VictorBorge
Bluelighter
Although this trip report is about the highest dose of acid I have ever done, and possibly ever will do, it is not going to be the most coherent report. (It is, however, butt-ass long. Sorry). Mostly because I was simply so fucking high I cannot adequately describe or even properly remember many of the things I experienced.
However, if it's possible, I now have an even greater respect for LSD among all the psychedelics available to me, a respect mingled with what I can only call love, an affection I can't imagine having for any other chemically induced experience. I wouldn't trade the opportunity to have this kind of experience for almost anything.
Set and setting:
Friday evening, alone at home, a four-day weekend ahead with no one to see and nowhere to be. I had intended to take a break from all psychedelics for several weeks prior, but I ended up doing a bit of 2C-E the weekend before. I don't think it had any effect on the trip though, and I was still fairly "fresh". Despite some recent turmoil in my personal life, and some tough decisions to make regarding whether to take a new job, I was quiet, calm and ready for whatever the experience would hold.
Dose:
10 hits of microdot LSD, possibly ~1000ug, although that's just a guess.
10-15 bulbs of nitrous over the course of the evening
180mg methylone
2-3 grams of cannabis sativa
Coming up, wherein I learn to speak in tongues
6:00pm - 10 hits of acid down the hatch. I cleverly put them all into one empty gel cap to prevent them from scattering around my mouth and getting stuck between my teeth. I washed them down with a swallow of wine -- my only alcohol of the evening. Shortly after, I ate a light meal to avoid any hunger later on spoiling the trip.
7:00pm - watching TV, I definitely feel the first alerts, but so far not much stronger than a lower dose would feel by this point. Interesting. I expected this high of a dose to hit harder and faster. I switch off the TV news and resume watching the Lord Of The Rings: Two Towers documentary DVD that I still hadn't finished from the other night.
7:10pm - ten minutes into the DVD, I start coming up for real, and I can't follow the train of the narrative at all. It becomes both confusing and uninteresting, and I start fidgeting around in my chair. "I better turn this off" I say out loud, and do so. I already have an iTunes playlist cued up, a really fucking great tripping mix one of my friends made, which ended up really defining the trip, especially the starred songs (recommended!):
*Untitled, Buck65
Free Up Black Man, Cedric Im Brooks
Turn Your Back, Adult
Gold Standard, Watcher
*Hymie's Basement 21st Century Pop Song, Hymie's Basement
Microphone Mathematics, Quasimoto
*Resistance is Fertile, Mr. Projectile
This Room, The Notwist
Different, Sage Francis
Ode to Resurrection, Found Objects
*Good Morning Story, Holger Czukay
*Ping Pong, Antipop Consortium
Lost in Laos, Dengue Fever
Jerk, Buzzcocks
Directions to My Special Place, Them
Our Bikes Are Silver. Her Bed Is Hers, S PRCSS
*Pae Paoe, Bola
*Such Great Heights, The Postal Service
The first song, by Buck65, has one of those awesome, creepy hip-hop guitar loops that really put me in the mood of "this is going to be a big, strange experience." I went and laid down on my bed and did a bulb of N2O. Whoah. When I came back from nitrousland, it was like someone had thrown a switch and turned on all the visuals at once. The walls weren't breathing, they were positively waving and leaning in on me, and everything in sight was accompanied by some kind of tracer. A grin spread across my face and I started chuckling. The chuckling became uncontrollable, and soon I was laughing hysterically.
That could have been just the nitrous, but not what happened next. I started speaking in tongues. All these completely bizarre sounds started coming out of me, unlike any language known to man. I was spitting all over myself, shooting out strings of consonants faster than my brain could keep up. It felt remarkably wonderful just to let go of my teeth, lips and tongue and let myself babble like a baby. "MXKDSFKPlskdfvvvsktkvslktlsvksavlstkckslvlsstlkvsvoisdfwiafoowiskstsvslm!"
I laughed some more, hugged myself and rolled back and forth on the bed. I was a three-month old baby! I went "goo-goo" and kicked my knees up in the air. "Hmmmm. Hm-hm. Ha. HA HA! Haaaa."
As quickly as it started, that phase passed. Next I picked up the metal nitrous dispenser by the bed and held it up over my head. I loved that container then, like it was my favorite stuffed animal in the crib. In fact, I loved it so much, I thought maybe it was me. "Is this me?" I said out loud, turning it this way and that. "Me? Is this me?" Part of me knew I was just being weird, but part of me really did think that I had become this weird metallic device, or rather, that there was no difference between me and it, or me and him, or it and it.
That passed and I sat up and said very clearly, "Holy fucking shit." This was pretty amazing. I laid back down again, intending to space out some more, but then a kind of spooky song came on the mix, the one by Found Objects. By this time the last bit of twilight was fading, I hadn't turned on any lights in the house, and the room was getting pretty dark. And I couldn't tear my eyes away from that big, black, open closet door. There were monsters in there. There were giant trees and bark creatures and tooth people and they were going to come out and get me. No. NOOO! I screamed, jumped up and ran in the living room and hit the fast-forward button to skip to the next song, and as soon as it came on I immediately relaxed. The trip was saved. Phew! That was close.
The peak, wherein I unsuccessfully deny God
Time for more nitrous! This is where it gets really, really hard to remember. I'm pretty sure I had done several bulbs while in the bedroom, because when I went back in there later they were scattered everywhere like breadcrumbs. And I'm pretty sure I did a bunch more in the living room, at this point in the trip. But I only really remember one bulb.
The One.
This is so hard to explain, but at the time it made perfect sense. I was listening to this mix CD my friend Rory made, right? And I was doing nitrous, which makes it feel like the world is coming to an end every time I do it. I was becoming convinced with each successive bulb that nitrous was the essence of the universe, that it was some kind of intelligent lifeform, on which all life was based, and by inhaling it I was communicating with the essential oneness at the base of everything.
And so I was listening to this kind of goofy apocalyptic hip-hop song called "Ping Pong" by Antipop Consortium, which has this chorus where they keep saying "It's the return!", and I kept thinking, Yeah, it's the return from nitrous that really gets you. And then, doing my, probably, 6th or 7th bulb, and I had this vision. Now, I've had "visuals" before, and hallucinations, but this was a VISION. A set of not only images, sounds and smells, but FEELINGS and emotions of ultimate, undeniable truth connected to them. And my vision was this:
The entire universe is a fabrication, an hallucination, a dream, a lie constructed by some dumb punk kid who made a bet with his friend about how many women he could screw. Not only this, but every time you do a bulb of nitrous, it stops the universe for a second and takes you to the moment when the universe was conceived, which is the same point when it ends, by the first guy who ever did nitrous. And that's the meaning of it all, that's why we're here, that's what the universe is: the hallucination of a guy (was it God?) who got fucked up on nitrous.
My attitude upon receiving this revelation was, essentially, "Oh. [sad frown] Why didn't anyone tell me this before? Why did I have to find out like this? Well, I guess that's why they call it "laughing gas", cause after it teaches you the whole universe is nothing but a crazy dream, you're gonna need some consolation, cause that's really fucking depressing!" What made it weirder was the incredible feeling of deja vu I had about the whole vision: like someone, somewhere (my friend Rory, I thought) had told me all of this as a story, and I hadn't believed him, but now I had proof.
For the rest of the trip, every few minutes I would stop in my tracks and try, try, try to dig up where that deja vu memory had come from. Never figured it out. Pretty sure I just made it all up on the spot. I kept doing more nitrous to try and bring that vision back so I could understand it, but of course I couldn't. I did manage to have at least one more existential crisis, where in the depth of the bulb, I (an agnostic) decided that unless I acknowledged the existence of God I would never wake up. Acknowledge God, or deny Him and die? I decided to tempt oblivion and deny Him, and ... I woke up anyway. For a minute I felt omnipotent -- I had killed God! -- before the usual doubt crept back in. Well... maybe He just wasn't paying attention right then.
The plateau, wherein I tempt fate by wandering the city at night
After this, I hit the plateau of the trip, and spent a couple of hours in the deepest, most intense self-analysis I've ever done. At this dose, the power of LSD to dissociate the perceiving self from the rational self and the emotional self really became evident. I literally "witnessed" my own mind making decisions (stay sitting down or get up and go pee? Go pee, dumbass), struggling with itself (do more nitrous? Yes. No. Yes. No.), the left brain and the right brain fighting for control. The way I was able to understand and follow my own thought processes made me feel like a god inside my own head. It was absolutely phenomenal.
10:30pm - Now what? I was done with the visionary stage, but still tripping very hard. I decided to go out on the town. Part of me knew this was a dumb idea, venturing out into the city at night whilst high as a kite, but I nonetheless found myself picking out some club clothes and combing my hair up all stylish. I also decided, in an attempt to make myself more "sociable", to take my last remaining cap of methylone. Now of course methylone is not nearly the social lubricant MDMA is, but it's what I had around. I swallowed it, said goodbye to the cat, and crept out the back door like a sneaky teenager, even though I was the only one home.
As soon as I hit the street I knew I was fucked. The outside world was terrifying. The brick walls around me were miles high, leaning in, the voices of hobos from the alley and drunken party-goers from the bars down the street were echoing ghoulishly all around me. I went out the back gate of our building, and walked right around to the front gate, intending to go back inside, but there I stopped. I wasn't quite ready to give up, nor for walking the street, so I just stood and watched the world go by for a while. I live in a pretty busy area and there were plenty of people out and about. The acid made them all seem to be engaging in very, very strange behavior, and I was pretty sure I saw a bunch of well-dressed club people get out of their car and stand in a circle shooting heroin right across the street from me.
Then the methylone hit in a rush, and I was suddenly in love with everyone. Everyone on the street was beautiful. I resolved to go to the world-class jazz club across the street, which I've still never been in after living here two years, and have a six dollar cocktail and watch some world-class jazz among the Beautiful People. I finally left my perch by the front gate, wobbled down the street, walked over to the club, looked in, and kept right on walking. I was just too fucking high to interact with anyone, especially the bouncer. I walked on, past the last bar, and into a dark, seedy patch of street, where of course I was immediately greeted with, "Excuse me sir, can you spare a dollar for a homeless person?" I nearly laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of my endeavor to find a "good time". I had instead wound up alone, late at night, severely impaired, in the bad part of town.
Fortunately it was just a block to the train station, and my methylone-powered legs took me there in no time. I got up onto the platform and walked the length of it six or eight times waiting for the train, sweating heavily, rushing and rushing and rushing on methylone. When the train finally came, I boarded and instinctively took the seat furthest from anyone else. I quickly realized that everyone else had clustered together in the middle of the car out of a logical instinct for safety in numbers, as there were quite a number of weirdos about. And apparently I, sitting on my own in the corner staring bug-eyed at other people, was one of them.
Already the methylone was wearing off and I was feeling tired and regretted I'd come out. I didn't want to go to a club, I felt strange and alienated and outcast. But I sucked it up and tried to just enjoy the raw weirdness of it all. There was a crazy old Chinese lady facing me a few rows down, who was rolling her eyes and looked like she might start screaming in schizophrenic terror at any moment. Even though there were plenty of empty seats, she had for some reason decided to sit right up next to some poor club-going woman trying to apply her make-up, who looked like a trapped animal.
Later, a skinny goth girl who looked about 15 came and sat across from me. A couple of stops later, a dangerous-looking 30-something dude in a crew cut and studded jeans got on, sat down, scoped out the situation, glanced at me to see if I was going to make a move, and then swooped in on Goth Girl with a handshake. "Excuse me, do you mind if I ask your name? I'm ___". He proceeded to hit on her in the most pathetic way imaginable, made infinitely more pathetic by the surroundings. I realized then that the train, late at night, becomes the single bar of last resort for the city's lonely misfits. And there I was, thanking God I wasn't single.
I decided to get off the train, check out the night life in one part of town, and turn around and go home. Mainly because I really needed to buy something to drink, the methylone had dehydrated me completely. This was a part of town I never go to at night, it's full of bars for single, desperate yuppies approaching 40. But it was interesting to walk around, gulping some Gatorade, watching the cops watch the dealers, and the dealers watch the women. I remember at one point walking along behind a group of rather generously-proportioned ladies and cracking myself up by thinking, "Man, American women are getting heavier and heavier every year."
As I went down the subway stairs, I was pretty sure some creepy guy peeled off from the wall and followed me, and I realized with a flash of fear that the "club clothes" I had chosen were quite easily interpretable as making the statement, "I'm a cute gay guy out wandering around, come hit on me and/or rape me". I walked faster and was relieved when I got to the platform there were plenty of other people there, and the train came quickly.
So I went home, smoked some pot to relax, and stayed up until about 7:00am trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
Conclusion
I'll be the first to admit this was not a very productive or insightful trip. In fact if there's one thing I realized out of this trip, it's that I need to take it easy with the drugs. The further I push them, the more intense and ecstatic (and dangerous) experiences I have ... and the more I want to do them. That's a vicious cycle.
On the other hand, I feel very grateful for having experienced the awesome power of LSD at this level, and I have nothing but respect for it. I believe that used in moderation it is one of the most powerful allies I have for gaining insight into my own mind.
Sorry, this is kind of a lame conclusion. I'm exhausted; perhaps I'll come back to this report later and straighten things up. Thanks for reading.
However, if it's possible, I now have an even greater respect for LSD among all the psychedelics available to me, a respect mingled with what I can only call love, an affection I can't imagine having for any other chemically induced experience. I wouldn't trade the opportunity to have this kind of experience for almost anything.
Set and setting:
Friday evening, alone at home, a four-day weekend ahead with no one to see and nowhere to be. I had intended to take a break from all psychedelics for several weeks prior, but I ended up doing a bit of 2C-E the weekend before. I don't think it had any effect on the trip though, and I was still fairly "fresh". Despite some recent turmoil in my personal life, and some tough decisions to make regarding whether to take a new job, I was quiet, calm and ready for whatever the experience would hold.
Dose:
10 hits of microdot LSD, possibly ~1000ug, although that's just a guess.
10-15 bulbs of nitrous over the course of the evening
180mg methylone
2-3 grams of cannabis sativa
Coming up, wherein I learn to speak in tongues
6:00pm - 10 hits of acid down the hatch. I cleverly put them all into one empty gel cap to prevent them from scattering around my mouth and getting stuck between my teeth. I washed them down with a swallow of wine -- my only alcohol of the evening. Shortly after, I ate a light meal to avoid any hunger later on spoiling the trip.
7:00pm - watching TV, I definitely feel the first alerts, but so far not much stronger than a lower dose would feel by this point. Interesting. I expected this high of a dose to hit harder and faster. I switch off the TV news and resume watching the Lord Of The Rings: Two Towers documentary DVD that I still hadn't finished from the other night.
7:10pm - ten minutes into the DVD, I start coming up for real, and I can't follow the train of the narrative at all. It becomes both confusing and uninteresting, and I start fidgeting around in my chair. "I better turn this off" I say out loud, and do so. I already have an iTunes playlist cued up, a really fucking great tripping mix one of my friends made, which ended up really defining the trip, especially the starred songs (recommended!):
*Untitled, Buck65
Free Up Black Man, Cedric Im Brooks
Turn Your Back, Adult
Gold Standard, Watcher
*Hymie's Basement 21st Century Pop Song, Hymie's Basement
Microphone Mathematics, Quasimoto
*Resistance is Fertile, Mr. Projectile
This Room, The Notwist
Different, Sage Francis
Ode to Resurrection, Found Objects
*Good Morning Story, Holger Czukay
*Ping Pong, Antipop Consortium
Lost in Laos, Dengue Fever
Jerk, Buzzcocks
Directions to My Special Place, Them
Our Bikes Are Silver. Her Bed Is Hers, S PRCSS
*Pae Paoe, Bola
*Such Great Heights, The Postal Service
The first song, by Buck65, has one of those awesome, creepy hip-hop guitar loops that really put me in the mood of "this is going to be a big, strange experience." I went and laid down on my bed and did a bulb of N2O. Whoah. When I came back from nitrousland, it was like someone had thrown a switch and turned on all the visuals at once. The walls weren't breathing, they were positively waving and leaning in on me, and everything in sight was accompanied by some kind of tracer. A grin spread across my face and I started chuckling. The chuckling became uncontrollable, and soon I was laughing hysterically.
That could have been just the nitrous, but not what happened next. I started speaking in tongues. All these completely bizarre sounds started coming out of me, unlike any language known to man. I was spitting all over myself, shooting out strings of consonants faster than my brain could keep up. It felt remarkably wonderful just to let go of my teeth, lips and tongue and let myself babble like a baby. "MXKDSFKPlskdfvvvsktkvslktlsvksavlstkckslvlsstlkvsvoisdfwiafoowiskstsvslm!"
I laughed some more, hugged myself and rolled back and forth on the bed. I was a three-month old baby! I went "goo-goo" and kicked my knees up in the air. "Hmmmm. Hm-hm. Ha. HA HA! Haaaa."
As quickly as it started, that phase passed. Next I picked up the metal nitrous dispenser by the bed and held it up over my head. I loved that container then, like it was my favorite stuffed animal in the crib. In fact, I loved it so much, I thought maybe it was me. "Is this me?" I said out loud, turning it this way and that. "Me? Is this me?" Part of me knew I was just being weird, but part of me really did think that I had become this weird metallic device, or rather, that there was no difference between me and it, or me and him, or it and it.
That passed and I sat up and said very clearly, "Holy fucking shit." This was pretty amazing. I laid back down again, intending to space out some more, but then a kind of spooky song came on the mix, the one by Found Objects. By this time the last bit of twilight was fading, I hadn't turned on any lights in the house, and the room was getting pretty dark. And I couldn't tear my eyes away from that big, black, open closet door. There were monsters in there. There were giant trees and bark creatures and tooth people and they were going to come out and get me. No. NOOO! I screamed, jumped up and ran in the living room and hit the fast-forward button to skip to the next song, and as soon as it came on I immediately relaxed. The trip was saved. Phew! That was close.
The peak, wherein I unsuccessfully deny God
Time for more nitrous! This is where it gets really, really hard to remember. I'm pretty sure I had done several bulbs while in the bedroom, because when I went back in there later they were scattered everywhere like breadcrumbs. And I'm pretty sure I did a bunch more in the living room, at this point in the trip. But I only really remember one bulb.
The One.
This is so hard to explain, but at the time it made perfect sense. I was listening to this mix CD my friend Rory made, right? And I was doing nitrous, which makes it feel like the world is coming to an end every time I do it. I was becoming convinced with each successive bulb that nitrous was the essence of the universe, that it was some kind of intelligent lifeform, on which all life was based, and by inhaling it I was communicating with the essential oneness at the base of everything.
And so I was listening to this kind of goofy apocalyptic hip-hop song called "Ping Pong" by Antipop Consortium, which has this chorus where they keep saying "It's the return!", and I kept thinking, Yeah, it's the return from nitrous that really gets you. And then, doing my, probably, 6th or 7th bulb, and I had this vision. Now, I've had "visuals" before, and hallucinations, but this was a VISION. A set of not only images, sounds and smells, but FEELINGS and emotions of ultimate, undeniable truth connected to them. And my vision was this:
The entire universe is a fabrication, an hallucination, a dream, a lie constructed by some dumb punk kid who made a bet with his friend about how many women he could screw. Not only this, but every time you do a bulb of nitrous, it stops the universe for a second and takes you to the moment when the universe was conceived, which is the same point when it ends, by the first guy who ever did nitrous. And that's the meaning of it all, that's why we're here, that's what the universe is: the hallucination of a guy (was it God?) who got fucked up on nitrous.
My attitude upon receiving this revelation was, essentially, "Oh. [sad frown] Why didn't anyone tell me this before? Why did I have to find out like this? Well, I guess that's why they call it "laughing gas", cause after it teaches you the whole universe is nothing but a crazy dream, you're gonna need some consolation, cause that's really fucking depressing!" What made it weirder was the incredible feeling of deja vu I had about the whole vision: like someone, somewhere (my friend Rory, I thought) had told me all of this as a story, and I hadn't believed him, but now I had proof.
For the rest of the trip, every few minutes I would stop in my tracks and try, try, try to dig up where that deja vu memory had come from. Never figured it out. Pretty sure I just made it all up on the spot. I kept doing more nitrous to try and bring that vision back so I could understand it, but of course I couldn't. I did manage to have at least one more existential crisis, where in the depth of the bulb, I (an agnostic) decided that unless I acknowledged the existence of God I would never wake up. Acknowledge God, or deny Him and die? I decided to tempt oblivion and deny Him, and ... I woke up anyway. For a minute I felt omnipotent -- I had killed God! -- before the usual doubt crept back in. Well... maybe He just wasn't paying attention right then.
The plateau, wherein I tempt fate by wandering the city at night
After this, I hit the plateau of the trip, and spent a couple of hours in the deepest, most intense self-analysis I've ever done. At this dose, the power of LSD to dissociate the perceiving self from the rational self and the emotional self really became evident. I literally "witnessed" my own mind making decisions (stay sitting down or get up and go pee? Go pee, dumbass), struggling with itself (do more nitrous? Yes. No. Yes. No.), the left brain and the right brain fighting for control. The way I was able to understand and follow my own thought processes made me feel like a god inside my own head. It was absolutely phenomenal.
10:30pm - Now what? I was done with the visionary stage, but still tripping very hard. I decided to go out on the town. Part of me knew this was a dumb idea, venturing out into the city at night whilst high as a kite, but I nonetheless found myself picking out some club clothes and combing my hair up all stylish. I also decided, in an attempt to make myself more "sociable", to take my last remaining cap of methylone. Now of course methylone is not nearly the social lubricant MDMA is, but it's what I had around. I swallowed it, said goodbye to the cat, and crept out the back door like a sneaky teenager, even though I was the only one home.
As soon as I hit the street I knew I was fucked. The outside world was terrifying. The brick walls around me were miles high, leaning in, the voices of hobos from the alley and drunken party-goers from the bars down the street were echoing ghoulishly all around me. I went out the back gate of our building, and walked right around to the front gate, intending to go back inside, but there I stopped. I wasn't quite ready to give up, nor for walking the street, so I just stood and watched the world go by for a while. I live in a pretty busy area and there were plenty of people out and about. The acid made them all seem to be engaging in very, very strange behavior, and I was pretty sure I saw a bunch of well-dressed club people get out of their car and stand in a circle shooting heroin right across the street from me.
Then the methylone hit in a rush, and I was suddenly in love with everyone. Everyone on the street was beautiful. I resolved to go to the world-class jazz club across the street, which I've still never been in after living here two years, and have a six dollar cocktail and watch some world-class jazz among the Beautiful People. I finally left my perch by the front gate, wobbled down the street, walked over to the club, looked in, and kept right on walking. I was just too fucking high to interact with anyone, especially the bouncer. I walked on, past the last bar, and into a dark, seedy patch of street, where of course I was immediately greeted with, "Excuse me sir, can you spare a dollar for a homeless person?" I nearly laughed out loud at the ridiculousness of my endeavor to find a "good time". I had instead wound up alone, late at night, severely impaired, in the bad part of town.
Fortunately it was just a block to the train station, and my methylone-powered legs took me there in no time. I got up onto the platform and walked the length of it six or eight times waiting for the train, sweating heavily, rushing and rushing and rushing on methylone. When the train finally came, I boarded and instinctively took the seat furthest from anyone else. I quickly realized that everyone else had clustered together in the middle of the car out of a logical instinct for safety in numbers, as there were quite a number of weirdos about. And apparently I, sitting on my own in the corner staring bug-eyed at other people, was one of them.
Already the methylone was wearing off and I was feeling tired and regretted I'd come out. I didn't want to go to a club, I felt strange and alienated and outcast. But I sucked it up and tried to just enjoy the raw weirdness of it all. There was a crazy old Chinese lady facing me a few rows down, who was rolling her eyes and looked like she might start screaming in schizophrenic terror at any moment. Even though there were plenty of empty seats, she had for some reason decided to sit right up next to some poor club-going woman trying to apply her make-up, who looked like a trapped animal.
Later, a skinny goth girl who looked about 15 came and sat across from me. A couple of stops later, a dangerous-looking 30-something dude in a crew cut and studded jeans got on, sat down, scoped out the situation, glanced at me to see if I was going to make a move, and then swooped in on Goth Girl with a handshake. "Excuse me, do you mind if I ask your name? I'm ___". He proceeded to hit on her in the most pathetic way imaginable, made infinitely more pathetic by the surroundings. I realized then that the train, late at night, becomes the single bar of last resort for the city's lonely misfits. And there I was, thanking God I wasn't single.
I decided to get off the train, check out the night life in one part of town, and turn around and go home. Mainly because I really needed to buy something to drink, the methylone had dehydrated me completely. This was a part of town I never go to at night, it's full of bars for single, desperate yuppies approaching 40. But it was interesting to walk around, gulping some Gatorade, watching the cops watch the dealers, and the dealers watch the women. I remember at one point walking along behind a group of rather generously-proportioned ladies and cracking myself up by thinking, "Man, American women are getting heavier and heavier every year."
As I went down the subway stairs, I was pretty sure some creepy guy peeled off from the wall and followed me, and I realized with a flash of fear that the "club clothes" I had chosen were quite easily interpretable as making the statement, "I'm a cute gay guy out wandering around, come hit on me and/or rape me". I walked faster and was relieved when I got to the platform there were plenty of other people there, and the train came quickly.
So I went home, smoked some pot to relax, and stayed up until about 7:00am trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
Conclusion
I'll be the first to admit this was not a very productive or insightful trip. In fact if there's one thing I realized out of this trip, it's that I need to take it easy with the drugs. The further I push them, the more intense and ecstatic (and dangerous) experiences I have ... and the more I want to do them. That's a vicious cycle.
On the other hand, I feel very grateful for having experienced the awesome power of LSD at this level, and I have nothing but respect for it. I believe that used in moderation it is one of the most powerful allies I have for gaining insight into my own mind.
Sorry, this is kind of a lame conclusion. I'm exhausted; perhaps I'll come back to this report later and straighten things up. Thanks for reading.
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