TheAppleCore
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Jul 14, 2007
- Messages
- 5,510
It's a grey and drizzly Saturday morning, so I'm confined to the indoors -- in this case, my bedroom. I wake up, let my brain calibrate itself to waking consciousness for a few minutes, and drop 20 mg of 4-HO-MiPT fumarate in a gelatin capsule. This is only my second trial with the substance, and my first with the oral route of administration, so I'm a little uncertain of my dosage, erring on the side of caution. I give myself an hour before deciding whether and how I'll redose. By T+1:00, I'm just feeling a bit of mild, psychedelic levity. Nothing jaw-dropping.
I decide I'm fairly comfortable dropping another 20 mg capsule. Over the next hour (T+1:00 - T+2:00), the effects develop into something genuinely interesting. The first effect that impresses me is a strong erotic stimulation. Sexual imagery is flitting through my mind constantly, and although it makes me long for a partner, I enjoy the stimulation nonetheless and anticipate a highly pleasurable solo orgasm, at some later point in the trip.
The feelings of sexual stimulation are inseparably intertwined with a general appreciation for, and love of, my own body. There is something intrinsically rewarding in simply piloting this limber, healthy physical form. I revel in my youth (although I am not afraid of aging). Every little movement, which would normally remain subconscious, evokes a strong sense of self-awareness. As in, when walking, every step I take is powerfully envisioned in the mind's eye, seen as the detailed motion of the legs, pivoting of the joints, contraction of the muscles, etc. But it's not emotionally detached, like looking at a clinical diagram in a human anatomy textbook. I know that the imagery represents my own body, and there's a powerful loving connection to the imagery, as well as a strong autoerotic aspect to it all.
I sit in half-lotus, enjoying the apparent energetic resonance of the position, looking out my bedroom window, admiring the beauty of the rainy weather. If I stop paying attention to what I'm looking at, a colorful geometry begins to overlay the world. The visuals are of an organic persuasion, imitating perhaps the Fibonacci sequences seen in snail shells, or the self-similar patterns seen in fern fronds. (This is contrasted to the visuals I see on, say, the NBOMe class, which are much more intricate, sharp and crystalline, and admittedly more spectacular.)
All of the physical sensations, visual phenomena, and emotional changes of the trip seem to be converging -- instead of recognizing them as the disparate and unrelated perceptual disturbances of a drugged state, I attribute them to a single entity, just as one would attribute both a caw noise and the image of a black bird to a single entity called a crow. Eventually it strikes me that this entity is very real -- it is myself! I realize that the sober mind, for the sake of sparing me an immense distraction, "deafens" me to the continuous cacophony of the biological processes that sustain me. But now it seems as though I must be aware of every little neurological impulse, every little contraction of muscle tissue. I feel like I'm walking through a big factory, witnessing some sort of complex industrial manufacturing process, with centrifuges whirrrrrring and robotic arms moving parts, ka-chunk-ka-chunk, and liquid flowing through complex series of tubing, fwooooosh. But of course, that's just my lungs expanding, my heart beating, and the blood moving through my veins. Fascinating.
At T+2:00, I am so delighted by the effects of the drug, and so curious about where a higher dosage would take me, that I prepare another 16 mg capsule. As soon as I pop the capsule in my mouth, however, I hesitate for a few moments. Am I really ready to experience the next level of this chemical? Shouldn't I wait till next time? Oh well. *Swallows*. As soon as it's too late, I immediately regret my decision. I really don't feel ready to take 4-HO-MiPT to the next level, and more importantly, I don't want to extend the duration of this trip any further. I suddenly feel completely trapped, instead of liberated, by the intoxication, horrified by the realization that I won't be sober for hours. I begin drinking saltwater, in desperate hope that it will nauseate me enough to eject the 16 mg capsule. As predicted, it only succeeded in giving me a stomach ache, but I was incapable of inducing vomiting.
I retire to my bed, curl into a fetal position, close my eyes, and try to think soothing thoughts, in hopes that I can distract myself from the effects until I start to come down. Surprisingly, this actually works fairly well, and the overwhelming psychedelia subsides a bit. After maybe about an hour and a half, I calm down enough to open my eyes, sit up, and face the world once again. I think I'm just beginning to peak at this point -- this is when things get really interesting. (T+4:00?)
After enjoying the psychedelic fireworks for a few minutes, I start to slip into a deeply reflective state. I am immediately impressed by the power of this state, as I seem to be able to explore issues from multiple perspectives, and I am developing quite a number of fascinating insights. As I am having all of these colorful thoughts, I notice some distinct differences between my current thought patterns, and the way I used to think. It's almost as if I have dispensed with the irrational notion that intelligent thought has to be intelligent itself. That making sense of things has to, itself, make sense. I realize that, at some fundamental level, all human activity is completely unguided by intelligent calculation. Sure, you can obsessively analyze every issue in your life, so that every action you take, and every decision you make, conforms to a rationally-devised plan. But, what caused you to DO that planning in the first place? Certainly you didn't PLAN to plan? Something had to come completely spontaneously -- completely unwittingly!
And so, realizing that acting unwittingly is actually inescapable, and that any attempt on my part to impose some sort of intelligent structure on my thinking is itself unintelligent, I cease this futile activity. I let my thoughts rise and fall in their natural motion, which at first appears arbitrary. In this laissez-faire way of thinking, two seemingly unrelated concepts will bubble up in succession. But, when I suddenly find that I am able to trace both of these concepts to a common intersection, I realize that these thoughts aren't arbitrary at all -- they are guided by a powerful subconscious intelligence, which one might refer to as "intuition". So that's the key to strengthening the analytical intellect! Trusting the intuition.
My most memorable insight comes while enjoying some music. I first muse on an internet forum,
I just find it very curious -- human beings and their relationship to music. Ultimately I think [music] must serve some sort of reproductive advantage, although I can't really imagine how or why that could be. But I firmly maintain the position that all major endeavors of humankind are not accidental, from an evolutionary perspective. And the amount of energy that humans put into creating pleasing sounds is astounding.
As I am listening to the music, I am struck with an intriguing observation. The pleasure of listening to the music is always correlated with making accurate predictions. Whenever I correctly anticipate any particular movement within the music, I am rewarded with a satisfying surge of emotion. I have never heard this song before in my life, however. How am I making these predictions, I wonder? The music must be following some sort of formula, which I have deciphered. Listening to music, I conclude, is like hearing someone recite, "1, 3, 5, 7, …", and then chiming in, "nine!" along with the speaker. I then tie this concept together with my question about the evolutionary purpose of music. I make another post on the internet forum:
I get it, now! Wow.
O.K.
Music is simply an exercise for the brain. One man creates sounds that conform to a particular mathematical pattern, or algorithm. He is the music producer. The other man, the listener, then subconsciously begins to analyze the sounds for the pattern, in an attempt to understand the original formula by which the producer made the sounds. Once the listener discovers the pattern, he is rewarded, and hence the pleasure we associate with listening to music. And, in repeating this time and time again, listening to various musical rhythms and melodies, interpreting various unique mathematical relationships, the pattern-recognition functions of the brain are exercised.
Many other ideas arise during this period of reflection. It occurs to me that cultural pressure contributes significantly to our obsession with sex. I currently do not have an active sexual life, and I feel perfectly healthy and happy, although I get the impression that the world is trying to convince me that I am psychologically unwell without regular sex. Another idea that comes up relates to honesty with my parents about my drug use. I conclude that, paradoxically, it is more honest to hide my drug use from them than to reveal it. They, for whatever reason, are incapable of comprehending constructive drug use, so if I admit my use to them, they will incorrectly conclude that I am headed down a path of self-perpetuating psychosis. The purpose of honesty is to provide others with the truth, and because I am damaging my parents' perception of the truth by admitting my drug use, it is not genuinely honest to do so.
The alluded solo orgasm ends up completely blowing my mind, both in sheer intensity, and in the apparent revolutionizing of my understanding of the mechanics of sexual excitation.
I decide I'm fairly comfortable dropping another 20 mg capsule. Over the next hour (T+1:00 - T+2:00), the effects develop into something genuinely interesting. The first effect that impresses me is a strong erotic stimulation. Sexual imagery is flitting through my mind constantly, and although it makes me long for a partner, I enjoy the stimulation nonetheless and anticipate a highly pleasurable solo orgasm, at some later point in the trip.
The feelings of sexual stimulation are inseparably intertwined with a general appreciation for, and love of, my own body. There is something intrinsically rewarding in simply piloting this limber, healthy physical form. I revel in my youth (although I am not afraid of aging). Every little movement, which would normally remain subconscious, evokes a strong sense of self-awareness. As in, when walking, every step I take is powerfully envisioned in the mind's eye, seen as the detailed motion of the legs, pivoting of the joints, contraction of the muscles, etc. But it's not emotionally detached, like looking at a clinical diagram in a human anatomy textbook. I know that the imagery represents my own body, and there's a powerful loving connection to the imagery, as well as a strong autoerotic aspect to it all.
I sit in half-lotus, enjoying the apparent energetic resonance of the position, looking out my bedroom window, admiring the beauty of the rainy weather. If I stop paying attention to what I'm looking at, a colorful geometry begins to overlay the world. The visuals are of an organic persuasion, imitating perhaps the Fibonacci sequences seen in snail shells, or the self-similar patterns seen in fern fronds. (This is contrasted to the visuals I see on, say, the NBOMe class, which are much more intricate, sharp and crystalline, and admittedly more spectacular.)
All of the physical sensations, visual phenomena, and emotional changes of the trip seem to be converging -- instead of recognizing them as the disparate and unrelated perceptual disturbances of a drugged state, I attribute them to a single entity, just as one would attribute both a caw noise and the image of a black bird to a single entity called a crow. Eventually it strikes me that this entity is very real -- it is myself! I realize that the sober mind, for the sake of sparing me an immense distraction, "deafens" me to the continuous cacophony of the biological processes that sustain me. But now it seems as though I must be aware of every little neurological impulse, every little contraction of muscle tissue. I feel like I'm walking through a big factory, witnessing some sort of complex industrial manufacturing process, with centrifuges whirrrrrring and robotic arms moving parts, ka-chunk-ka-chunk, and liquid flowing through complex series of tubing, fwooooosh. But of course, that's just my lungs expanding, my heart beating, and the blood moving through my veins. Fascinating.
At T+2:00, I am so delighted by the effects of the drug, and so curious about where a higher dosage would take me, that I prepare another 16 mg capsule. As soon as I pop the capsule in my mouth, however, I hesitate for a few moments. Am I really ready to experience the next level of this chemical? Shouldn't I wait till next time? Oh well. *Swallows*. As soon as it's too late, I immediately regret my decision. I really don't feel ready to take 4-HO-MiPT to the next level, and more importantly, I don't want to extend the duration of this trip any further. I suddenly feel completely trapped, instead of liberated, by the intoxication, horrified by the realization that I won't be sober for hours. I begin drinking saltwater, in desperate hope that it will nauseate me enough to eject the 16 mg capsule. As predicted, it only succeeded in giving me a stomach ache, but I was incapable of inducing vomiting.
I retire to my bed, curl into a fetal position, close my eyes, and try to think soothing thoughts, in hopes that I can distract myself from the effects until I start to come down. Surprisingly, this actually works fairly well, and the overwhelming psychedelia subsides a bit. After maybe about an hour and a half, I calm down enough to open my eyes, sit up, and face the world once again. I think I'm just beginning to peak at this point -- this is when things get really interesting. (T+4:00?)
After enjoying the psychedelic fireworks for a few minutes, I start to slip into a deeply reflective state. I am immediately impressed by the power of this state, as I seem to be able to explore issues from multiple perspectives, and I am developing quite a number of fascinating insights. As I am having all of these colorful thoughts, I notice some distinct differences between my current thought patterns, and the way I used to think. It's almost as if I have dispensed with the irrational notion that intelligent thought has to be intelligent itself. That making sense of things has to, itself, make sense. I realize that, at some fundamental level, all human activity is completely unguided by intelligent calculation. Sure, you can obsessively analyze every issue in your life, so that every action you take, and every decision you make, conforms to a rationally-devised plan. But, what caused you to DO that planning in the first place? Certainly you didn't PLAN to plan? Something had to come completely spontaneously -- completely unwittingly!
And so, realizing that acting unwittingly is actually inescapable, and that any attempt on my part to impose some sort of intelligent structure on my thinking is itself unintelligent, I cease this futile activity. I let my thoughts rise and fall in their natural motion, which at first appears arbitrary. In this laissez-faire way of thinking, two seemingly unrelated concepts will bubble up in succession. But, when I suddenly find that I am able to trace both of these concepts to a common intersection, I realize that these thoughts aren't arbitrary at all -- they are guided by a powerful subconscious intelligence, which one might refer to as "intuition". So that's the key to strengthening the analytical intellect! Trusting the intuition.
My most memorable insight comes while enjoying some music. I first muse on an internet forum,
I just find it very curious -- human beings and their relationship to music. Ultimately I think [music] must serve some sort of reproductive advantage, although I can't really imagine how or why that could be. But I firmly maintain the position that all major endeavors of humankind are not accidental, from an evolutionary perspective. And the amount of energy that humans put into creating pleasing sounds is astounding.
As I am listening to the music, I am struck with an intriguing observation. The pleasure of listening to the music is always correlated with making accurate predictions. Whenever I correctly anticipate any particular movement within the music, I am rewarded with a satisfying surge of emotion. I have never heard this song before in my life, however. How am I making these predictions, I wonder? The music must be following some sort of formula, which I have deciphered. Listening to music, I conclude, is like hearing someone recite, "1, 3, 5, 7, …", and then chiming in, "nine!" along with the speaker. I then tie this concept together with my question about the evolutionary purpose of music. I make another post on the internet forum:
I get it, now! Wow.
O.K.
Music is simply an exercise for the brain. One man creates sounds that conform to a particular mathematical pattern, or algorithm. He is the music producer. The other man, the listener, then subconsciously begins to analyze the sounds for the pattern, in an attempt to understand the original formula by which the producer made the sounds. Once the listener discovers the pattern, he is rewarded, and hence the pleasure we associate with listening to music. And, in repeating this time and time again, listening to various musical rhythms and melodies, interpreting various unique mathematical relationships, the pattern-recognition functions of the brain are exercised.
Many other ideas arise during this period of reflection. It occurs to me that cultural pressure contributes significantly to our obsession with sex. I currently do not have an active sexual life, and I feel perfectly healthy and happy, although I get the impression that the world is trying to convince me that I am psychologically unwell without regular sex. Another idea that comes up relates to honesty with my parents about my drug use. I conclude that, paradoxically, it is more honest to hide my drug use from them than to reveal it. They, for whatever reason, are incapable of comprehending constructive drug use, so if I admit my use to them, they will incorrectly conclude that I am headed down a path of self-perpetuating psychosis. The purpose of honesty is to provide others with the truth, and because I am damaging my parents' perception of the truth by admitting my drug use, it is not genuinely honest to do so.
The alluded solo orgasm ends up completely blowing my mind, both in sheer intensity, and in the apparent revolutionizing of my understanding of the mechanics of sexual excitation.
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