Yeah I am the same consumer. I thank Bluelight for giving the heads up early enough that I started testing tabs I was suspicious of. At least in the small doof scene I mix with the OG hippies are still into LSD for the love and mung beans. I can't say the same over the border where you use to haunt though.
I do love me some mushrooms though. I have many stories, one I may turn into a proper trip report and link it to the high school misadventure thread, but the one I'll regale involve a couple of mates and myself attending the opening of an Andy Warhol exhibition shortly after my divorce.
The bus ride into town was an adventure as it was dusk and the large flying fox colonies were starting to stir and spread out across the city's sky.
We were barely containing ourselves waiting at the bus stop, watching the sky turn orange and feeling that almost nauseous feeling starting to build in our stomachs. Finally the bus arrives and as I stepped aboard I was confronted by a crowd of commuters all appearing to stare straight at me. Rather than walk the long gauntlet to the back we quickly took our seats behind the driver and tried not to make eye contact with each other.
As I looked out the window the sky was filling with more and more of these flying monsters. Now this wasn't the drugs, close to the city there are thousands of large bat colonies and as the sun sets they wake and head across the city in search of ripen fruits. We were all thinking the same thing, the bus ride was too fucking long and the silence above the engines was deafening. Before too long Rick snapped, as the bus started to slow towards the next stop he screamed, "We can't stop here, it's bat country!!"
Well that was to cause an explosion of giggles from us, enough to cause tears. For the next 10 minutes of our fare I'm sure we provided plenty of entertainment for those fellow commuters to last a life time of dinner party's spent tut tutting the dangers of drugs.
We finally arrived at the Arts district on the river front, a collection of theatres, museums and art galleries spread across beautiful gardens and a faux inner city beach. We grabbed a juice each and slowly trekked through the gardens admiring the Nepalese Peace Pagola (which is actually covered in carved scenes of the karma sutra, weird but once again true) and watching the sun set behind the city.
As we approached the art gallery the mushrooms we starting to peak, but fortunately we had had enough time to gather our senses to know that we had to bring our social A game. Despite what I have just described, we were all experience psyhconauts and had enough street smarts to mingle in a crowd such as this. And it was a crowd. The Governor, several B grade local celebrities who would look beautiful in photos printed the next day in the social pages as well as wealthy businessmen whose wives insist on spending their fortunes fostering the arts.
The colours of Andy Warhol's collection obviously exploded even sober, but now I had the added bonus of them shifting and moving in response to the musak piped through the gallery. Elvis fired his six shooters towards me and I was convinced that Sylvester Stallone winked at me. After 30minutes my companions had enough and scooping a bottle of red and two glasses decided to retire to the grassy forecourt that over looked the river and escape the claustrophobic crowds.
As I wandered by myself my eye was suddenly caught by a gorgeous flash of colour. A girl wearing a flowing dress with long sleeves that connected her hips to her wrists seem to float across the room. The technicolour movement of her dress was like a butterfly and was mesmerising. I was drawn to her like a moth to a flame, or was it a flame to a butterfly? How I was in any state to start a conversation is any ones guess, but admittedly I have a track record of mentally pushing past such drug induced constraints and appear to be sober when the need arises. I made her laugh with a corny observation, she made me laugh back with something equally inane. Within 5 minutes we were walking through the gallery together.
Finally I blurted that I was actually on mushrooms, and a friendly face in this crowd was actually really comforting. She acted surprised and reassure me that she couldn't tell (which was either a lie, or a poor reflection of how stiff and boring a collection of art snobs can be. Rather than being put off she slipped her hand in mine and proceeded to guide me through the exhibition, providing laughter with enough intelligent observations that I was feeling somehow justified that I made the right decision ending my marriage.
Soon enough my friends returned, pushing to move on, more than likely to head back home so they could smoke a spliff in the relative safety of their lounge room. I bid goodbye to my butterfly host, kissing her on the cheek slowly while I slipped my hand from hers. She tried to give me her number but my drug addled mind was caught in the moment and instead insisted that I wanted to keep this night as a fairy tale memory, and fate would decide if we met again. I turned my back and bundled my mates into the nearest cab.
We never did cross paths again. Within a few weeks I feel in love again with an equally enchanting maiden who has taken me on many more wonderful psychedelic adventures. Perhaps I might tell you of some of those one day......
