SeveredPsyche
Bluelighter
- Joined
- Nov 5, 2001
- Messages
- 329
LSD - 1 of many - Coming to grips with familiar surroundings
This was 1 trip in the middle of a binge that really stood out for me. It was written the morning after while I was still stuggling to get myself together and seems strange to me because I never write or talk like this.
When: Early 1995, early evening
Where: Parents' house (parents absent)
With: 3 or 4 friends - relaxed environment
What: 1 Jimi Hendrix
These jimis were very unpredictable. I would double drop just to get some effect but this time I had just 1 and it blew me away. The others had half each. It was a while ago so I can't remember the exact sequence of events, but we'd been drinking wine earlier in the day, felt good when we dropped and each had a few brews early on in the trip. The techno mentioned was Strictly Techno (vol 1).
While this doesn't sound like much fun, I'm still glad it happened and it hasn't stopped me taking acid.
---
The evening started off normally enough, though the wine of a few hours ago was starting to make me feel a bit vague and hungover.
The first five beers went down quite nicely; everyone was getting nice and drunk and were quite happy. There wasn't a lot to do; table tennis was being played, though it was hard for them to play properly, and they seemed to lose interest at crucial times.
Threats of a session were flying around all night, and while people were having cones every now and then, I abstained and nothing that resembled a fully fledged smoking binge was forthcoming.
Finally, through no free will or knowledge by me, I was faced with a filthy bucket of my own packing to be pulled and smoked. I did a quick check of my mull bowl, to find a fraction of a cone which I tried to pile on top of the already overflowing bucket cone. It didn't quite fit, so I left it in the bowl.
I had started pulling the bucket when I heard the sound of footsteps down the little wooden stairs behind me. I turned around to see who it was, to be greeted with the words "How was that?" Feeling a little puzzled at this question, I went back to the business of the bucket, only to find that all the smoke that had been slowly building up in the chamber, was no longer there. The need to exhale was so urgent that it, like a lot of other things that evening, happened without much say on my part.
An answer to the weird question, which started to make more sense now, was slowly making its way from my lips. It came out as almost unintelligible garbage. The other one or two efforts shortly afterwards were even worse, so I made a tactful retreat from the laundry, where the bucket was set up.
The next thing I knew I was sitting in front of the TV, wrestling with the controls of a blue submarine, against a blue undersea background, shooting at blue ships. This was not making a lot of sense, and looking around, I could see there was no one else there to help explain things. They wouldn't have helped that much anyway, as it was getting hard to distinguish between objects on the screen and everything else.
Feeling a little bit like a spectator of my life, I retreated to the comfort of my room, only to find it populated with coners. Walking out onto the deck, a futile attempt was made to engage a lonely ciggarette smoker in conversation.
Leaving the ciggy smoker outside, I went to check the state of my room, for even though it was easy to see inside straight through the open door, it had no meaning unless I was inside too.
For some reason, the computer was sitting in front of me and someone else's game was on the screen. Having little idea of what I was doing, I continued it. There was a funny vision, thought, smell, sound or something that seemed to be always there. I was losing it big time, and didn't have a secure enough grasp on reality to see exactly how much. People were peering and laughing and generally having a good old time. This only served to make me feel even more lost and even mildly paranoid by this time. The interlocking, animated paisley swirls that everything seemed to be made up of didn't help either.
The oily, metallic music was unrecognisable. If it hadn't been pointed out to me, I would have still though it came from inside my head. Even being told what it was, and knowing where it was coming from, it was unbelievable. Though under normal circumstances I was quite familiar with the tunes, the new feelings and imagery it induced were quite foreign.
Finally the silver, lubricated balls were silenced. Not by me, though I had made a few attempts at it, but by persons unknown. Only having a vague idea of where the smoothly moulded metal was coming from, there was not a lot of chance of me being able to do anything about it.
My awareness of the world in general was rapidly deteriorating; soon I would be only fit to lie in one spot with only my rapidly rushing thoughts to keep me company. Making it down the soft, spongy stairs, it was announced that a trek to spice up the evening was imminent. Being pretty unsteady on my feet, and in my mind, I declined. Even so, it was quite a while before everyone's shit was got together.
They left.
Coming inside, I was suddenly faced with an unstructured, very open world and I slid a couple more notches from reality. Not knowing what was what, and not even being able to think this at the time, bed seemed to be the only solution. This proved to be a big mistake, but one I could do little about at the time.
Some poxy music from a commercial radio station would surely help me get a grip. My mind and eyes were full of colour, the colours moving in time to the thoughts and feelings I was having. Though I was not asleep, I sort of woke up a bit, and realised the commercial crap that was on the radio and the poster I found myself staring at had a lot to do with these visions.
Changing stations, I settled back once more to the totally isolated world of self-inflicted psychosis. The patterns and colours were even more intense and I could even smell them now, though I had been able to taste them for quite a while.
Neither looking at very familiar things nor changing stations every five minutes helped my situation. My chair seemed to flow into the carpet, which had a current of its own. Everything lifted out of where it was supposed to be and starting dancing around, with no apparent regard to my sanity. In a desperate attempt to rid me of this sensory overload, I closed my eyes.
The music took on a whole new dimension. In the absence of any real visual stimuli, my mind came up with plenty more of its own. These were not totally restricted to lights and colours, however, but manifested themselves as thoughts, visions, sounds and every other sense you can think of all rolled into one. Each time the music changed, so did these. They were real entities in the deepest recesses of my mind which seemed to be guiding me, telling what to do and what I was doing wrong. These misguided beings were totally conflicting, but I listened anyway, not having much say in the matter.
Quickly I managed to grasp on to the last threads of sanity and changed the music before I was lost forever. Realising I had been doing this all night with not much good coming from it, I switched the radio off altogether. The techno from earlier on in the evening came blasting full-bore into my mind. SHIT!! There was no way of ridding myself of the huge build up of stuff in my head. I wish there was an off-switch.
This techno brought with it fresh visions and ideas, though still no better than any others I had had. This was to paint the picture for the rest of my night, in which sleep would be the only relief. This proved difficult to achieve, and I am still unsure as to whether I achieved it at all or if the mega trips I was having were merely giving me the impression of sleep. My brain was aching.
This was 1 trip in the middle of a binge that really stood out for me. It was written the morning after while I was still stuggling to get myself together and seems strange to me because I never write or talk like this.
When: Early 1995, early evening
Where: Parents' house (parents absent)
With: 3 or 4 friends - relaxed environment
What: 1 Jimi Hendrix
These jimis were very unpredictable. I would double drop just to get some effect but this time I had just 1 and it blew me away. The others had half each. It was a while ago so I can't remember the exact sequence of events, but we'd been drinking wine earlier in the day, felt good when we dropped and each had a few brews early on in the trip. The techno mentioned was Strictly Techno (vol 1).
While this doesn't sound like much fun, I'm still glad it happened and it hasn't stopped me taking acid.
---
The evening started off normally enough, though the wine of a few hours ago was starting to make me feel a bit vague and hungover.
The first five beers went down quite nicely; everyone was getting nice and drunk and were quite happy. There wasn't a lot to do; table tennis was being played, though it was hard for them to play properly, and they seemed to lose interest at crucial times.
Threats of a session were flying around all night, and while people were having cones every now and then, I abstained and nothing that resembled a fully fledged smoking binge was forthcoming.
Finally, through no free will or knowledge by me, I was faced with a filthy bucket of my own packing to be pulled and smoked. I did a quick check of my mull bowl, to find a fraction of a cone which I tried to pile on top of the already overflowing bucket cone. It didn't quite fit, so I left it in the bowl.
I had started pulling the bucket when I heard the sound of footsteps down the little wooden stairs behind me. I turned around to see who it was, to be greeted with the words "How was that?" Feeling a little puzzled at this question, I went back to the business of the bucket, only to find that all the smoke that had been slowly building up in the chamber, was no longer there. The need to exhale was so urgent that it, like a lot of other things that evening, happened without much say on my part.
An answer to the weird question, which started to make more sense now, was slowly making its way from my lips. It came out as almost unintelligible garbage. The other one or two efforts shortly afterwards were even worse, so I made a tactful retreat from the laundry, where the bucket was set up.
The next thing I knew I was sitting in front of the TV, wrestling with the controls of a blue submarine, against a blue undersea background, shooting at blue ships. This was not making a lot of sense, and looking around, I could see there was no one else there to help explain things. They wouldn't have helped that much anyway, as it was getting hard to distinguish between objects on the screen and everything else.
Feeling a little bit like a spectator of my life, I retreated to the comfort of my room, only to find it populated with coners. Walking out onto the deck, a futile attempt was made to engage a lonely ciggarette smoker in conversation.
Leaving the ciggy smoker outside, I went to check the state of my room, for even though it was easy to see inside straight through the open door, it had no meaning unless I was inside too.
For some reason, the computer was sitting in front of me and someone else's game was on the screen. Having little idea of what I was doing, I continued it. There was a funny vision, thought, smell, sound or something that seemed to be always there. I was losing it big time, and didn't have a secure enough grasp on reality to see exactly how much. People were peering and laughing and generally having a good old time. This only served to make me feel even more lost and even mildly paranoid by this time. The interlocking, animated paisley swirls that everything seemed to be made up of didn't help either.
The oily, metallic music was unrecognisable. If it hadn't been pointed out to me, I would have still though it came from inside my head. Even being told what it was, and knowing where it was coming from, it was unbelievable. Though under normal circumstances I was quite familiar with the tunes, the new feelings and imagery it induced were quite foreign.
Finally the silver, lubricated balls were silenced. Not by me, though I had made a few attempts at it, but by persons unknown. Only having a vague idea of where the smoothly moulded metal was coming from, there was not a lot of chance of me being able to do anything about it.
My awareness of the world in general was rapidly deteriorating; soon I would be only fit to lie in one spot with only my rapidly rushing thoughts to keep me company. Making it down the soft, spongy stairs, it was announced that a trek to spice up the evening was imminent. Being pretty unsteady on my feet, and in my mind, I declined. Even so, it was quite a while before everyone's shit was got together.
They left.
Coming inside, I was suddenly faced with an unstructured, very open world and I slid a couple more notches from reality. Not knowing what was what, and not even being able to think this at the time, bed seemed to be the only solution. This proved to be a big mistake, but one I could do little about at the time.
Some poxy music from a commercial radio station would surely help me get a grip. My mind and eyes were full of colour, the colours moving in time to the thoughts and feelings I was having. Though I was not asleep, I sort of woke up a bit, and realised the commercial crap that was on the radio and the poster I found myself staring at had a lot to do with these visions.
Changing stations, I settled back once more to the totally isolated world of self-inflicted psychosis. The patterns and colours were even more intense and I could even smell them now, though I had been able to taste them for quite a while.
Neither looking at very familiar things nor changing stations every five minutes helped my situation. My chair seemed to flow into the carpet, which had a current of its own. Everything lifted out of where it was supposed to be and starting dancing around, with no apparent regard to my sanity. In a desperate attempt to rid me of this sensory overload, I closed my eyes.
The music took on a whole new dimension. In the absence of any real visual stimuli, my mind came up with plenty more of its own. These were not totally restricted to lights and colours, however, but manifested themselves as thoughts, visions, sounds and every other sense you can think of all rolled into one. Each time the music changed, so did these. They were real entities in the deepest recesses of my mind which seemed to be guiding me, telling what to do and what I was doing wrong. These misguided beings were totally conflicting, but I listened anyway, not having much say in the matter.
Quickly I managed to grasp on to the last threads of sanity and changed the music before I was lost forever. Realising I had been doing this all night with not much good coming from it, I switched the radio off altogether. The techno from earlier on in the evening came blasting full-bore into my mind. SHIT!! There was no way of ridding myself of the huge build up of stuff in my head. I wish there was an off-switch.
This techno brought with it fresh visions and ideas, though still no better than any others I had had. This was to paint the picture for the rest of my night, in which sleep would be the only relief. This proved difficult to achieve, and I am still unsure as to whether I achieved it at all or if the mega trips I was having were merely giving me the impression of sleep. My brain was aching.
