naginnudej
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Oct 11, 2009
- Messages
- 1,127
It was a busy week—papers and studying filled every waking moment. Despite my unfavorable situation, I managed to plough through the sea of work. A relaxing Saturday was in order; I was in the mood for some self-reflection and much deserved free time. I devised the following plans to satiate my needs: get an early start to the day, dose 2C-P, visit a museum, stop by the opening of a long-awaited art exhibition, and see where the rest of the night takes me.
A trusted source gifted me an 11mg sample of 2C-P. Crafty scale work pinpointed actual weight to be 8mg ±1. Contents dissolved in water and stored in oral syringe. I refrained from going out Friday night in anticipation of Saturday’s adventure—I needed to be my best. Alarm sounds at 9:30AM. I’m out of bed and ready for the day at 10:30AM. 10:35AM the fun begins.
+0:00 6mg ±1 dosed rectally via oral syringe. I was tiding up my room when the butterflies roused in my stomach.
+0:05 My upper back was tight—stretching and breathing techniques followed as the familiar hints of a phenethylamine come-up crawled through my body.
+0:25 The subtle hints morphed into a wave of drowsiness. I laid down and closed my eyes—I debated over the blanket, but finally decided to cover myself from head to toe. My dark cocoon was littered with bright, indistinct CEVs in every direction.
+0:45 As I roused myself, the effects continued to intensify. My body was cold and I needed my glasses to see. The nervous-excitement began to build. 2C-P was certainly no walk in the park; tight muscles and waves of short-lived stomach discomfort proved to be cumbersome. Although not alarmingly uncomfortable, I reminded myself to remain calm and centered.
+1:15 After a number of futile attempts at browsing the web, the lights in my head finally began to flicker. I opened up a blank document as my thoughts drifted to the many fabricated stereotypes and biased rejection of psychedelics. Because I am required to conceal my psychedelic activities from a large portion of the people I encounter, I often find myself second guessing myself. I wrote this short bit:
+2:15 My roommate brings by a friend to smoke—I refrain from indulging while we chat and play some good music.
+2:30 L, my close friend and partner in crime, stopped by while doing his laundry. We listened to some more music, joked, and discussed our respective days. L reads what I’ve written and relates a story about a group of his friends from home who inhibit themselves and their relationships by striving for ‘normalcy.’
A self-inflicted disease of character best describes my feelings towards the matter. An unhealthy desire to be normal debilitates the individual and the collective in countless ways. How did this come to be? In part, it is most certainly a result of the pressure placed on the individual to follow a predetermined life-path. I was finally able to establish a smooth flow of communicative output.
+2:45 L leaves to grab his laundry. I drifted in and out conversation with roommate and co. while my thoughts shifted from normalcy to validation:
+3:15 L returns and smokes a bowl; once again, I refrain. L planned on DJ’ing a small party that night and was a bit nervous that the crowd wouldn’t be appreciative of his music selection. We discussed this for a short while before turning to validation.
L looks at what I’ve written and finds issue with the semantics of the word itself. After a short back and forth, L and I found ourselves looking in the mirror: in our attempts to invalidate validation, were we falling into the same trap as those who find importance in this validation?
+3:50 L and I parted ways. I double checked the address of my destination and prepared to leave—I was ready to face the world.
+4:00 I exited the building and meandered my way towards the subway. The weather was beautiful, people were smiling, and each song that came on spoke directly to my internal dialogue. I couldn’t help but think that random isn’t so random. The subway proved uneventful.
+4:30 Walking up the subway steps was particularly awkward—my muscles felt like they were turning into themselves. The shift from the subway to the concrete streets was wild. I soaked in the sun and listened to my music as I walked down the street. Buildings were outrageously magnificent. I marveled at mankind's ability to design and build these beautiful monsters.
+4:45 I soon realized the magnitude of this experience. ‘Holy shit, 12 hours?’ Why was I so attracted to such long-lasting psychedelics? While making headway towards my destination, I analyzed the question. Then it hit me: I’m not comfortable in my own skin. This wasn’t new news per-se, but it was something I’ve ever really admitted to myself. It’s about time.
As such, I often seek out long-lasting psychedelic experiences that offer me a chance to settle my mind before I fully immerse myself in a new adventure.
+5:00 After accepting this fact, my mood immediately lifted. An electric grin crossed my face and I turned to wave at a troop of little girls passing by. The walk signal changed and invited me to cross the street. I watched a lady pull in front of me and pick up her pace. Then something weird happened.
As I reveled in my new ‘discovery,’ I momentarily got lost in thought. When I came to, my field of vision was almost completely blurred. A tunnel appeared and time began to move faster; I watched the woman in front of me move at a strikingly fast pace. “BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP” filled my head as my hovering chest was ‘pulled’ ahead. Whoa.
When I returned to reality, I felt lighter. My grin got bigger and my eyes wider—what a day this was going to be.
+5:30 I arrived at the museum. Before I discuss the specifics, I must first make clear my views on the museum experience. Put simply, I am not a fan—when visiting museums, I often struggle with the delivery of the information to the viewer. As an outsider looking in, I am constantly reminded of Michael Foucault’s concept of ‘the other.’ Cultures of ‘primitive’ and distant peoples are often portrayed as alien to our very species. Instead of presenting exhibits in an enriching, engaging way, museum curators often force viewers into a mode of thought that inhibits a complete, satisfactory understanding of the material at hand. As I entered the bottom floor, I was reminded of just that.
Their education, living experience, and dwellings were presented in such a manner that I was struck by a sense of ‘not good enough.’ My friend C met up to enjoy the museum with me. The next topic of conversation was semantics. While describing the landscape of one of the photos, I was reminded of how much I dislike the English language. One of my favorite French feminist philosophers, Luce Irigaray once wrote a piece titled The Sex Which is Not One; the subject of this work speaks to how the current state of phallogocentric language inhibits a genuine representation of women. How does this effect the translation of one culture’s traditions into something we can understand? How much is lost in translation?
+6:30 C and I continued on. We made our way back to the main floor and meditated on the intricate beauty of the Tibetan snow lions. How long did it take the artist to complete such amazing sculptures? How many people walked by and failed to appreciate the time and effort put into these creations? My mind began to wonder: if someone spent x hours working on a piece of artwork, what is the appropriate amount of time needed to fully appreciate such a feat? While I couldn’t satiate myself with an answer, I remained in awe of the powerful statues that quietly rested in front of me. Making our way upstairs, the mood began to shift. The walls were a softer color and the art on the walls portrayed a much different conception of the Tibetan religious culture than the other floors.
We were examining a small statue of the Buddha when a docent approached us. While further explaining the piece at hand, the docent began addressing many of the issues I have with museums and ‘the other.’ I was delighted! The work was presented in a manner that did justice to its original intent—the art, or religious tools were not pretty things hung up on the wall. Each and every gesture, symbol, etc… had a significance that was specific to the student-teacher relationship. C had to leave and I remained alone with the docent.
+7:30 I was most intrigued by a story told by the docent that related how the first catholic missionaries reacted when experiencing the art with ‘fire’ around large beings. ‘Devil worshipers!’ This couldn’t have been further from the truth. After explaining the presentation and symbolism of the fire as emotions which people sought refuge from, my museum experience took a turn for the best. Unfortunately, after spending 2 hours in the museum, it was closing time.
Throughout my time at the museum the 2C-P afforded me an extremely pleasurable viewing experience. Sculptures took on new life and paintings jumped out of their frames.
+7:45 On on to the next. Back to the crowded subway.
+8:15 On my way to the gallery I am approached by a girl asking for directions to my destination. We talk for a few minutes before we arrive at the exhibition opening. Hordes of people are lined up around the block. I get as close as I can and peek inside. No way I’m getting in today.
+8:30-10:30 I walk around China Town and get ‘lost’ in the mix of people before I finally hop back on the subway and head home.
I grabbed some groceries, smoked a bowl and relaxed. Sleep came without a struggle at +12:00.
A trusted source gifted me an 11mg sample of 2C-P. Crafty scale work pinpointed actual weight to be 8mg ±1. Contents dissolved in water and stored in oral syringe. I refrained from going out Friday night in anticipation of Saturday’s adventure—I needed to be my best. Alarm sounds at 9:30AM. I’m out of bed and ready for the day at 10:30AM. 10:35AM the fun begins.
+0:00 6mg ±1 dosed rectally via oral syringe. I was tiding up my room when the butterflies roused in my stomach.
+0:05 My upper back was tight—stretching and breathing techniques followed as the familiar hints of a phenethylamine come-up crawled through my body.
+0:25 The subtle hints morphed into a wave of drowsiness. I laid down and closed my eyes—I debated over the blanket, but finally decided to cover myself from head to toe. My dark cocoon was littered with bright, indistinct CEVs in every direction.
+0:45 As I roused myself, the effects continued to intensify. My body was cold and I needed my glasses to see. The nervous-excitement began to build. 2C-P was certainly no walk in the park; tight muscles and waves of short-lived stomach discomfort proved to be cumbersome. Although not alarmingly uncomfortable, I reminded myself to remain calm and centered.
+1:15 After a number of futile attempts at browsing the web, the lights in my head finally began to flicker. I opened up a blank document as my thoughts drifted to the many fabricated stereotypes and biased rejection of psychedelics. Because I am required to conceal my psychedelic activities from a large portion of the people I encounter, I often find myself second guessing myself. I wrote this short bit:
+2:15 My roommate brings by a friend to smoke—I refrain from indulging while we chat and play some good music.
+2:30 L, my close friend and partner in crime, stopped by while doing his laundry. We listened to some more music, joked, and discussed our respective days. L reads what I’ve written and relates a story about a group of his friends from home who inhibit themselves and their relationships by striving for ‘normalcy.’
A self-inflicted disease of character best describes my feelings towards the matter. An unhealthy desire to be normal debilitates the individual and the collective in countless ways. How did this come to be? In part, it is most certainly a result of the pressure placed on the individual to follow a predetermined life-path. I was finally able to establish a smooth flow of communicative output.
+2:45 L leaves to grab his laundry. I drifted in and out conversation with roommate and co. while my thoughts shifted from normalcy to validation:
+3:15 L returns and smokes a bowl; once again, I refrain. L planned on DJ’ing a small party that night and was a bit nervous that the crowd wouldn’t be appreciative of his music selection. We discussed this for a short while before turning to validation.
L looks at what I’ve written and finds issue with the semantics of the word itself. After a short back and forth, L and I found ourselves looking in the mirror: in our attempts to invalidate validation, were we falling into the same trap as those who find importance in this validation?
+3:50 L and I parted ways. I double checked the address of my destination and prepared to leave—I was ready to face the world.
+4:00 I exited the building and meandered my way towards the subway. The weather was beautiful, people were smiling, and each song that came on spoke directly to my internal dialogue. I couldn’t help but think that random isn’t so random. The subway proved uneventful.
+4:30 Walking up the subway steps was particularly awkward—my muscles felt like they were turning into themselves. The shift from the subway to the concrete streets was wild. I soaked in the sun and listened to my music as I walked down the street. Buildings were outrageously magnificent. I marveled at mankind's ability to design and build these beautiful monsters.
+4:45 I soon realized the magnitude of this experience. ‘Holy shit, 12 hours?’ Why was I so attracted to such long-lasting psychedelics? While making headway towards my destination, I analyzed the question. Then it hit me: I’m not comfortable in my own skin. This wasn’t new news per-se, but it was something I’ve ever really admitted to myself. It’s about time.
As such, I often seek out long-lasting psychedelic experiences that offer me a chance to settle my mind before I fully immerse myself in a new adventure.
+5:00 After accepting this fact, my mood immediately lifted. An electric grin crossed my face and I turned to wave at a troop of little girls passing by. The walk signal changed and invited me to cross the street. I watched a lady pull in front of me and pick up her pace. Then something weird happened.
As I reveled in my new ‘discovery,’ I momentarily got lost in thought. When I came to, my field of vision was almost completely blurred. A tunnel appeared and time began to move faster; I watched the woman in front of me move at a strikingly fast pace. “BEEPBEEPBEEPBEEPBEEP” filled my head as my hovering chest was ‘pulled’ ahead. Whoa.
When I returned to reality, I felt lighter. My grin got bigger and my eyes wider—what a day this was going to be.
+5:30 I arrived at the museum. Before I discuss the specifics, I must first make clear my views on the museum experience. Put simply, I am not a fan—when visiting museums, I often struggle with the delivery of the information to the viewer. As an outsider looking in, I am constantly reminded of Michael Foucault’s concept of ‘the other.’ Cultures of ‘primitive’ and distant peoples are often portrayed as alien to our very species. Instead of presenting exhibits in an enriching, engaging way, museum curators often force viewers into a mode of thought that inhibits a complete, satisfactory understanding of the material at hand. As I entered the bottom floor, I was reminded of just that.
Their education, living experience, and dwellings were presented in such a manner that I was struck by a sense of ‘not good enough.’ My friend C met up to enjoy the museum with me. The next topic of conversation was semantics. While describing the landscape of one of the photos, I was reminded of how much I dislike the English language. One of my favorite French feminist philosophers, Luce Irigaray once wrote a piece titled The Sex Which is Not One; the subject of this work speaks to how the current state of phallogocentric language inhibits a genuine representation of women. How does this effect the translation of one culture’s traditions into something we can understand? How much is lost in translation?
+6:30 C and I continued on. We made our way back to the main floor and meditated on the intricate beauty of the Tibetan snow lions. How long did it take the artist to complete such amazing sculptures? How many people walked by and failed to appreciate the time and effort put into these creations? My mind began to wonder: if someone spent x hours working on a piece of artwork, what is the appropriate amount of time needed to fully appreciate such a feat? While I couldn’t satiate myself with an answer, I remained in awe of the powerful statues that quietly rested in front of me. Making our way upstairs, the mood began to shift. The walls were a softer color and the art on the walls portrayed a much different conception of the Tibetan religious culture than the other floors.
We were examining a small statue of the Buddha when a docent approached us. While further explaining the piece at hand, the docent began addressing many of the issues I have with museums and ‘the other.’ I was delighted! The work was presented in a manner that did justice to its original intent—the art, or religious tools were not pretty things hung up on the wall. Each and every gesture, symbol, etc… had a significance that was specific to the student-teacher relationship. C had to leave and I remained alone with the docent.
+7:30 I was most intrigued by a story told by the docent that related how the first catholic missionaries reacted when experiencing the art with ‘fire’ around large beings. ‘Devil worshipers!’ This couldn’t have been further from the truth. After explaining the presentation and symbolism of the fire as emotions which people sought refuge from, my museum experience took a turn for the best. Unfortunately, after spending 2 hours in the museum, it was closing time.
Throughout my time at the museum the 2C-P afforded me an extremely pleasurable viewing experience. Sculptures took on new life and paintings jumped out of their frames.
+7:45 On on to the next. Back to the crowded subway.
+8:15 On my way to the gallery I am approached by a girl asking for directions to my destination. We talk for a few minutes before we arrive at the exhibition opening. Hordes of people are lined up around the block. I get as close as I can and peek inside. No way I’m getting in today.
+8:30-10:30 I walk around China Town and get ‘lost’ in the mix of people before I finally hop back on the subway and head home.
I grabbed some groceries, smoked a bowl and relaxed. Sleep came without a struggle at +12:00.
Last edited:
I've just ingested the same dose in the same way as you... perhaps I'll have a report as well.
![:\](https://bluelight.org/xf/BL_Images/Orig_Emoji/wrygrin.gif "wry grin :\")
