marigolden
Greenlighter
- Joined
- Jan 2, 2018
- Messages
- 4
Non-Existence in 5 Acts
by Marigold
Act 1 - Dramatic Irony
My best friend and I do acid together on a Monday afternoon in early December when we're barely on either side of 19, respectively. It's both of our second time. The first time we took 130ug and we weren?€™t impressed. This time we do 280. We place the blotters under our tongues until we become impatient and swallow them. Hers is a green cartoon elephant, mine is white mountains against a black sky.
We become aware that we've taken drugs. A feeling that cannot be described as anything but a barely there shift within you that is all the more noticeable for its vagueness. We walk up the hill to the grocery store to buy mercifully cheap strawberries and call an Uber to a park around a lake as quickly as possible. We know it's only a matter of time before the feeling of acid goes from vague to full throttle.
Act 2 - Spatial Euphoria
We're lying on the blanket under the trees by the lake and everything is so eye-catching and distracting. The texture of the strawberries stands out so vibrantly amongst increasingly vivid scenery and the hairs on her arm seem to move around one another in some indiscernible pattern. I bite into a strawberry and tears flow down my face. I never knew that a flavour could burst through your whole head like that. I'm laughing. We eat our strawberries and watch the birds. "Wherever we go when we die, I hope there are birds there." I'm crying again, I never stopped.
We ask ourselves what level of selfishness makes a person outlaw something so beautiful. We smoke weed from our pipes. Hers is bright green, mine is hot pink. I smoke first. "I don't think I can get any higher." She says. "You're wrong." I reply. We lie there in the grass. A dog so big and black and fluffy walks by and we run to it laughing. Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. We stay in the park until it is almost dark, leaving only because our friend texts to remind us that we are two young girls in a very dangerous city. Reality had ceased to matter to us until that moment. Everything had ceased to matter to us. If we had cared any less I think our bodies would have shut down, our hearts would have simply forgotten to beat.
Act 3 - Realistic Dissolution
If you walked through the door to her room that night the first thing to hit you would be the smell. Weed smoke permeates the air, a testament to how completely reality has melted away from us. Her landlord would surely be angry but that is none of our concern while we don't exist. The second thing to hit you would be the darkness, the only light in the room is coming from the laptop screen and it reflects the tear tracks on our faces, crisscrossing like a roadmap to paradise. The final thing is the sound of May This Be Love by Jimi Hendrix winding its way through the smoke and obscurity. We finally understand what bliss it is not to exist. The song changes to For Emma by Bon Iver and our bodies disintegrate.
Act 4 - Existential Pain
Non-existence is beautiful but the reminder of reality comes in the form of a friend coming to see us. He brings us reality and we pick it up and turn it over in our hands as though seeing it for the first time. He asks us a question. It doesn't matter what the question is, only that it is piled with layers of societal responsibility and the lights are on. We laugh. How did we (the human race, that is) manage to create so many problems for ourselves? Why did we force all these concepts into existence? We cry. The idea that nothing matters (which has been toying with us all our lives) asserts itself in the centre of our consciousness. No matter what we do it won't matter in a hundred years, in the grand scale of the universe it doesn't even matter now.
Being forced to exist is the most extreme form of torture there is and we want out. Everything is just wasting time until we die and it's frankly disrespectful. We want to become the sun. Just burning without awareness of space or time. Just an endless, near simultaneous cycle of birth and death and birth and death and birth again and again forever. We don't want to exist any more. We don't want to play this game with these rules any more. If it's possible, we cry even more. For those four hours we know everything with startling clarity. It is awesome, in the biblical sense. It hurts.
We know now why acid is illegal. It's the kind of experience you have to really want to have. You have to be ready. If everyone could just buy it off the shelves of a supermarket the whole of society would break down in an afternoon.
Act 5 - Societal Reintegration
At 3am we finally decide to sleep. The journey must end. The traveller must return. We curl up on her bed and try to brace ourselves for impending reality.
The next day we hang out with J in her family's mansion. We smoke from her giant bong and look at all her clothes and remember that even though existence is the most deplorable practical joke, if we have to do it (and we do) material possessions can at least make it comfortable. We shove all the things acid showed us to the back of our miss and cover them in societal inventions. If we were to be as aware of the truth about existence (it's a scam) everyday as we were that night, it would paralyse us. We drink depression-Hennessy and reality-Hot Chocolate. We allow things to matter to us again. We wait for the opportunity not to exist in that blissful and fleeting limbo for a short while again. We do not cry.
Tagged by Xorkoth
substancecode_lsd
substancecode_lysergamides
explevel_firsttime
exptype_positive
exptype_glowing
roacode_sublingual
by Marigold
Act 1 - Dramatic Irony
My best friend and I do acid together on a Monday afternoon in early December when we're barely on either side of 19, respectively. It's both of our second time. The first time we took 130ug and we weren?€™t impressed. This time we do 280. We place the blotters under our tongues until we become impatient and swallow them. Hers is a green cartoon elephant, mine is white mountains against a black sky.
We become aware that we've taken drugs. A feeling that cannot be described as anything but a barely there shift within you that is all the more noticeable for its vagueness. We walk up the hill to the grocery store to buy mercifully cheap strawberries and call an Uber to a park around a lake as quickly as possible. We know it's only a matter of time before the feeling of acid goes from vague to full throttle.
Act 2 - Spatial Euphoria
We're lying on the blanket under the trees by the lake and everything is so eye-catching and distracting. The texture of the strawberries stands out so vibrantly amongst increasingly vivid scenery and the hairs on her arm seem to move around one another in some indiscernible pattern. I bite into a strawberry and tears flow down my face. I never knew that a flavour could burst through your whole head like that. I'm laughing. We eat our strawberries and watch the birds. "Wherever we go when we die, I hope there are birds there." I'm crying again, I never stopped.
We ask ourselves what level of selfishness makes a person outlaw something so beautiful. We smoke weed from our pipes. Hers is bright green, mine is hot pink. I smoke first. "I don't think I can get any higher." She says. "You're wrong." I reply. We lie there in the grass. A dog so big and black and fluffy walks by and we run to it laughing. Everything is beautiful and nothing hurts. We stay in the park until it is almost dark, leaving only because our friend texts to remind us that we are two young girls in a very dangerous city. Reality had ceased to matter to us until that moment. Everything had ceased to matter to us. If we had cared any less I think our bodies would have shut down, our hearts would have simply forgotten to beat.
Act 3 - Realistic Dissolution
If you walked through the door to her room that night the first thing to hit you would be the smell. Weed smoke permeates the air, a testament to how completely reality has melted away from us. Her landlord would surely be angry but that is none of our concern while we don't exist. The second thing to hit you would be the darkness, the only light in the room is coming from the laptop screen and it reflects the tear tracks on our faces, crisscrossing like a roadmap to paradise. The final thing is the sound of May This Be Love by Jimi Hendrix winding its way through the smoke and obscurity. We finally understand what bliss it is not to exist. The song changes to For Emma by Bon Iver and our bodies disintegrate.
Act 4 - Existential Pain
Non-existence is beautiful but the reminder of reality comes in the form of a friend coming to see us. He brings us reality and we pick it up and turn it over in our hands as though seeing it for the first time. He asks us a question. It doesn't matter what the question is, only that it is piled with layers of societal responsibility and the lights are on. We laugh. How did we (the human race, that is) manage to create so many problems for ourselves? Why did we force all these concepts into existence? We cry. The idea that nothing matters (which has been toying with us all our lives) asserts itself in the centre of our consciousness. No matter what we do it won't matter in a hundred years, in the grand scale of the universe it doesn't even matter now.
Being forced to exist is the most extreme form of torture there is and we want out. Everything is just wasting time until we die and it's frankly disrespectful. We want to become the sun. Just burning without awareness of space or time. Just an endless, near simultaneous cycle of birth and death and birth and death and birth again and again forever. We don't want to exist any more. We don't want to play this game with these rules any more. If it's possible, we cry even more. For those four hours we know everything with startling clarity. It is awesome, in the biblical sense. It hurts.
We know now why acid is illegal. It's the kind of experience you have to really want to have. You have to be ready. If everyone could just buy it off the shelves of a supermarket the whole of society would break down in an afternoon.
Act 5 - Societal Reintegration
At 3am we finally decide to sleep. The journey must end. The traveller must return. We curl up on her bed and try to brace ourselves for impending reality.
The next day we hang out with J in her family's mansion. We smoke from her giant bong and look at all her clothes and remember that even though existence is the most deplorable practical joke, if we have to do it (and we do) material possessions can at least make it comfortable. We shove all the things acid showed us to the back of our miss and cover them in societal inventions. If we were to be as aware of the truth about existence (it's a scam) everyday as we were that night, it would paralyse us. We drink depression-Hennessy and reality-Hot Chocolate. We allow things to matter to us again. We wait for the opportunity not to exist in that blissful and fleeting limbo for a short while again. We do not cry.
Tagged by Xorkoth
substancecode_lsd
substancecode_lysergamides
explevel_firsttime
exptype_positive
exptype_glowing
roacode_sublingual
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