NotToTouchTheEarth
Greenlighter
- Joined
- Nov 10, 2017
- Messages
- 3
- General Information -
Age : 30
Sex : Male
Size : 1.87m
Weight : 85kg
- Experience Details -
Dose : 5 grams
Primary Substance : Psilocybin (dried cubensis; oral)
Additionnal Substance : S-Ketamine (powder; insuflated) / N,N DMT (freebase, smoked)
Marijuana : Yes (smoked)
Mindset : Heavy, tired by unresolved/unidentified issues, very ready and determined to "research further" something about the "meaning" of love. Mindset was everything but recreative.
Setting : Comfortable appartment & bedroom, no social distractions whatsoever. For the first half of the trip, no lights and no music either.
So here we go again...
T+ 35 min - The onset of intensity.
T+ 45 min - An internal darkness looms, visual intrusions become increasingly vivid with closed eyes. Auditory impressions of a skipping record, distortions of time's shape, as if with every thought or concept, the brain shifts between spatio-temporal lines, wandering among the present, future, past, and absolute. From experience, I know I must surrender, I should surrender, but the contrast with my previous experiences this summer under LSD and 2-CB is striking: there's no "connection to everything" at this stage, or if there is, as a participant, I cannot grasp it. There's no "everything," and therefore, I don't know what to surrender to. The universe is profoundly dark and personal. It contains only the depths of my being, my inner fears, and what the Mushroom does with them or would have me do.
T+ 50min - It turns my words around and wants to play with me. I realize it delves into elements of old and hidden dreams. There's no will behind the entity, no malice, but great neutrality. The entity does not understand what I fear. For it, everything merely unfolds.
T+ 1H - I dissolve into something not of my choosing, and part of me resists. I softly and shakily asked the mushrooms, "Show me love," show me where love resides, what love is, but I left my question open-ended - the concept is too vague, and the universe is now insectoid, both alive and menacing, including and excluding me simultaneously. With closed eyes, waves of consciousness assail me. Flashes of mysterious faces appearing for a fraction of a second, and a direct conversation with the Mushroom ensues. The words are clear and pounce on me; they imprint somewhere between my retina and my sternum. There isn't much color in this monochromatic root world that still encompasses them all.
T+1 H15 - For a while, I allow myself to sway in the threat, massaged by waves of mystery. I persist in silence, keeping the light off, and follow, out of curiosity, all of McKenna's advice regarding "the heroic dose." The Mushroom asks me if I really want to see where love resides. "Are you sure? Are you sure? Are you sure?" it asks, relentless. Despite my fear, I say yes. Suddenly, everything becomes dark, and an entire world collapses in on itself. I see a semi-conical form floating in space or underground, an insect-machine in rotation, infinitely complex, clearly non-Euclidean, with infinite facets yet coherent, carrying itself in the material world by force of rotation. I ask the Mushroom what it "does," and I get scolded. "It doesn't rotate to do or serve anything; it rotates to BE! - futile! is the cell of the whole!" I listen to this correction, take it into account, then silence ensues.
T+1H40 - Everything becomes void, strange, lonely, yet familiar, like a place where darkness lives in peace. In the depths of my field of vision, the organic machine, the spacecraft, continues to pulsate. I ask the Mushroom if it comes from another planet. It tells me no, just from another place. "Another planet? No, it's within this dirt that I grow". Being scolded by a plant I suddenly feel humble. I'm still in the dark, but there's a path. A part of my mind insists: this is not your place, this is not comfortable, just beautiful, strange, and dark. Another, braver, more primal aspect of my being urges me to persist: "This too shall pass. Stay. Accept us. Accept the message." Like a crackling radio. A step toward what's next. I lose myself in the fluttering of shapes and concepts; gradually, what appeared dark and menacing becomes a neutral shadow, a mirror of my fears. I tell the Mushroom it's tricking me. I asked to be shown "love," and it showed me a strange world of doubts, loneliness, strangeness, and emptiness. And like a fool, I find myself surprised. It laughs at me, "What you humans call love is torture, a knot, a chain, a distorted instinct." It doesn't understand why I'm astonished to encounter so much darkness when I wanted to talk about love. "You should have expected it, expected it, expected it"... Love exists, but not here. I am intellect, disconnection, neutrality. The hyperconnection to things caused by LSD, here turns into an inverse indole, a struggle, a counterforce of disconnection to return to the whole. Perhaps. For now, I'm not sure if I'm capable of emotion. I am a dark being in the territory of love, and around me, the machines vibrate with matter. So be it.
T+2H30 - The experience of the "heroic dose" in complete darkness, as described in psychedelic literature, becomes a mirror of itself, a scarecrow through which I have now passed, a disconnection in connection that must be disregarded, a false retreat from hyperreality that now requires adding a more significant part of myself than mere abandonment - empowering surrender to action, manifesting it with a more personal will. The Mushroom still yells, playful but benevolent, "So, following rules and advice doesn't seem to work for you, huh? By the way, since when do you follow rules? What a dumb idea." I realize that all these stories, all this sometimes morbid suggestiveness, were the inception, the incubation of a space of reality and exploration - the insects of my soul had to be purged to ascend towards color.
I turn on the light and decide to break the Myth of the conversation in total darkness, to include an external voice - as the Mushroom indicates, the only valid heroism is one that we set for ourselves to preserve the Logos, the consciousness of the word, the sense of noise, the penetrating action. I rise to my feet, and my body feels heavy, and the image of myself that I manage to catch in mid-flight is that of a Homo sapiens bent over a bush of overripe fruits. A new era is about to unfold.
T+2h40: I head towards the living room like a clumsy monkey, suddenly too aware of the presence of my body, my nervous system, all of that meat. I feel my spine, every nerve, every tendon, every little electric prick along my bones, in a state of almost unbearable hyper-awareness. I create a new form of quasi-transcendental acupuncture with my fingers, gently applying pressure on the most sensitive areas. The sudden light pulled me out of the darkness, but a mysterious threat still lingers, now connected to the hyper-awareness I have of my body.
T+3H - I need to channel this experience; I am not just a brain-body or a body-brain; I want them each in their respective compartments goddammit! I crush 250mg of S-Ketamine and inhale. The relief is almost immediate. What was once a world ranging from monochrome to orange swells with color and energy. The visual universe becomes vibrant and playful. My body is comfortable. For the first time in almost 4 hours, I remember the lost sensation of LAUGHTER. I laugh loudly at everything; I return to a world close to what the mushrooms, at lower doses, have always shown me until now. I return to the room and realize that my previous state was something new, the absolute discomfort of a very bold mystical experience, sufficiently extreme but approached with too much respect and reverence instead of just enough, as if my psychedelic interior suddenly needed to be handled with more caution than before, and paid the price of being too cautious.
T+4H - I am now back in a familiar matrix; the flow of information and images is incessant, but there is no more threat, no more flesh, no half-opened doors hiding terrifying mysteries. Now the living cylinder, the rotating insect, becomes as flamboyant as a Maya city, and all concepts come to life as I hear them and they penetrate me. I float. Everything becomes penetrating and immense, and finally, the connection to the world, to things, to nature, that innate sense of belonging to a unique whole of tryptamines returns to me like a flash. "You hadn't lost it," says the Mushroom. "Simply, there was a path. You must go through the path. You know how to reach the goal, but very often, you avoid the path!" Once again, I feel humble. I decide to break the silence. The voice of the YouTuber "Shaun" resonates, mixed with that of the Mushrooms, who suddenly, mischievously at times, give him the voice of an ancient woodland elf, just wanting to tell another joke forever. "Shaun," who conducts an essay on the contradictions and shadowy areas of a well-known young adult saga, humorously deconstructs concepts and undermines the values of a cardboard universe.
I suddenly realize that the inanity of the universe in question, the hypersigil represented by the very idea of wizarding school, as a metaphor reflecting the entire existence of a generation of millenials : fundamentally neoliberal, biased, empty, like a potential for non-existence in a world expecting an eternal status quo that no one dares touch. I realize that Sex is a Verb, and Penetration is a Sound, and that every being is in the Service of this Sound. In an eternal maelstrom of creation and entropy, the rotation persists, and we float in space. "NOT IN SPACE!" says the Mushroom. "You and I, we do like oxygen, don't we?" I nod and breathe. I focus on Shaun's voice. My cannabis joint is a summit of pleasure and delight. I feel the power of the plant and its way of greeting the Mushroom itself, kickstarting a conversation between plants, in a grand assembly of wise vegetation. I witness this encounter like a creature who seems both paralyzed and omnipotent - a most peculiar feeling, strangely liberating. Yet my nervous system alerts me once more. A couple electrical spine kicks. +100mg of S-Ketamine and one more joint join forces to help bring a renewed sense of peace, but I no longer want to laugh. Now, I only want to contemplate. I allow Shaun's essay to finish and, now without any fear at all, return to the silence and darkness I had fled from before. This one loop now seems complete.
T+ 4h40 - It's the time for Cities of Gold; or the only thing that, in a modern world of post modern consciousness and social paralysis, can come close to it - the visual climax of visionary drugs, the loss in the fractal tunnel that means everything and nothing at once, and suddenly words lose all power, all interest, they are flawed and too feeble, incapable of transcribing the construction of pyramids and the meandering of indoles through synaptic receptors. There is a chrysanthemum at the center of the brain, or rather, of the mind, there is a Soul of Serotonin. The mushrooms alone would not have been suited for a "hippie revolution," a "revolution of consciousness" as LSD allegedly was in the 1960s, because acid is cinematic. With a little training, and even at relatively high doses, one can, if accustomed to the Beast, describe it more or less, provide the director's commentary, make sense of the direction of things. Here, nope. Everything is hyperconnected yet deeply personal. The ego is no longer really there, but the awareness of its existence "elsewhere" is extreme. If acid is psychoanalytic in the most vivid and potentially gentle sense of the term, psilocybin is an unapologetic confrontation with the unconscious and desiring machines, through a prism that is only partially controlled. No. A hippie revolution under these terms would have been even more impossible than the one Tim Leary, in his foolishness and naivety, tried to impose on the psychedelic world. As sincere as LSD may be, it carries within it a part of fiction that makes it an almost easy ally, the Entity of all Poets, greatness itself, sure, but not in the Holy and Godly sense Leary tried to infuse into it.
Here, the mushroom is its own poet, and I am merely a verse, a verb, a blossoming in its wake. One must be ready to traverse, fully aware, the universe that we usually forget upon waking because it is too difficult to maintain as a concept in the conscious realm. One could think that the experience of psilocybin is entirely internal, that the mushroom is solitary and isolated, but no. It only morphs situations and desires, adapting to thoughts and repressions, to situations and expectations. It is a shape in motion, a connection whose effects are felt gradually, like a slow burn, unlike LSD and its sense of immediate ecstatic, tantric dissolution. Here, liberation must be earned. And whoever is not ready to traverse a part of their internal desert to do so may not earn it, there is no such thing as a sure trick with psilocybin. But by surrendering to acceptance, by accepting the jolt, the individual who wants to grow will gain a lasting impression of richness, openness, and meaning. As if the world could only be fascinating, and new encounters could, if approached with wisdom and intelligence, only be beautiful.
T+5H - Lost in a fractal tunnel, I gradually dissolve amid smiling memories, childhood recollections, lost or forgotten places, never seen or overthought, and I smile in my chrysalis. The world is an envelope; I am part of its contents, and something somewhere maintains, by will or chance, the whole in order, in balance. I see an immense clock and immerse myself in entropy. Little by little, consciousness is lost.
T+6H15 - I estimate that sleep will arrive around 7 or 8 in the morning, like a relief, a reward, or simply a logical transition. Slowly, I sink without realizing it, or perhaps knowing all too well, into the border between wakefulness and absence.
- SLEEP -
T+10H40 - Around ten-thirty in the morning, I am awakened by the ringing intercom, but without stress, pain, or disturbance. A friend is there; he wants to see me. I am a new man, suddenly clean and rested. The conclusion to this experience seems simple to me, and I prepare 200mg of N,N-Dimethyltryptamine, which I split in two. We smoke the peace pipe quietly. The DMT welcomes me, says hello, cuddles me, and at the same time kindly warns me that it might be time to slow down, to reflect, to feel and conceive what has just been experienced before it fades away in the meanderings of mixed experiences, in the psychedelic imbroglio. "Welcome, but take your time, traveler," says the DMT. "You have given much of your soul in this affair, in this loop of reality. Take this pillow, rest, for now, you have done enough." The changa resonates like a mental breakfast, like the logical conclusion to its psilocybin cousin, warmer, more encompassing, but with such
unimaginable power that even the most pretentious rarely dare to abuse its hospitality.
So be it. Here is paper, and these are some words. It is time to write, there is no vanity, and everything useless remains useful in the fold of things. The words will fail once more, that's true, undoubtedly. Nevertheless, from their very failure, new worlds and all the concepts adjacent to these worlds will be born. And through this novelty, in the cacophony of receptors, inventors of words will emerge, tamers of Logos, tigers in the shadows whose shadows give birth to other worlds, which in turn give birth to new creators, creators who will then need to be described with other words to account for their glory - and so on...
There is no conceptual finitude. Only Rotation.
No panic, my friends - the chrysanthemum knows what it's doing. Behind every man, there is a plan. Behind every plan, there is love. Our will might not be done on Earth, perhaps not, surely not - and to hell with Heaven. After all, oxygen-deprived skies are just the dream creatures frightened by their own lungs made up. I prefer a breath that embraces monsters than a sky that accepts no breathing.
From afar, and for at least four eternities, eighteen rotations, six revelations, and three prophets, things fall into place.
The time of a very short breath.
Thank you for reading.
Age : 30
Sex : Male
Size : 1.87m
Weight : 85kg
- Experience Details -
Dose : 5 grams
Primary Substance : Psilocybin (dried cubensis; oral)
Additionnal Substance : S-Ketamine (powder; insuflated) / N,N DMT (freebase, smoked)
Marijuana : Yes (smoked)
Mindset : Heavy, tired by unresolved/unidentified issues, very ready and determined to "research further" something about the "meaning" of love. Mindset was everything but recreative.
Setting : Comfortable appartment & bedroom, no social distractions whatsoever. For the first half of the trip, no lights and no music either.
So here we go again...
T+ 35 min - The onset of intensity.
T+ 45 min - An internal darkness looms, visual intrusions become increasingly vivid with closed eyes. Auditory impressions of a skipping record, distortions of time's shape, as if with every thought or concept, the brain shifts between spatio-temporal lines, wandering among the present, future, past, and absolute. From experience, I know I must surrender, I should surrender, but the contrast with my previous experiences this summer under LSD and 2-CB is striking: there's no "connection to everything" at this stage, or if there is, as a participant, I cannot grasp it. There's no "everything," and therefore, I don't know what to surrender to. The universe is profoundly dark and personal. It contains only the depths of my being, my inner fears, and what the Mushroom does with them or would have me do.
T+ 50min - It turns my words around and wants to play with me. I realize it delves into elements of old and hidden dreams. There's no will behind the entity, no malice, but great neutrality. The entity does not understand what I fear. For it, everything merely unfolds.
T+ 1H - I dissolve into something not of my choosing, and part of me resists. I softly and shakily asked the mushrooms, "Show me love," show me where love resides, what love is, but I left my question open-ended - the concept is too vague, and the universe is now insectoid, both alive and menacing, including and excluding me simultaneously. With closed eyes, waves of consciousness assail me. Flashes of mysterious faces appearing for a fraction of a second, and a direct conversation with the Mushroom ensues. The words are clear and pounce on me; they imprint somewhere between my retina and my sternum. There isn't much color in this monochromatic root world that still encompasses them all.
T+1 H15 - For a while, I allow myself to sway in the threat, massaged by waves of mystery. I persist in silence, keeping the light off, and follow, out of curiosity, all of McKenna's advice regarding "the heroic dose." The Mushroom asks me if I really want to see where love resides. "Are you sure? Are you sure? Are you sure?" it asks, relentless. Despite my fear, I say yes. Suddenly, everything becomes dark, and an entire world collapses in on itself. I see a semi-conical form floating in space or underground, an insect-machine in rotation, infinitely complex, clearly non-Euclidean, with infinite facets yet coherent, carrying itself in the material world by force of rotation. I ask the Mushroom what it "does," and I get scolded. "It doesn't rotate to do or serve anything; it rotates to BE! - futile! is the cell of the whole!" I listen to this correction, take it into account, then silence ensues.
T+1H40 - Everything becomes void, strange, lonely, yet familiar, like a place where darkness lives in peace. In the depths of my field of vision, the organic machine, the spacecraft, continues to pulsate. I ask the Mushroom if it comes from another planet. It tells me no, just from another place. "Another planet? No, it's within this dirt that I grow". Being scolded by a plant I suddenly feel humble. I'm still in the dark, but there's a path. A part of my mind insists: this is not your place, this is not comfortable, just beautiful, strange, and dark. Another, braver, more primal aspect of my being urges me to persist: "This too shall pass. Stay. Accept us. Accept the message." Like a crackling radio. A step toward what's next. I lose myself in the fluttering of shapes and concepts; gradually, what appeared dark and menacing becomes a neutral shadow, a mirror of my fears. I tell the Mushroom it's tricking me. I asked to be shown "love," and it showed me a strange world of doubts, loneliness, strangeness, and emptiness. And like a fool, I find myself surprised. It laughs at me, "What you humans call love is torture, a knot, a chain, a distorted instinct." It doesn't understand why I'm astonished to encounter so much darkness when I wanted to talk about love. "You should have expected it, expected it, expected it"... Love exists, but not here. I am intellect, disconnection, neutrality. The hyperconnection to things caused by LSD, here turns into an inverse indole, a struggle, a counterforce of disconnection to return to the whole. Perhaps. For now, I'm not sure if I'm capable of emotion. I am a dark being in the territory of love, and around me, the machines vibrate with matter. So be it.
T+2H30 - The experience of the "heroic dose" in complete darkness, as described in psychedelic literature, becomes a mirror of itself, a scarecrow through which I have now passed, a disconnection in connection that must be disregarded, a false retreat from hyperreality that now requires adding a more significant part of myself than mere abandonment - empowering surrender to action, manifesting it with a more personal will. The Mushroom still yells, playful but benevolent, "So, following rules and advice doesn't seem to work for you, huh? By the way, since when do you follow rules? What a dumb idea." I realize that all these stories, all this sometimes morbid suggestiveness, were the inception, the incubation of a space of reality and exploration - the insects of my soul had to be purged to ascend towards color.
I turn on the light and decide to break the Myth of the conversation in total darkness, to include an external voice - as the Mushroom indicates, the only valid heroism is one that we set for ourselves to preserve the Logos, the consciousness of the word, the sense of noise, the penetrating action. I rise to my feet, and my body feels heavy, and the image of myself that I manage to catch in mid-flight is that of a Homo sapiens bent over a bush of overripe fruits. A new era is about to unfold.
T+2h40: I head towards the living room like a clumsy monkey, suddenly too aware of the presence of my body, my nervous system, all of that meat. I feel my spine, every nerve, every tendon, every little electric prick along my bones, in a state of almost unbearable hyper-awareness. I create a new form of quasi-transcendental acupuncture with my fingers, gently applying pressure on the most sensitive areas. The sudden light pulled me out of the darkness, but a mysterious threat still lingers, now connected to the hyper-awareness I have of my body.
T+3H - I need to channel this experience; I am not just a brain-body or a body-brain; I want them each in their respective compartments goddammit! I crush 250mg of S-Ketamine and inhale. The relief is almost immediate. What was once a world ranging from monochrome to orange swells with color and energy. The visual universe becomes vibrant and playful. My body is comfortable. For the first time in almost 4 hours, I remember the lost sensation of LAUGHTER. I laugh loudly at everything; I return to a world close to what the mushrooms, at lower doses, have always shown me until now. I return to the room and realize that my previous state was something new, the absolute discomfort of a very bold mystical experience, sufficiently extreme but approached with too much respect and reverence instead of just enough, as if my psychedelic interior suddenly needed to be handled with more caution than before, and paid the price of being too cautious.
T+4H - I am now back in a familiar matrix; the flow of information and images is incessant, but there is no more threat, no more flesh, no half-opened doors hiding terrifying mysteries. Now the living cylinder, the rotating insect, becomes as flamboyant as a Maya city, and all concepts come to life as I hear them and they penetrate me. I float. Everything becomes penetrating and immense, and finally, the connection to the world, to things, to nature, that innate sense of belonging to a unique whole of tryptamines returns to me like a flash. "You hadn't lost it," says the Mushroom. "Simply, there was a path. You must go through the path. You know how to reach the goal, but very often, you avoid the path!" Once again, I feel humble. I decide to break the silence. The voice of the YouTuber "Shaun" resonates, mixed with that of the Mushrooms, who suddenly, mischievously at times, give him the voice of an ancient woodland elf, just wanting to tell another joke forever. "Shaun," who conducts an essay on the contradictions and shadowy areas of a well-known young adult saga, humorously deconstructs concepts and undermines the values of a cardboard universe.
I suddenly realize that the inanity of the universe in question, the hypersigil represented by the very idea of wizarding school, as a metaphor reflecting the entire existence of a generation of millenials : fundamentally neoliberal, biased, empty, like a potential for non-existence in a world expecting an eternal status quo that no one dares touch. I realize that Sex is a Verb, and Penetration is a Sound, and that every being is in the Service of this Sound. In an eternal maelstrom of creation and entropy, the rotation persists, and we float in space. "NOT IN SPACE!" says the Mushroom. "You and I, we do like oxygen, don't we?" I nod and breathe. I focus on Shaun's voice. My cannabis joint is a summit of pleasure and delight. I feel the power of the plant and its way of greeting the Mushroom itself, kickstarting a conversation between plants, in a grand assembly of wise vegetation. I witness this encounter like a creature who seems both paralyzed and omnipotent - a most peculiar feeling, strangely liberating. Yet my nervous system alerts me once more. A couple electrical spine kicks. +100mg of S-Ketamine and one more joint join forces to help bring a renewed sense of peace, but I no longer want to laugh. Now, I only want to contemplate. I allow Shaun's essay to finish and, now without any fear at all, return to the silence and darkness I had fled from before. This one loop now seems complete.
T+ 4h40 - It's the time for Cities of Gold; or the only thing that, in a modern world of post modern consciousness and social paralysis, can come close to it - the visual climax of visionary drugs, the loss in the fractal tunnel that means everything and nothing at once, and suddenly words lose all power, all interest, they are flawed and too feeble, incapable of transcribing the construction of pyramids and the meandering of indoles through synaptic receptors. There is a chrysanthemum at the center of the brain, or rather, of the mind, there is a Soul of Serotonin. The mushrooms alone would not have been suited for a "hippie revolution," a "revolution of consciousness" as LSD allegedly was in the 1960s, because acid is cinematic. With a little training, and even at relatively high doses, one can, if accustomed to the Beast, describe it more or less, provide the director's commentary, make sense of the direction of things. Here, nope. Everything is hyperconnected yet deeply personal. The ego is no longer really there, but the awareness of its existence "elsewhere" is extreme. If acid is psychoanalytic in the most vivid and potentially gentle sense of the term, psilocybin is an unapologetic confrontation with the unconscious and desiring machines, through a prism that is only partially controlled. No. A hippie revolution under these terms would have been even more impossible than the one Tim Leary, in his foolishness and naivety, tried to impose on the psychedelic world. As sincere as LSD may be, it carries within it a part of fiction that makes it an almost easy ally, the Entity of all Poets, greatness itself, sure, but not in the Holy and Godly sense Leary tried to infuse into it.
Here, the mushroom is its own poet, and I am merely a verse, a verb, a blossoming in its wake. One must be ready to traverse, fully aware, the universe that we usually forget upon waking because it is too difficult to maintain as a concept in the conscious realm. One could think that the experience of psilocybin is entirely internal, that the mushroom is solitary and isolated, but no. It only morphs situations and desires, adapting to thoughts and repressions, to situations and expectations. It is a shape in motion, a connection whose effects are felt gradually, like a slow burn, unlike LSD and its sense of immediate ecstatic, tantric dissolution. Here, liberation must be earned. And whoever is not ready to traverse a part of their internal desert to do so may not earn it, there is no such thing as a sure trick with psilocybin. But by surrendering to acceptance, by accepting the jolt, the individual who wants to grow will gain a lasting impression of richness, openness, and meaning. As if the world could only be fascinating, and new encounters could, if approached with wisdom and intelligence, only be beautiful.
T+5H - Lost in a fractal tunnel, I gradually dissolve amid smiling memories, childhood recollections, lost or forgotten places, never seen or overthought, and I smile in my chrysalis. The world is an envelope; I am part of its contents, and something somewhere maintains, by will or chance, the whole in order, in balance. I see an immense clock and immerse myself in entropy. Little by little, consciousness is lost.
T+6H15 - I estimate that sleep will arrive around 7 or 8 in the morning, like a relief, a reward, or simply a logical transition. Slowly, I sink without realizing it, or perhaps knowing all too well, into the border between wakefulness and absence.
- SLEEP -
T+10H40 - Around ten-thirty in the morning, I am awakened by the ringing intercom, but without stress, pain, or disturbance. A friend is there; he wants to see me. I am a new man, suddenly clean and rested. The conclusion to this experience seems simple to me, and I prepare 200mg of N,N-Dimethyltryptamine, which I split in two. We smoke the peace pipe quietly. The DMT welcomes me, says hello, cuddles me, and at the same time kindly warns me that it might be time to slow down, to reflect, to feel and conceive what has just been experienced before it fades away in the meanderings of mixed experiences, in the psychedelic imbroglio. "Welcome, but take your time, traveler," says the DMT. "You have given much of your soul in this affair, in this loop of reality. Take this pillow, rest, for now, you have done enough." The changa resonates like a mental breakfast, like the logical conclusion to its psilocybin cousin, warmer, more encompassing, but with such
unimaginable power that even the most pretentious rarely dare to abuse its hospitality.
So be it. Here is paper, and these are some words. It is time to write, there is no vanity, and everything useless remains useful in the fold of things. The words will fail once more, that's true, undoubtedly. Nevertheless, from their very failure, new worlds and all the concepts adjacent to these worlds will be born. And through this novelty, in the cacophony of receptors, inventors of words will emerge, tamers of Logos, tigers in the shadows whose shadows give birth to other worlds, which in turn give birth to new creators, creators who will then need to be described with other words to account for their glory - and so on...
There is no conceptual finitude. Only Rotation.
No panic, my friends - the chrysanthemum knows what it's doing. Behind every man, there is a plan. Behind every plan, there is love. Our will might not be done on Earth, perhaps not, surely not - and to hell with Heaven. After all, oxygen-deprived skies are just the dream creatures frightened by their own lungs made up. I prefer a breath that embraces monsters than a sky that accepts no breathing.
From afar, and for at least four eternities, eighteen rotations, six revelations, and three prophets, things fall into place.
The time of a very short breath.
Thank you for reading.
Last edited:
Thanks for sharing.