RigaCrypto
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Sep 20, 2006
- Messages
- 446
Last weekend, the museums in my city organized an ‘open doors’ night, with free entrance in most museums and extended opening hours throughout the night. Given that there were quite a few that I hadn’t seen yet, I set on spending a night out exploring the city and its museums. And what compound should I wear on my 5HT receptors on such a night? I wanted foremost something that would keep me awake and energetic throughout the night, without drowsiness and with a long enough duration. So, I took the DOC out of my psychedelic wardrobe. I decided on a 1,5mg dose (dissolved in vodka) to keep me grounded enough to enjoy the surroundings without getting lost in abstract thought.
T:6:45pm I dosed myself (on an empty stomach) and then set out to meet my friend who would be my sober trip sitter. The first stop on our itinerary was the contemporary art museum in the monumental but somewhat sinister massive building of the Parliament.
T:7:30pm I felt the first effects as I got off the subway, the foreboding body vibration common to psychedelics. By the time we entered the museum I was already on the come-up wave, the world starting to be blotted together into one and being muted down into chaos and unreality. The dose was too low for the stimulant buzz to be apparent.
T:8:00pm We walked through the lackluster photo exhibit in a passing inventory. The photos were mediocre postmodernist blase intellectual caprices, only occasionally managing to serve as mocking material. The museum was a giant labyrinth I could not wait to get to the end of, to get over my messy come-up phase and the body load caused by my cold. By their vacuousness and pseudo intellectual wannabe sophistication they reminded me of the Pompidou museum in Paris.
My mind was swelling, reality was getting deafening together with my random thoughts, I was being taken apart for me to put myself together later, in the usual death-rebirth of psychedelics.
T:8:30pm We climbed to the museum terrace, some 60m above the city, where a lights and techno music exhibit was taking place and the seagulls were flying in circles in the spotlights above the building. Dusk had set in and the purple band at the horizon where the sun had descended started to look unreal and synthetic due to the inward push of the come-up phase of the DOC, which was slightly derealizing as psychedelics often are for me. Even though I had wanted to get out of the museum as soon as I had got in, the energy and positive emotional push of the DOC made me able to stoically push through.
We finally descended and went out into the cool night outside, a great relief after the human ant pile inside and the suffocating heat. We set out for our next waypoint, the military museum. We walked around the massive parliament complex and by the huge gates that went into the deep underground structure to which the already immense building above was like the tip of the iceberg. Parking lots, nuclear bunkers, a fabled but never confirmed underground road network that spans the entire city. I went off on a tangent talking to my buddy about the cold war mastodons that had been left behind, the underground cities of Russia and the US built as burrows by the leaders to hide in the event of the Armageddon they were planning to bring about.
I was nearing the plateau, still a bit chaotic and disoriented but with a wider perspective and more able to articulate thoughts.
T:9:30pm We walked through the city as my high plateaued, leaving most of my body load and nausea behind and putting me in the calm heated mood that would get me through the night. I felt the need to take breaks now and then to sit on a bench and drink some water. I needed to rest for 5 minutes (which in real time were more like 2 minutes) after which I was ready to go.
The DOC high which had revealed itself had an emotional component similar to mescaline. I was calm and happy, as if everything was right and everything was possible. But it was even more so than with the Peruvian Torch I had tried, which had a bit of a speedy buzz and was slightly more intellectual. I was slightly stimulated, thinking rapidly and tending to verbalize all my thoughts. As for the intellectual effects, it brought me more into the present rather than dissociating me like other substances, fading away the past and future and bringing the eternal present to the forefront, the limitless world of dreams and adventure.
We entered the main building of the military museum, with a river of people flowing around, laughing and talking loudly, into an exhibit of the ‘revolution’ (more like coup d’etat) that took place in my country 20 years ago. Sweaters with the threads disheveled where the bullet had gone through, pictures of dead civilians laid out on the floor like gutted fish on a slab, with their arms sprawled, heads tilted backwards and wide blank eyes staring into the void, mouths gaping in horror as their bodies were leaking empty with streams of blood. Charred AKM assault rifles with the wooden stocks burned away. Pictures of APCs and tanks on the city streets and massed in front of the television building. Custom made silenced sniper rifles used by the secret police to pop kids in the head. The ancient, embellished metal door of a monastery in the city center made into a sieve with bullet holes. The personal items of the minister of defense involved in the repression who killed himself by accident and was made into a fake hero post-mortem by the state propaganda. All the people around were detachedly mocking things whereas the DOC was giving me an immediate awareness of the senseless and random death of the innocent and idealistic kids in those days who took to the streets hoping to change the world only to be reaped as cannon fodder in a fake show put on by the government in order to pursue their own ends.
We went out into the courtyard where the heavy military hardware was put on display. Field cannons. Monstrous armored railway cars with cannons and ammo stores. The T34 tank that won the war. The ever more advanced postwar tanks where you could see the refinement of death. Malformed beetles of cheap iron that crushed flesh and coffins of steel in which the crews sat cramped, dripping with sweat from the inhuman heat and stench inside the tank, and from the fear of impending death, living in the present second for they did not know whether they would see another, metal splintering and crushing them inside when hit by a shell. Cheapass-looking huge metal dragonflies with rocket launchers on each side, zooming across the land and bringing swift death on those below, with hoist cables on which probably countless generations of air assault rookies learned to descend from a helicopter, hanging for dear life on the chipped handle and looking at the earth far below. All culminating in the biggest monster of all: the truck-mounted short-range ballistic missile launcher, able to carry tactical nuclear warheads. The eraser of lives.
Most people around looked at them as cool toys and tools of personal power. Under the influence of the psychedelic though, I saw them as coffins in which innocent people were shipped to die by their masters in their pursuit of power and glory. (Here are the hippie-making qualities of psychedelics at work
; normally, I am not unduly afraid of violence) I saw weapons from the perspective of their victims, the huge slivers of steel fired from canons and bursting into a thousand splinters, dropping from the distance too fast to see and sending your reality in an instant seizure as they mash your brain together with the rest of your body. The bird of prey coming from above with the thunder, making you feel like a mouse scurrying for a hole, with nowhere to hide, the ground around you erupting into pain under the rain of rockets. The white eternal light of the atomic fission, the instant of infinity.
We entered into the somewhat more soothing hangar where the beginnings of flight were documented. I was able to get over the previous stressful exhibits before artfully crafted wooden planes and the cramped tin can in which a cosmonaut got blown into the sky until it turned from blue to black and then fell back again.
T:11:30pm We hike through the meandering narrow streets in the old part of the city, with interwar period houses built in a variety of styles to the whims of their owners, with dense canopies of green over the street and cool intimate courtyards enveloped in ivy and lush plants. We arrived at the national art museum where some events organized for this occasion had gathered huge queues of people at the entrances. I didn’t feel up to waiting in line, as a quarter hour of waiting would have been equal to an hour for me. I met a friend and talked to her in a somewhat tweaky manner that subsequently made me a bit self-conscious about tripping in public. So we set out for what we had planned as the final stop on our journey, the geology museum. I had envisioned it as a soothing end for the trip, the age-old tranquility and frozen beauty of the mineral kingdom washing away the vicissitudes of life from our memory and the cool halls of the monumental building providing relief from the sweltering heat in the other museums. But it was closed so we returned to the art museum.
T:2:00am My DOC-enhanced perception showed its practical value when I noticed a pair of polarizing sunglasses on the sidewalk that my friend happily accepted as an unexpected gift from providence. We shot the shit for a while, laughing our asses off recollecting various drug-related adventures.
As my buddy was waiting in line at the museum I went off to sit for a while and closed my eyes to see the unseen. The CEV’s made themselves apparent as exquisitely complex digital graphics, gleaming holograms of bright, alive colors embroidered into superimposed layers of fine veneers. Purple, violet and gold foil, integrating into pictures and symbols, landscapes of fairyland. The image quality and resolution were closer to tryptamines than 2C’s (which for me give rather rudimentary and fuzzy visuals), but more solid and regular shaped, though not on the level of realistic complexity and clarity of LSD.
The DOC placed me above my life. Above my uncertainties, procrastination, forgetfulness. It showed me my life, my past and future, now. And it told me that everything is all right and that everything can be done. Now. It made me feel ready to plunge into life, holding me in its warm light and showing me that life is beautiful. I found it healing in the way mescaline can be, an encouragement and a gentle push of energy to renew my vital force.
We entered the national art museum. It started from the Middle Ages, with golden religious artifacts, medieval clothing, religious icons in the naive Byzantine style. Only on a psychedelic can I experience the true value of a museum. I was able to transport myself and experience the feel of those times, the earthy vibe of a dark age. It progressed to the modern painting, where some of the more realistic-painting artists enabled me to see their creations in 3D and their subjects alive after centuries. The country I know, seen as a forest, with deforestation and widespread agriculture far in the future, a sea of green traveled on horseback over days, between islands of home which at the time were quaint hamlets compared to today. Simple people having their personalities immortalized on a canvas, showing themselves as real people to us. A solid, vigorous parade of life, showing itself old and young, dying and being reborn, immortal in the face of time.
T:4:00am We had to call it a night because the so-called museum night did not span the entire night and ended at 4 am. I was still going strong and wanted to go see the geology museum when it opened the next day. As I walked home, the city took a fairyland appearance, realer than real, the buildings appearing as solid, alive beings out of the inky night, flowing with colored light from spotlights and neon ads bleeding green and crimson on the white marbled glistening surfaces of Roman and Art Nouveau style buildings and interwar period apartments intertwined with solid glass mirror office buildings. A calm, contemplative, warm solidity and beauty far removed from the dissociation of other psychedelics I’ve done.
T:5:00am I got home and fell asleep with relatively little effort. I woke up at T:10:00am with the warm, calm energy still in me, a far cry from the next-day blankness of 2C’s, which makes getting out of bed a lengthy process. I was even more energetic than usual, I completed almost all my jogging routine without stopping, whereas I normally take one or two breathers. And this, having slept for only five hours, having walked all night and eaten only a protein shake in the last 18 hours. Most psychedelics leave me struggling the next morning to recollect the trip and its revelation. DOC lays me down slowly and gradually, melting itself down into the fabric of my life, holding its vibe in my mind enough for it to stay there.
This was my second experience with DOC, at a +2 level. The first time I had had a +3 experience which for this compound seems not ideal to me. It had left me a negative impression, the chaos into which it sent my mind tired it out to the extent that towards the end of the trip I could not perform simple tasks like pulling the zipper of my sleeping bag. Also, the stimulant energy pushed me beyond the limits of my stamina and became tiring.
This time I think I found a better use and dosage range. It always seemed to me as the epic psychedelic, the substance which gives you the energy to DO something on it rather than an introspective and contemplative experience. And it makes fun great fun; it allows me to immerse myself in the moment and enjoy it fully, and transform a night out into a long and varied voyage. The good-humor, laughter, goofy disposition also make for a lot of good times. For me this is now the adventure trip, the exploration of reality, the “On the Road” vibe, the timeless voyage.
I had thought it a wasted material, but after this second trial I look forward to trying it again, though I will use it sporadically.
Body load:
Wetware: male in his 20’s, 70kg, stricken with an annoying hay fever barely subdued by Claritine, which threatened to turn into a full-blown cold.
I am mentioning this because I found that the physical background often permeates through the unconscious during a trip to fundamentally alter its character. Cold, hunger, tiredness have sometimes subtly ruined some trips for me, appearing as subliminal textures of reality that skewed my entire emotional interpretation of what I saw and thought. This cold was threatening to do so at the beginning of the trip, the DOC amplifying the unpleasant sensations of the sickness and compounding it with its own slight nausea. But after I plateaued these symptoms faded away and I was left to enjoy myself.
The biggest issue regarding body load was the profuse sweating. It was swelteringly hot and humid, especially in the jam-packed interiors of the museums, I had exercised strenuously before tripping and drunk a lot of hot tea, but this was excessive even in these conditions. At moments I was drenched. This was not a problem, but I imagine it could become one at higher dosages as if one was energized and physically hyper and forgot to hydrate oneself, I imagine it could lead to dehydration and problems similar to MDMA. Gotta remember to drink constantly with this one.
T:6:45pm I dosed myself (on an empty stomach) and then set out to meet my friend who would be my sober trip sitter. The first stop on our itinerary was the contemporary art museum in the monumental but somewhat sinister massive building of the Parliament.
T:7:30pm I felt the first effects as I got off the subway, the foreboding body vibration common to psychedelics. By the time we entered the museum I was already on the come-up wave, the world starting to be blotted together into one and being muted down into chaos and unreality. The dose was too low for the stimulant buzz to be apparent.
T:8:00pm We walked through the lackluster photo exhibit in a passing inventory. The photos were mediocre postmodernist blase intellectual caprices, only occasionally managing to serve as mocking material. The museum was a giant labyrinth I could not wait to get to the end of, to get over my messy come-up phase and the body load caused by my cold. By their vacuousness and pseudo intellectual wannabe sophistication they reminded me of the Pompidou museum in Paris.
My mind was swelling, reality was getting deafening together with my random thoughts, I was being taken apart for me to put myself together later, in the usual death-rebirth of psychedelics.
T:8:30pm We climbed to the museum terrace, some 60m above the city, where a lights and techno music exhibit was taking place and the seagulls were flying in circles in the spotlights above the building. Dusk had set in and the purple band at the horizon where the sun had descended started to look unreal and synthetic due to the inward push of the come-up phase of the DOC, which was slightly derealizing as psychedelics often are for me. Even though I had wanted to get out of the museum as soon as I had got in, the energy and positive emotional push of the DOC made me able to stoically push through.
We finally descended and went out into the cool night outside, a great relief after the human ant pile inside and the suffocating heat. We set out for our next waypoint, the military museum. We walked around the massive parliament complex and by the huge gates that went into the deep underground structure to which the already immense building above was like the tip of the iceberg. Parking lots, nuclear bunkers, a fabled but never confirmed underground road network that spans the entire city. I went off on a tangent talking to my buddy about the cold war mastodons that had been left behind, the underground cities of Russia and the US built as burrows by the leaders to hide in the event of the Armageddon they were planning to bring about.
I was nearing the plateau, still a bit chaotic and disoriented but with a wider perspective and more able to articulate thoughts.
T:9:30pm We walked through the city as my high plateaued, leaving most of my body load and nausea behind and putting me in the calm heated mood that would get me through the night. I felt the need to take breaks now and then to sit on a bench and drink some water. I needed to rest for 5 minutes (which in real time were more like 2 minutes) after which I was ready to go.
The DOC high which had revealed itself had an emotional component similar to mescaline. I was calm and happy, as if everything was right and everything was possible. But it was even more so than with the Peruvian Torch I had tried, which had a bit of a speedy buzz and was slightly more intellectual. I was slightly stimulated, thinking rapidly and tending to verbalize all my thoughts. As for the intellectual effects, it brought me more into the present rather than dissociating me like other substances, fading away the past and future and bringing the eternal present to the forefront, the limitless world of dreams and adventure.
We entered the main building of the military museum, with a river of people flowing around, laughing and talking loudly, into an exhibit of the ‘revolution’ (more like coup d’etat) that took place in my country 20 years ago. Sweaters with the threads disheveled where the bullet had gone through, pictures of dead civilians laid out on the floor like gutted fish on a slab, with their arms sprawled, heads tilted backwards and wide blank eyes staring into the void, mouths gaping in horror as their bodies were leaking empty with streams of blood. Charred AKM assault rifles with the wooden stocks burned away. Pictures of APCs and tanks on the city streets and massed in front of the television building. Custom made silenced sniper rifles used by the secret police to pop kids in the head. The ancient, embellished metal door of a monastery in the city center made into a sieve with bullet holes. The personal items of the minister of defense involved in the repression who killed himself by accident and was made into a fake hero post-mortem by the state propaganda. All the people around were detachedly mocking things whereas the DOC was giving me an immediate awareness of the senseless and random death of the innocent and idealistic kids in those days who took to the streets hoping to change the world only to be reaped as cannon fodder in a fake show put on by the government in order to pursue their own ends.
We went out into the courtyard where the heavy military hardware was put on display. Field cannons. Monstrous armored railway cars with cannons and ammo stores. The T34 tank that won the war. The ever more advanced postwar tanks where you could see the refinement of death. Malformed beetles of cheap iron that crushed flesh and coffins of steel in which the crews sat cramped, dripping with sweat from the inhuman heat and stench inside the tank, and from the fear of impending death, living in the present second for they did not know whether they would see another, metal splintering and crushing them inside when hit by a shell. Cheapass-looking huge metal dragonflies with rocket launchers on each side, zooming across the land and bringing swift death on those below, with hoist cables on which probably countless generations of air assault rookies learned to descend from a helicopter, hanging for dear life on the chipped handle and looking at the earth far below. All culminating in the biggest monster of all: the truck-mounted short-range ballistic missile launcher, able to carry tactical nuclear warheads. The eraser of lives.
Most people around looked at them as cool toys and tools of personal power. Under the influence of the psychedelic though, I saw them as coffins in which innocent people were shipped to die by their masters in their pursuit of power and glory. (Here are the hippie-making qualities of psychedelics at work
; normally, I am not unduly afraid of violence) I saw weapons from the perspective of their victims, the huge slivers of steel fired from canons and bursting into a thousand splinters, dropping from the distance too fast to see and sending your reality in an instant seizure as they mash your brain together with the rest of your body. The bird of prey coming from above with the thunder, making you feel like a mouse scurrying for a hole, with nowhere to hide, the ground around you erupting into pain under the rain of rockets. The white eternal light of the atomic fission, the instant of infinity.We entered into the somewhat more soothing hangar where the beginnings of flight were documented. I was able to get over the previous stressful exhibits before artfully crafted wooden planes and the cramped tin can in which a cosmonaut got blown into the sky until it turned from blue to black and then fell back again.
T:11:30pm We hike through the meandering narrow streets in the old part of the city, with interwar period houses built in a variety of styles to the whims of their owners, with dense canopies of green over the street and cool intimate courtyards enveloped in ivy and lush plants. We arrived at the national art museum where some events organized for this occasion had gathered huge queues of people at the entrances. I didn’t feel up to waiting in line, as a quarter hour of waiting would have been equal to an hour for me. I met a friend and talked to her in a somewhat tweaky manner that subsequently made me a bit self-conscious about tripping in public. So we set out for what we had planned as the final stop on our journey, the geology museum. I had envisioned it as a soothing end for the trip, the age-old tranquility and frozen beauty of the mineral kingdom washing away the vicissitudes of life from our memory and the cool halls of the monumental building providing relief from the sweltering heat in the other museums. But it was closed so we returned to the art museum.
T:2:00am My DOC-enhanced perception showed its practical value when I noticed a pair of polarizing sunglasses on the sidewalk that my friend happily accepted as an unexpected gift from providence. We shot the shit for a while, laughing our asses off recollecting various drug-related adventures.
As my buddy was waiting in line at the museum I went off to sit for a while and closed my eyes to see the unseen. The CEV’s made themselves apparent as exquisitely complex digital graphics, gleaming holograms of bright, alive colors embroidered into superimposed layers of fine veneers. Purple, violet and gold foil, integrating into pictures and symbols, landscapes of fairyland. The image quality and resolution were closer to tryptamines than 2C’s (which for me give rather rudimentary and fuzzy visuals), but more solid and regular shaped, though not on the level of realistic complexity and clarity of LSD.
The DOC placed me above my life. Above my uncertainties, procrastination, forgetfulness. It showed me my life, my past and future, now. And it told me that everything is all right and that everything can be done. Now. It made me feel ready to plunge into life, holding me in its warm light and showing me that life is beautiful. I found it healing in the way mescaline can be, an encouragement and a gentle push of energy to renew my vital force.
We entered the national art museum. It started from the Middle Ages, with golden religious artifacts, medieval clothing, religious icons in the naive Byzantine style. Only on a psychedelic can I experience the true value of a museum. I was able to transport myself and experience the feel of those times, the earthy vibe of a dark age. It progressed to the modern painting, where some of the more realistic-painting artists enabled me to see their creations in 3D and their subjects alive after centuries. The country I know, seen as a forest, with deforestation and widespread agriculture far in the future, a sea of green traveled on horseback over days, between islands of home which at the time were quaint hamlets compared to today. Simple people having their personalities immortalized on a canvas, showing themselves as real people to us. A solid, vigorous parade of life, showing itself old and young, dying and being reborn, immortal in the face of time.
T:4:00am We had to call it a night because the so-called museum night did not span the entire night and ended at 4 am. I was still going strong and wanted to go see the geology museum when it opened the next day. As I walked home, the city took a fairyland appearance, realer than real, the buildings appearing as solid, alive beings out of the inky night, flowing with colored light from spotlights and neon ads bleeding green and crimson on the white marbled glistening surfaces of Roman and Art Nouveau style buildings and interwar period apartments intertwined with solid glass mirror office buildings. A calm, contemplative, warm solidity and beauty far removed from the dissociation of other psychedelics I’ve done.
T:5:00am I got home and fell asleep with relatively little effort. I woke up at T:10:00am with the warm, calm energy still in me, a far cry from the next-day blankness of 2C’s, which makes getting out of bed a lengthy process. I was even more energetic than usual, I completed almost all my jogging routine without stopping, whereas I normally take one or two breathers. And this, having slept for only five hours, having walked all night and eaten only a protein shake in the last 18 hours. Most psychedelics leave me struggling the next morning to recollect the trip and its revelation. DOC lays me down slowly and gradually, melting itself down into the fabric of my life, holding its vibe in my mind enough for it to stay there.
This was my second experience with DOC, at a +2 level. The first time I had had a +3 experience which for this compound seems not ideal to me. It had left me a negative impression, the chaos into which it sent my mind tired it out to the extent that towards the end of the trip I could not perform simple tasks like pulling the zipper of my sleeping bag. Also, the stimulant energy pushed me beyond the limits of my stamina and became tiring.
This time I think I found a better use and dosage range. It always seemed to me as the epic psychedelic, the substance which gives you the energy to DO something on it rather than an introspective and contemplative experience. And it makes fun great fun; it allows me to immerse myself in the moment and enjoy it fully, and transform a night out into a long and varied voyage. The good-humor, laughter, goofy disposition also make for a lot of good times. For me this is now the adventure trip, the exploration of reality, the “On the Road” vibe, the timeless voyage.
I had thought it a wasted material, but after this second trial I look forward to trying it again, though I will use it sporadically.
Body load:
Wetware: male in his 20’s, 70kg, stricken with an annoying hay fever barely subdued by Claritine, which threatened to turn into a full-blown cold.
I am mentioning this because I found that the physical background often permeates through the unconscious during a trip to fundamentally alter its character. Cold, hunger, tiredness have sometimes subtly ruined some trips for me, appearing as subliminal textures of reality that skewed my entire emotional interpretation of what I saw and thought. This cold was threatening to do so at the beginning of the trip, the DOC amplifying the unpleasant sensations of the sickness and compounding it with its own slight nausea. But after I plateaued these symptoms faded away and I was left to enjoy myself.
The biggest issue regarding body load was the profuse sweating. It was swelteringly hot and humid, especially in the jam-packed interiors of the museums, I had exercised strenuously before tripping and drunk a lot of hot tea, but this was excessive even in these conditions. At moments I was drenched. This was not a problem, but I imagine it could become one at higher dosages as if one was energized and physically hyper and forgot to hydrate oneself, I imagine it could lead to dehydration and problems similar to MDMA. Gotta remember to drink constantly with this one.
