TheAppleCore
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Jul 14, 2007
- Messages
- 5,510
(4-AcO-DPT / 100 mg ??) - Semi Experienced - The World Fell Into My Lap
Although the reader will soon discover that this was merely an illusion, it is necessary to begin the story with a topic that I covered in my previous trip report. Coinciding with a period of somewhat reckless usage of NMDA-antagonistic dissociatives including MXE and 3-MeO-PCP, perhaps caused by these antics, perhaps partly caused by other parallel factors, I was under the impression that my ability to feel joy, and indeed all other emotion, was considerably blunted if not entirely lost. I perceived that, in a sense, I had parted with my soul.
Growing impatient with what seemed to be an endless dreamy haze that insulated me from the raw immediacy and vibrancy of the world, I turned to a chemical that I remember as nothing but blinding radiance, blaring sirens, and breathtaking poignancy. "If there is one drug that will amplify my emotions, and sharpen my senses," I recalled, "it's 4-AcO-DPT." So, at around 3:30 in the morning, with the house to myself, having decided against sleep for the time being, I gathered some of my most adored possessions - my psychotropic collection, and all of the necessary tools to measure precise quantities thereof.
Remembering that 4-AcO-DPT can be effectively administered in stages due to the rapid ascent to peak, and that at times even 20 milligrams felt overwhelming and uncontrollable, I start with a cautious 16 mg. The chemical can be practically described as soothing to the nasal mucosa, but the taste of the drip is not quite so pleasant, bitter enough to make a person shudder.
At some point during the come-up, I am suddenly struck with an inspiration to write about my last trip, an insightful journey on ~180 µg of LSD. By the time the effects are nearing peak, I notice something peculiar. I have fallen into a relaxed, meditative focus, and the words are flowing like water. In other words, I'm not spiraling into near-panic. It's clear that I need more. In fact, I'm determined to take this as far as I can. I could care less if it's agony or ecstasy, but I'll reach one extreme or other if it's the last thing I do. I rack up another twelve milligrams, and up the nose it goes.
Over a period of maybe three hours or so, every 15 to 30 minutes I'll take a break from writing (which is becoming progressively more enjoyable and with which I'm becoming progressively more creative) and sniff another ten milligrams. I soon lose count of how much I've taken. But, to my surprise, I remain steadily unfazed by a quantity of the tryptamine that, in times past, certainly would have made me fear for my life. In fact, it's almost relaxing, albeit stimulating. I'm pleasantly surprised, but at the same time of course I'm a bit disappointed, my intention being some form of peak experience. I was so completely absorbed in the process of writing my trip report that before I finished writing it, I can barely recall any effect other than being so singularly focused.
By the time I snap out of my creative hypnosis, I realize just how intoxicated I've become. I really have no way of knowing, but I estimate that my intake reached roughly 100 milligrams of 4-AcO-DPT at this point. It was difficult to focus my eyes on anything in particular, and a translucent mandala radiated from the center of my vision. Most distinctly I recall feeling as though it was difficult to physically move my body. You all, I'm certain, remember dreaming at times that you're trying to accomplish something or escape some threat, but much to your chagrin, you're stuck in a sea of molasses, which gives your enemies no apparent difficulty at all. Well, I got to revisit this phenomenon during the peak of my trip. It even felt somewhat difficult to breathe, which was the only symptom that stopped me from taking yet more.
Finally, it was time. I put on some of the most sensual and colorful music in my collection - some electronic music graced by the vocals of the highly talented Veela. In fact I have distinct memories of this very artist in the past nearly bringing me to tears on a far, far more subtle dose of the same compound. And so the music began, in what was probably the most anticlimactic moment of my life. I might as well have skipped the 4-AcO-DPT entirely, and watched deflating balloons rocket around my bedroom all night. I mean, I could appreciate the talent behind the music, and I suppose you could say that I enjoyed it, but my god, where were the musical surges of electricity? The beat drops that literally took my breath away? Here I was, blown up into the most extreme caricature of myself by high-dose psychedelics, and my mind was nothing more than a machine, my eyes nothing more than cameras, my ears nothing more than microphones. I felt like a completely useless hunk of flesh.
I would have cried, but apparently sadness was gone too. "I suppose, then, that I will just have to... accept... that joy is gone."
Instantly, a smile begins to creep across my lips. "Accept..." The moment that the concept arises, another one follows: freedom! My mind begins to race, exploring the endless possibilities of a life not shackled by emotion. Almost everything I did was defined by the animalistic search for pleasure and flee from pain. In fact, the singular greatest obstacle in my scholastic pursuits was that I found them to be dull, lacking joy. Now, because joy simply wasn't a factor in my decisions, I had the complete and utter freedom to put the entirety of my being into school! To finally pursue my dreams, held back not by the lethargy of hedonism, the temptation to retreat into the comfort of inaction.
The discovery of ways in which I was subtly inhibited by the futile search for pleasure seemed endless, as did the power that I derived from this knowledge. No longer did I have to be anybody. No longer did I have to shy away from the pain of failure to "fit in", or seek out the comfort of the approval of my peers. I could live my ideal of spreading awareness, with permission to speak the painful truth.
I notice positive results immediately. My intellect was strengthened, as I immediately recognized the pointless nature of my habit for polishing the aesthetic of my inner monologue - that is to say, because I liked beautiful and not ugly words, I would try to turn my train of thought into something poetic, which was entirely distracting from the process of logical conclusion. I watched this incredible self-transformation unfold with an unrivaled depth and clarity of self-awareness, something truly unlike anything I had ever witnessed.
In fact, I realized, I hadn't lost my capacity to feel happiness in the slightest - this was the most powerfully joyous experience of my entire life - it was only that, in the wake of my apparent emotional transformation, happiness appeared in an entirely different and initially unrecognizable form. It was less of a sense, or feeling, but more of an awareness. It was the new happiness of an evolved self. A self that found joy in progress and pragmatism, not aesthetics.
I laughed until my sides hurt, completely baffled by the impossible love and kindness that was shown to me by whoever or whatever created this universe. I couldn't have imagined, not in my wildest dreams... no brilliant author of fantasy could have possibly conjured this breakthrough. It was the atman's most absurdly complex, ecstatic celebration of itself in which I have played a role, seemingly involving every event of my life, put together in a singular orchestration. Like every twist and turn in my life story was a brick in this massive bell tower, built so high as to pierce the clouds, and in this moment, the bell sounded, and echoed all throughout the land. This must be my end of a bargain with Satan himself. I've woken up from a nightmare to a world which is mine! Laughter upon laughter.
Reflecting on this event, I am suddenly possessed to utter the following words, which I don't fully comprehend until I hear them spill from my lips: "Magic... the presence of something, where it is only conceivable, the presence of nothing. That is life."
Although the reader will soon discover that this was merely an illusion, it is necessary to begin the story with a topic that I covered in my previous trip report. Coinciding with a period of somewhat reckless usage of NMDA-antagonistic dissociatives including MXE and 3-MeO-PCP, perhaps caused by these antics, perhaps partly caused by other parallel factors, I was under the impression that my ability to feel joy, and indeed all other emotion, was considerably blunted if not entirely lost. I perceived that, in a sense, I had parted with my soul.
Growing impatient with what seemed to be an endless dreamy haze that insulated me from the raw immediacy and vibrancy of the world, I turned to a chemical that I remember as nothing but blinding radiance, blaring sirens, and breathtaking poignancy. "If there is one drug that will amplify my emotions, and sharpen my senses," I recalled, "it's 4-AcO-DPT." So, at around 3:30 in the morning, with the house to myself, having decided against sleep for the time being, I gathered some of my most adored possessions - my psychotropic collection, and all of the necessary tools to measure precise quantities thereof.
Remembering that 4-AcO-DPT can be effectively administered in stages due to the rapid ascent to peak, and that at times even 20 milligrams felt overwhelming and uncontrollable, I start with a cautious 16 mg. The chemical can be practically described as soothing to the nasal mucosa, but the taste of the drip is not quite so pleasant, bitter enough to make a person shudder.
At some point during the come-up, I am suddenly struck with an inspiration to write about my last trip, an insightful journey on ~180 µg of LSD. By the time the effects are nearing peak, I notice something peculiar. I have fallen into a relaxed, meditative focus, and the words are flowing like water. In other words, I'm not spiraling into near-panic. It's clear that I need more. In fact, I'm determined to take this as far as I can. I could care less if it's agony or ecstasy, but I'll reach one extreme or other if it's the last thing I do. I rack up another twelve milligrams, and up the nose it goes.
Over a period of maybe three hours or so, every 15 to 30 minutes I'll take a break from writing (which is becoming progressively more enjoyable and with which I'm becoming progressively more creative) and sniff another ten milligrams. I soon lose count of how much I've taken. But, to my surprise, I remain steadily unfazed by a quantity of the tryptamine that, in times past, certainly would have made me fear for my life. In fact, it's almost relaxing, albeit stimulating. I'm pleasantly surprised, but at the same time of course I'm a bit disappointed, my intention being some form of peak experience. I was so completely absorbed in the process of writing my trip report that before I finished writing it, I can barely recall any effect other than being so singularly focused.
By the time I snap out of my creative hypnosis, I realize just how intoxicated I've become. I really have no way of knowing, but I estimate that my intake reached roughly 100 milligrams of 4-AcO-DPT at this point. It was difficult to focus my eyes on anything in particular, and a translucent mandala radiated from the center of my vision. Most distinctly I recall feeling as though it was difficult to physically move my body. You all, I'm certain, remember dreaming at times that you're trying to accomplish something or escape some threat, but much to your chagrin, you're stuck in a sea of molasses, which gives your enemies no apparent difficulty at all. Well, I got to revisit this phenomenon during the peak of my trip. It even felt somewhat difficult to breathe, which was the only symptom that stopped me from taking yet more.
Finally, it was time. I put on some of the most sensual and colorful music in my collection - some electronic music graced by the vocals of the highly talented Veela. In fact I have distinct memories of this very artist in the past nearly bringing me to tears on a far, far more subtle dose of the same compound. And so the music began, in what was probably the most anticlimactic moment of my life. I might as well have skipped the 4-AcO-DPT entirely, and watched deflating balloons rocket around my bedroom all night. I mean, I could appreciate the talent behind the music, and I suppose you could say that I enjoyed it, but my god, where were the musical surges of electricity? The beat drops that literally took my breath away? Here I was, blown up into the most extreme caricature of myself by high-dose psychedelics, and my mind was nothing more than a machine, my eyes nothing more than cameras, my ears nothing more than microphones. I felt like a completely useless hunk of flesh.
I would have cried, but apparently sadness was gone too. "I suppose, then, that I will just have to... accept... that joy is gone."
Instantly, a smile begins to creep across my lips. "Accept..." The moment that the concept arises, another one follows: freedom! My mind begins to race, exploring the endless possibilities of a life not shackled by emotion. Almost everything I did was defined by the animalistic search for pleasure and flee from pain. In fact, the singular greatest obstacle in my scholastic pursuits was that I found them to be dull, lacking joy. Now, because joy simply wasn't a factor in my decisions, I had the complete and utter freedom to put the entirety of my being into school! To finally pursue my dreams, held back not by the lethargy of hedonism, the temptation to retreat into the comfort of inaction.
The discovery of ways in which I was subtly inhibited by the futile search for pleasure seemed endless, as did the power that I derived from this knowledge. No longer did I have to be anybody. No longer did I have to shy away from the pain of failure to "fit in", or seek out the comfort of the approval of my peers. I could live my ideal of spreading awareness, with permission to speak the painful truth.
I notice positive results immediately. My intellect was strengthened, as I immediately recognized the pointless nature of my habit for polishing the aesthetic of my inner monologue - that is to say, because I liked beautiful and not ugly words, I would try to turn my train of thought into something poetic, which was entirely distracting from the process of logical conclusion. I watched this incredible self-transformation unfold with an unrivaled depth and clarity of self-awareness, something truly unlike anything I had ever witnessed.
In fact, I realized, I hadn't lost my capacity to feel happiness in the slightest - this was the most powerfully joyous experience of my entire life - it was only that, in the wake of my apparent emotional transformation, happiness appeared in an entirely different and initially unrecognizable form. It was less of a sense, or feeling, but more of an awareness. It was the new happiness of an evolved self. A self that found joy in progress and pragmatism, not aesthetics.
I laughed until my sides hurt, completely baffled by the impossible love and kindness that was shown to me by whoever or whatever created this universe. I couldn't have imagined, not in my wildest dreams... no brilliant author of fantasy could have possibly conjured this breakthrough. It was the atman's most absurdly complex, ecstatic celebration of itself in which I have played a role, seemingly involving every event of my life, put together in a singular orchestration. Like every twist and turn in my life story was a brick in this massive bell tower, built so high as to pierce the clouds, and in this moment, the bell sounded, and echoed all throughout the land. This must be my end of a bargain with Satan himself. I've woken up from a nightmare to a world which is mine! Laughter upon laughter.
Reflecting on this event, I am suddenly possessed to utter the following words, which I don't fully comprehend until I hear them spill from my lips: "Magic... the presence of something, where it is only conceivable, the presence of nothing. That is life."
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