oneluckysperm
Greenlighter
The events I'm about to relate occurred in a quaint medieval city in the South of England.
It began by procuring a couple of grams of wonk between me and a friend in a park area replete with canals. A nice setting. With my tolerance relatively low, I was somewhat put off by the ketamine zombies who were chopping up around me; noses dribbling and sinuses blocked and bearing the sort of demeanour you immediately recognise as resulting from their having been on it all day for several days. The size of the lines confirmed this: after my Saxon-faced hippy acquaintance and I had chipped in with the dealer I was looking at around a daunting 3rd of a gram in each line.
Having commented on this I faced a barrage of questions such as ?€œHave you done this before? I'll wrack you up a smaller one?€ etcetera, but being at least confident in my experience if not my present tolerance I didn't acquiesce and promptly stuck half of the line in each nostril.
Within minutes the many layers of my self were peeling away to the chopping whomp that invariably accompanies my ketamine journeys. I was bang in the hole with little a transitory period and felt myself objectively cycling through the fourth dimensional selves that had or would arrive here through different means and many others inhabiting worlds even more alien to me. I stared around at the group as they were being perceptibly drawn along their own existential tangents. This repeated itself for some time and I cycled through these beings as if jacked in to a cybernetic uplink. I consider this the most noteworthy and enlightening experience I had for both this journey and any other.
After a short while I felt I'd regained the use of my legs and was surprised to see that my Saxon-faced, six foot-something, hardhead friend was still deep in it. I got out my wrap and chopped another small one just to get back some threshold wonkiness. This brings me back to where I was before but it seemed less defined and I felt I'd lost something in the experience. Before long my hippy mate finds that he, too, has regained the use of his legs and decides to trek up to the off license. ...At this point it bears mentioning that I was in no state to negotiate walking, let alone human interaction, and when we arrive I find myself standing in front of the counter with a worried looking clerk staring at me as I clench a tenner tightly in my white-knuckled fist, mouthing almost wordlessly and clearly making no sense. The Saxon pushes me aside and, with some difficulty, purchases us both a few cans. We depart grinning stupidly; dimly aware that we've interjected a noteworthy experience into the otherwise mundane day of the clerk.
I'll skip forwards several hours and some lines later. We found ourselves negotiating the architecture around the medieval cathedral and city walls on our way back to the train station. Going through a tunnel I again found myself contemplating the existential tangents of various selves travelling similar routes in alternative dimensions. Once again, it lacked the clarity of my first experience with this in the park.
It bears mentioning that, looking back on my final paragraph, I cannot say with any degree of certainty that the winding tunnels of medieval architecture we ventured through were in fact medieval architecture and not simply underpasses and alleyways. My doubt increases when I recall coming out of one such tunnel and being struck by the impression we'd just stumbled into a desolate, post-apocalyptic zone which, looking back, I now feel pretty safe in confirming was a construction yard.
An impressive experience, nonetheless.
Tagged by Xorkoth
substancecode_ketamine
substancecode_dissociatives
explevel_inexperienced
exptype_positive
exptype_glowing
exptype_spiritual
roacode_nasal
It began by procuring a couple of grams of wonk between me and a friend in a park area replete with canals. A nice setting. With my tolerance relatively low, I was somewhat put off by the ketamine zombies who were chopping up around me; noses dribbling and sinuses blocked and bearing the sort of demeanour you immediately recognise as resulting from their having been on it all day for several days. The size of the lines confirmed this: after my Saxon-faced hippy acquaintance and I had chipped in with the dealer I was looking at around a daunting 3rd of a gram in each line.
Having commented on this I faced a barrage of questions such as ?€œHave you done this before? I'll wrack you up a smaller one?€ etcetera, but being at least confident in my experience if not my present tolerance I didn't acquiesce and promptly stuck half of the line in each nostril.
Within minutes the many layers of my self were peeling away to the chopping whomp that invariably accompanies my ketamine journeys. I was bang in the hole with little a transitory period and felt myself objectively cycling through the fourth dimensional selves that had or would arrive here through different means and many others inhabiting worlds even more alien to me. I stared around at the group as they were being perceptibly drawn along their own existential tangents. This repeated itself for some time and I cycled through these beings as if jacked in to a cybernetic uplink. I consider this the most noteworthy and enlightening experience I had for both this journey and any other.
After a short while I felt I'd regained the use of my legs and was surprised to see that my Saxon-faced, six foot-something, hardhead friend was still deep in it. I got out my wrap and chopped another small one just to get back some threshold wonkiness. This brings me back to where I was before but it seemed less defined and I felt I'd lost something in the experience. Before long my hippy mate finds that he, too, has regained the use of his legs and decides to trek up to the off license. ...At this point it bears mentioning that I was in no state to negotiate walking, let alone human interaction, and when we arrive I find myself standing in front of the counter with a worried looking clerk staring at me as I clench a tenner tightly in my white-knuckled fist, mouthing almost wordlessly and clearly making no sense. The Saxon pushes me aside and, with some difficulty, purchases us both a few cans. We depart grinning stupidly; dimly aware that we've interjected a noteworthy experience into the otherwise mundane day of the clerk.
I'll skip forwards several hours and some lines later. We found ourselves negotiating the architecture around the medieval cathedral and city walls on our way back to the train station. Going through a tunnel I again found myself contemplating the existential tangents of various selves travelling similar routes in alternative dimensions. Once again, it lacked the clarity of my first experience with this in the park.
It bears mentioning that, looking back on my final paragraph, I cannot say with any degree of certainty that the winding tunnels of medieval architecture we ventured through were in fact medieval architecture and not simply underpasses and alleyways. My doubt increases when I recall coming out of one such tunnel and being struck by the impression we'd just stumbled into a desolate, post-apocalyptic zone which, looking back, I now feel pretty safe in confirming was a construction yard.
An impressive experience, nonetheless.
Tagged by Xorkoth
substancecode_ketamine
substancecode_dissociatives
explevel_inexperienced
exptype_positive
exptype_glowing
exptype_spiritual
roacode_nasal
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