Transcendence
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Jul 19, 2006
- Messages
- 2,502
All I want is to wake up. I'm too fucking hot. I coast across the hallway and reach towards the thermostat, but it separates from the wall and hangs uselessly in the fog. I rest in an office chair and kick my feet up on the printer while I consider the situation. Awakening, it screeches while a dingy green glow creeps up the walls. I shudder with apprehension and break it into pieces. I decide to get this over with. I float on down the hall towards the master bedroom where my parents lie asleep.
I've often had dreams that mirror reality. They usually end when things deviate too far from normality and I'm “shocked” back to earth. As good a plan as any, and it might even be fun. I don't often have a chance to play with a lucid dream.
I open my parent's door and flip on the lights. My dog bounds toward me wagging her tail and I gleefully fall to the floor and hug her. My parents approach squinting; the confusion on their faces is palpable. They ask typical questions. I cannot speak, so I ignore them. I have no obligation to pay respect to apparitions. I glance over the balcony and briefly consider flinging myself over the rail. No, I want to explore a little more. I try to walk away but my dad grabs my shoulder. I brush him aside and he pushes me into a wall. My parents are increasingly upset and demand to know what I took. I roll my eyes and perform a series of complicated hand signals, culminating in my flipping both of them off.
Both parents are visibly upset, and my dad asks my mom if she knew I did drugs. She says she found some weed in my room once and he is angry because she didn't tell him. I am not entertained, and it doesn't please me to see my parents upset. I'm ready to wake up. My mind is empty. I feel like every atom in my body is a hollowed polystyrene replica. I'm sprawled on a couch next to a pile of folded laundry. I read the tag on a shirt. Indecipherable and complex mandarin characters alternating with fragments of broken English. I shouldn't be able to read this. If I'm in a dream, shouldn't the tag be blank or something?
My dad asks for my stash. I walk to my closet, pull out a slice of pot, and sprinkle it over him. My mom flushes it down the toilet while I scribble furiously on a pad of paper, which I hand to my dad. It reads “Fuck you, pa!” in loopy cursive. My mom leans against my bureau looking defeated. I turn the volume knob on my 100watt per channel amplifier all the way to the right (a quarter turn is insufferably high). As I flick the power on my disc changer, Jonny Greenwood's guitar carves a vacuum through the air. My mom seizes in shock and grabs at her head as my speakers blow out.
Dawn is breaking, and I lie on my bed with the door open (my parents won't allow me to close it). I'm slowly forced to face the ugly fact that I won't be waking up out of this one. I'm supposed to get my wisdom teeth removed today, and I count down the minutes until I can count on the anesthesiologist to be better at this sort of thing than I am.
~Four Hours earlier~
I unseal the ziplock baggie and eat four grams of mushrooms washed down with ginger ale. As I feel the familiar tryptamine dust my nervous system I flip through the channels. On PBS, a sassy young black female drums to some bebop. She has an afro and looks like Angela Davis. I'm smiling so hard it's painful. This is more woman than I can handle. I walk outside to my car for some gum. It's a beautiful clear night, and each star I look at emits a unique organ tone. Wanderlust. Back in my room, and the gum is everywhere, I'm tangled in its sticky web. Fuck this. I crawl into bed and huddle under the covers. I imagine I'm in a womb. I'm ready to be bourne.
Afterword:
Five years ago marks the only time I've ever truly freaked out from a psychedelic. I was 17 and just embarking on the long psychotomimetic joy ride that has more or less characterized my life since. Still, I had tripped on equivalent amounts of mushrooms several times before, in the same setting, with no difficulties. I can only speculate that the mushrooms were a penis envy strain (about double the potency), but who knows. I've ingested several dozen various psychedelics in all manner of dosages and situations. I've never completely shattered myself like I did on four grams of boring old mushrooms. Never has a drug so completely undermined my basic perception of reality. I have a tendency to get cocky with psychedelics, but I have cause to be humble.
I've often had dreams that mirror reality. They usually end when things deviate too far from normality and I'm “shocked” back to earth. As good a plan as any, and it might even be fun. I don't often have a chance to play with a lucid dream.
I open my parent's door and flip on the lights. My dog bounds toward me wagging her tail and I gleefully fall to the floor and hug her. My parents approach squinting; the confusion on their faces is palpable. They ask typical questions. I cannot speak, so I ignore them. I have no obligation to pay respect to apparitions. I glance over the balcony and briefly consider flinging myself over the rail. No, I want to explore a little more. I try to walk away but my dad grabs my shoulder. I brush him aside and he pushes me into a wall. My parents are increasingly upset and demand to know what I took. I roll my eyes and perform a series of complicated hand signals, culminating in my flipping both of them off.
Both parents are visibly upset, and my dad asks my mom if she knew I did drugs. She says she found some weed in my room once and he is angry because she didn't tell him. I am not entertained, and it doesn't please me to see my parents upset. I'm ready to wake up. My mind is empty. I feel like every atom in my body is a hollowed polystyrene replica. I'm sprawled on a couch next to a pile of folded laundry. I read the tag on a shirt. Indecipherable and complex mandarin characters alternating with fragments of broken English. I shouldn't be able to read this. If I'm in a dream, shouldn't the tag be blank or something?
My dad asks for my stash. I walk to my closet, pull out a slice of pot, and sprinkle it over him. My mom flushes it down the toilet while I scribble furiously on a pad of paper, which I hand to my dad. It reads “Fuck you, pa!” in loopy cursive. My mom leans against my bureau looking defeated. I turn the volume knob on my 100watt per channel amplifier all the way to the right (a quarter turn is insufferably high). As I flick the power on my disc changer, Jonny Greenwood's guitar carves a vacuum through the air. My mom seizes in shock and grabs at her head as my speakers blow out.
Dawn is breaking, and I lie on my bed with the door open (my parents won't allow me to close it). I'm slowly forced to face the ugly fact that I won't be waking up out of this one. I'm supposed to get my wisdom teeth removed today, and I count down the minutes until I can count on the anesthesiologist to be better at this sort of thing than I am.
~Four Hours earlier~
I unseal the ziplock baggie and eat four grams of mushrooms washed down with ginger ale. As I feel the familiar tryptamine dust my nervous system I flip through the channels. On PBS, a sassy young black female drums to some bebop. She has an afro and looks like Angela Davis. I'm smiling so hard it's painful. This is more woman than I can handle. I walk outside to my car for some gum. It's a beautiful clear night, and each star I look at emits a unique organ tone. Wanderlust. Back in my room, and the gum is everywhere, I'm tangled in its sticky web. Fuck this. I crawl into bed and huddle under the covers. I imagine I'm in a womb. I'm ready to be bourne.
Afterword:
Five years ago marks the only time I've ever truly freaked out from a psychedelic. I was 17 and just embarking on the long psychotomimetic joy ride that has more or less characterized my life since. Still, I had tripped on equivalent amounts of mushrooms several times before, in the same setting, with no difficulties. I can only speculate that the mushrooms were a penis envy strain (about double the potency), but who knows. I've ingested several dozen various psychedelics in all manner of dosages and situations. I've never completely shattered myself like I did on four grams of boring old mushrooms. Never has a drug so completely undermined my basic perception of reality. I have a tendency to get cocky with psychedelics, but I have cause to be humble.
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