DexterMeth
Bluelighter
3/7/05
Trip Report – DXM, 405mg (Robotussin Coughgels)
4.10pm – 405mg down the old tract. Haven’t eaten anything today. Sit down to watch a movie while the effects build on and up.
4.22pm – first alerts. A very noticeable warm, churning sensation in my stomach. Throughout my body I feel slightly depressed/stoned. A definite numbing has come about and is gradually increasing in effects.
4.37pm – body temp has rose slightly. Stomach feels mildly upset. Nothing I can’t handle.
5.00pm – take shower. I puke up all that red colored gel in the shower. Mostly dry heaving by this point. Go back to my room and lay down, listening to ravi shankhar. I am in for a very deep dive.
5.30pm – I can’t stop thinking about the middle east, and the endless eras and epics of human history. There seems to be no end or beginning anywhere in sight. Only the battering of the drums, the crying drone of the sitar. I am becoming more and more dissasotiated by the minute. Goodbye self. Goodbye concepts. Goodbye.
Complete surrender. It’s meditation you see. It’s there.
It feels so good to sit up and fallback over, diving into the all. This raga music compliments the trips so perfectly. Much better than any trance or anything else. It feels so organic, and thus makes the experience feel organic, and so right.
I could die right now and nothing would matter…………………..
5.40pm - I’m so far out in the cosmos right now. Yet at the same time I can hold my shit in reality. It’s quite a thing. A thing it is. Quite. Contemplating sitting in the lotus position for a million years, all but an instant. Everything being one single moment. Past, present, future. I’m surprised to be experiencing these effects at such a dose. Though I am not surprised at all. I’m not. I am.
We are so lucky to live in this “time” of existence. Bluelight is a great thing. Digital pixled friendships and aquantinces. I don’t see this as being any less real. Just different. Yet not.
Looking back on my current opiate and benzo use as a fucking joke. How pathetic. ………… digital clouds of liquid morphine. Jokes for serenity. The suffering is needed. One needs their balance. If I ceased suffer I would gladly hang myself and travel onwards.
For a few moments I think about Hunter S. Thompson. So he shot himself. Nothing has changed. Nothing is different. He knows this. He is this. This is this.
6.00 – so many a man has wasted their lives away. And it doesn’t matter. Everything is ok. So unrelenting, yet compassionate. What’s the worst that could happen? You die.
No, but death is nothing. Torture is the worst that could happen. Or is it? The thought of being beaten to death by an angry mob seems divine.
The consciousness of a lizard. The reptilian realm. Insects. Spiders. Fish and mammals. Minerals and gasses. Light and gravity. Fusion. Implosion.
The human consciousness is so important because it possesses the consciousness of all that is around. That’s why we have done so well. Humans are consciousness. We are far more advanced than we know. We’ve already done it all. And we created a physical ecosystem of organic and inert material which due to the processes of things, we call the universe.
Nothing is random. Can you see beyond it? So “we” can’t explain it. Doesn’t mean it isn’t fixed. Physics………such a basic level, but we are on the right track.
3rd eye? How many beats a minute can the drummer hit the drum?
Fast food. Trashcans. Shopping malls. Commercials. Sarcasm. Violence. Bad jokes. Pain and suffering. Imitation diamonds, and candy canes. Faster the engine churns. Dividing a hologram into infinity.
Methamphetamine. Heroin. Cannabis. Valium. So serene. It fits the fold. Rolling over into another perception.
Why exist then? The question is, why NOT exist? Why try? Why NOT try?
At this moment I have no sympathy for anyone. Yet I do.
Imagine seeing all the endless layers of colorful flowing gas on Jupiter. Dripping, rolling, sliding, percolating through your psyche. The choices you make, the feelings you have, your destiny, all but a liquid gas, mixing, churning, breathing, being.
So there is no good and bad. That’s not the point. Just mix with the gas. Churn. Churn. Churn.
Sorry mother. T’was destiny. I’ll watch over you anyways.
Take it for what it is. Take it for what it’s not.
Pain is not going to care whether you like it or not. So why care about pain?
Pain is the blood in my viens in a hot air balloon, floating over the Andes in the rain, cept Saturn is the moon, and the earth is your mind, and my past is your Christmas, with Bob Marley injecting terpentine….smiling. Laughing. Children at play. A rusted pocket knife stuck in the gravel. My stomach was just temporarily upset. I don’t see this as a negative thing.
I’m thirsty, yet I thrive off abstaining from water. Delusional needs friends too. Everyone talks bad of him. Badmiten. Osama Bin ladin, the archetype to us all. The precussor to our Madonna. The Electric uncertainty. The Holy Grail floating in a pile of fecal matter. 500,000,000 heads of children. Cut off with a dull knife. They threw those kittens in a furnace, and made a joke about Johnny Carson.
Carson Daily. That bitch. If he ever tried to spite me I would smash his face in.
I’m starving. My stomach rumbles. I open the door and let it it. Starvation for fun. I starve because I choose to. One could say that purposely not eating food is keeping me attached. This may be so. Or is it? Imagine a helicopter, with its blades spinning around endlessly. One blade being ego, the other being the other. Faster, faster. One in the same. Repeat. Repeats. Again. And again. To gain is to gain for another. Fold it over, for a while, then comes another, for a while, but at least I got this something, for another, for a while.
6.38pm – Another 200mg DXM down the shutter. Thinking about my girlfriend that moved to New York City for a modeling job. We had something very special together. We both knew it and know it. Only time will tell. I don’t feel heartbroken in anyway right now. It’s nice having memories of her, instead of nothing. I called her a couple days after New Years but sounded like an idiot on the phone. I was so smacked out, and had just gotten back from a massive drug binge in Mexico, not to mention my 24hr stay in a Mexican prison for passing out, nodding in front of a police station. I can’t stop thinking about my recent trips to Mexico now. I feel so alive down there, but I fuck myself over every time. Last time I lost my car and got it impounded. I’m seeing these events crystal clear. I was drunk and on xanax and speed, just roaming the streets of Tiajuana. I felt hopeless. I had no money, and my car was missing. I walk into a grocery store and ask to use the bathroom. An employee points to the back of the store where the stock room is and back exit and such. I take one of the long and delayed alcohol pisses, then when I step out of the bathroom I notice a huge pile of 40ounce beers in a huge bin. I snag 2 and put them in my crotch area of my pants. I walk out the back exit and find some alley and sit on the ground, leaning against a dumpster and a brick wall. I feel entirely hopeless, but don’t really give a fuck either, cause I just know things will work out. After almost finishing the 40’s some guy walks buy and gives me the strangest stare. It was like looking at myself in the mirror…had I been born in Mexico, and walking through an alley, gazing down at some guy practically laying on the ground. A few seconds later I puke up all the alcohol I had just consumed. I decide to get back into “living” mode and find my car. I really have no clue where I left it. By chance there is a small police station office near the alley I was drink in. I go in and ramble on, drunk/stoned/sped/nodding telling them about my car. They don’t seem to be much help. They go in the back room and converse about the usual chit chatter in Spanish. Angered, I reach over the counter (no one is in the front room) and steal a big black bag. I walk out with it and go back to the alley. The contents of the bag consist of perhaps 100 different people’s ID’s, a set of maybe 40 keys, some really nice handcuffs, and a bunch of tickets and pens. I threw the shit away in the dumpster. Rats, no money or weapons. Sit down in my spot by the dumpster again and pass out for a couple hours. Wake up sometime later, and it’s getting dark. Shit. Go back to that police office, and the secretary lets me use the phone to call a friend to pick me up at the border. I was in the heart of the city. But the speed luckily made it easy to walk the long distance to the boarder. After walking across a great footbridge I come across a group of Mexicanos that are beating the shit out of some other Mexican for doing something wrong. All the tourists around are shocked. Everyone is standing still in horror. I turn away and pick up a payphone, dialing collect to see if my friend is anywhere near. Eventually get across, and my friend picks me up at a Jack in the Box. I have so many Mexico stories to tell. But for another time.
7.10pm – I just felt really compelled to write that. Being on DXM and thinking about it was like reliving it. It was quite a great experience. Learning to love the negatives.
I have a handful of hours to go. I plan on smoking some salvia, and dropping some
8.00pm – what if the entire universe was just a spark of electricity? Thinking about the grander scheme of things? Hmm. Nothing beats “oldies” music. AM radio a go go.
Roaming through the corridors, turn the key and start to play.
From the lepper’s teeth you learn to beg. Beg with a knot of insolent desire. Your pin wheel. The endless mazes and folding combinations. You are the phrases from your conversations. You are the actions from your favorite movies. You are a raven dropping bombs on Bahgdad. I yearn for the day when we can talk to anyone and everyone via video teleconferencing. There might be a nuclear war but this world will never end.
Intraveinous, intranasal, subcutaneous. Walking up the steps of an Aztec pyramid. 10 feet away from your demise. With the tobacco smoke drifting off into the sunrise. Lost civilizations. Forgotten truths. Stuttering some more. The fountain youth, is the fountain of orange juice.
Trip Report – DXM, 405mg (Robotussin Coughgels)
4.10pm – 405mg down the old tract. Haven’t eaten anything today. Sit down to watch a movie while the effects build on and up.
4.22pm – first alerts. A very noticeable warm, churning sensation in my stomach. Throughout my body I feel slightly depressed/stoned. A definite numbing has come about and is gradually increasing in effects.
4.37pm – body temp has rose slightly. Stomach feels mildly upset. Nothing I can’t handle.
5.00pm – take shower. I puke up all that red colored gel in the shower. Mostly dry heaving by this point. Go back to my room and lay down, listening to ravi shankhar. I am in for a very deep dive.
5.30pm – I can’t stop thinking about the middle east, and the endless eras and epics of human history. There seems to be no end or beginning anywhere in sight. Only the battering of the drums, the crying drone of the sitar. I am becoming more and more dissasotiated by the minute. Goodbye self. Goodbye concepts. Goodbye.
Complete surrender. It’s meditation you see. It’s there.
It feels so good to sit up and fallback over, diving into the all. This raga music compliments the trips so perfectly. Much better than any trance or anything else. It feels so organic, and thus makes the experience feel organic, and so right.
I could die right now and nothing would matter…………………..
5.40pm - I’m so far out in the cosmos right now. Yet at the same time I can hold my shit in reality. It’s quite a thing. A thing it is. Quite. Contemplating sitting in the lotus position for a million years, all but an instant. Everything being one single moment. Past, present, future. I’m surprised to be experiencing these effects at such a dose. Though I am not surprised at all. I’m not. I am.
We are so lucky to live in this “time” of existence. Bluelight is a great thing. Digital pixled friendships and aquantinces. I don’t see this as being any less real. Just different. Yet not.
Looking back on my current opiate and benzo use as a fucking joke. How pathetic. ………… digital clouds of liquid morphine. Jokes for serenity. The suffering is needed. One needs their balance. If I ceased suffer I would gladly hang myself and travel onwards.
For a few moments I think about Hunter S. Thompson. So he shot himself. Nothing has changed. Nothing is different. He knows this. He is this. This is this.
6.00 – so many a man has wasted their lives away. And it doesn’t matter. Everything is ok. So unrelenting, yet compassionate. What’s the worst that could happen? You die.
No, but death is nothing. Torture is the worst that could happen. Or is it? The thought of being beaten to death by an angry mob seems divine.
The consciousness of a lizard. The reptilian realm. Insects. Spiders. Fish and mammals. Minerals and gasses. Light and gravity. Fusion. Implosion.
The human consciousness is so important because it possesses the consciousness of all that is around. That’s why we have done so well. Humans are consciousness. We are far more advanced than we know. We’ve already done it all. And we created a physical ecosystem of organic and inert material which due to the processes of things, we call the universe.
Nothing is random. Can you see beyond it? So “we” can’t explain it. Doesn’t mean it isn’t fixed. Physics………such a basic level, but we are on the right track.
3rd eye? How many beats a minute can the drummer hit the drum?
Fast food. Trashcans. Shopping malls. Commercials. Sarcasm. Violence. Bad jokes. Pain and suffering. Imitation diamonds, and candy canes. Faster the engine churns. Dividing a hologram into infinity.
Methamphetamine. Heroin. Cannabis. Valium. So serene. It fits the fold. Rolling over into another perception.
Why exist then? The question is, why NOT exist? Why try? Why NOT try?
At this moment I have no sympathy for anyone. Yet I do.
Imagine seeing all the endless layers of colorful flowing gas on Jupiter. Dripping, rolling, sliding, percolating through your psyche. The choices you make, the feelings you have, your destiny, all but a liquid gas, mixing, churning, breathing, being.
So there is no good and bad. That’s not the point. Just mix with the gas. Churn. Churn. Churn.
Sorry mother. T’was destiny. I’ll watch over you anyways.
Take it for what it is. Take it for what it’s not.
Pain is not going to care whether you like it or not. So why care about pain?
Pain is the blood in my viens in a hot air balloon, floating over the Andes in the rain, cept Saturn is the moon, and the earth is your mind, and my past is your Christmas, with Bob Marley injecting terpentine….smiling. Laughing. Children at play. A rusted pocket knife stuck in the gravel. My stomach was just temporarily upset. I don’t see this as a negative thing.
I’m thirsty, yet I thrive off abstaining from water. Delusional needs friends too. Everyone talks bad of him. Badmiten. Osama Bin ladin, the archetype to us all. The precussor to our Madonna. The Electric uncertainty. The Holy Grail floating in a pile of fecal matter. 500,000,000 heads of children. Cut off with a dull knife. They threw those kittens in a furnace, and made a joke about Johnny Carson.
Carson Daily. That bitch. If he ever tried to spite me I would smash his face in.
I’m starving. My stomach rumbles. I open the door and let it it. Starvation for fun. I starve because I choose to. One could say that purposely not eating food is keeping me attached. This may be so. Or is it? Imagine a helicopter, with its blades spinning around endlessly. One blade being ego, the other being the other. Faster, faster. One in the same. Repeat. Repeats. Again. And again. To gain is to gain for another. Fold it over, for a while, then comes another, for a while, but at least I got this something, for another, for a while.
6.38pm – Another 200mg DXM down the shutter. Thinking about my girlfriend that moved to New York City for a modeling job. We had something very special together. We both knew it and know it. Only time will tell. I don’t feel heartbroken in anyway right now. It’s nice having memories of her, instead of nothing. I called her a couple days after New Years but sounded like an idiot on the phone. I was so smacked out, and had just gotten back from a massive drug binge in Mexico, not to mention my 24hr stay in a Mexican prison for passing out, nodding in front of a police station. I can’t stop thinking about my recent trips to Mexico now. I feel so alive down there, but I fuck myself over every time. Last time I lost my car and got it impounded. I’m seeing these events crystal clear. I was drunk and on xanax and speed, just roaming the streets of Tiajuana. I felt hopeless. I had no money, and my car was missing. I walk into a grocery store and ask to use the bathroom. An employee points to the back of the store where the stock room is and back exit and such. I take one of the long and delayed alcohol pisses, then when I step out of the bathroom I notice a huge pile of 40ounce beers in a huge bin. I snag 2 and put them in my crotch area of my pants. I walk out the back exit and find some alley and sit on the ground, leaning against a dumpster and a brick wall. I feel entirely hopeless, but don’t really give a fuck either, cause I just know things will work out. After almost finishing the 40’s some guy walks buy and gives me the strangest stare. It was like looking at myself in the mirror…had I been born in Mexico, and walking through an alley, gazing down at some guy practically laying on the ground. A few seconds later I puke up all the alcohol I had just consumed. I decide to get back into “living” mode and find my car. I really have no clue where I left it. By chance there is a small police station office near the alley I was drink in. I go in and ramble on, drunk/stoned/sped/nodding telling them about my car. They don’t seem to be much help. They go in the back room and converse about the usual chit chatter in Spanish. Angered, I reach over the counter (no one is in the front room) and steal a big black bag. I walk out with it and go back to the alley. The contents of the bag consist of perhaps 100 different people’s ID’s, a set of maybe 40 keys, some really nice handcuffs, and a bunch of tickets and pens. I threw the shit away in the dumpster. Rats, no money or weapons. Sit down in my spot by the dumpster again and pass out for a couple hours. Wake up sometime later, and it’s getting dark. Shit. Go back to that police office, and the secretary lets me use the phone to call a friend to pick me up at the border. I was in the heart of the city. But the speed luckily made it easy to walk the long distance to the boarder. After walking across a great footbridge I come across a group of Mexicanos that are beating the shit out of some other Mexican for doing something wrong. All the tourists around are shocked. Everyone is standing still in horror. I turn away and pick up a payphone, dialing collect to see if my friend is anywhere near. Eventually get across, and my friend picks me up at a Jack in the Box. I have so many Mexico stories to tell. But for another time.
7.10pm – I just felt really compelled to write that. Being on DXM and thinking about it was like reliving it. It was quite a great experience. Learning to love the negatives.
I have a handful of hours to go. I plan on smoking some salvia, and dropping some
8.00pm – what if the entire universe was just a spark of electricity? Thinking about the grander scheme of things? Hmm. Nothing beats “oldies” music. AM radio a go go.
Roaming through the corridors, turn the key and start to play.
From the lepper’s teeth you learn to beg. Beg with a knot of insolent desire. Your pin wheel. The endless mazes and folding combinations. You are the phrases from your conversations. You are the actions from your favorite movies. You are a raven dropping bombs on Bahgdad. I yearn for the day when we can talk to anyone and everyone via video teleconferencing. There might be a nuclear war but this world will never end.
Intraveinous, intranasal, subcutaneous. Walking up the steps of an Aztec pyramid. 10 feet away from your demise. With the tobacco smoke drifting off into the sunrise. Lost civilizations. Forgotten truths. Stuttering some more. The fountain youth, is the fountain of orange juice.
