually stimulating effects and remove the urotoxic effects of the ACHs...
The next day, I feel awake to every contour and detail of Life's architecture. I go to an anatomical oddity museum and am intrigued with a ravenous fascination...perhaps this is the beggining of a lifelong fall into the Ecstasy (and Madness) of Science.
I would highly recommend this substance to any psychonaut attempting to understand the chemical landcape of their mind. If you have emotional barriers towards studying mathematics, insufflate 50mg FXE and see whether these self-enforced barriers erode away. Mathematical, precise, geometric, visionary - four words to describe the profundity of this substance. If you see flyers for the Mythical Church of Fluorexetamine, take a guess as to who founded it...
