rave23
Bluelighter
Losing the ability to identify common things like numbers is always a funny part of tripping. I remember once at a low dose of LAD I had to stop playing poker with my friends because I had to keep asking someone "what number is this?" on the cards!
I have a vivd memory related to usage of LSD and time.
I remember the LSD was coming on, peaking. I tried to determine the exact time since ingestion and tried to record the current time.
I had an old style analog clock. The thing made no damn sense to me. I did not understand why there were 12 numbers on it. Why 12? Why not 10? Or 24? I knew one revolution of the hand was 60 minutes, but why would 60 minutes equal one hour? What is with the 12 numbers? Every time the number increments, there is an extra 5 minutes that had passed. It made absolutely no sense at all. I couldn't determine how much time had passed from 12:30 until 1:50. It was utterly maddening. What was time? Who decided on this arbitrary fucked up way of record keeping? What did it mean when the little hand was between numbers? How can anyone ever be sure what, where, and when they are, precisely? Wouldn't this information be required to make an accurate assumption about your place, and when? You would never read the current time, as by the time you read it, more time had already passed.
I went into a full-blown crisis over this, so desperately trying to figure out the passage of time. It did not help that at some instances the clock seemed to be moving backwards, or not moving at all. It was so absolutely frustratingly hellish. I was sure time did not exist anymore. Then i got the fear. What happened if time stopped? How could it be started again, if in the absence of time, you were not able to formulate the intent to do something about it? Would you be forever stuck in a timeless world, with nothing ever happening ever again?
Madness! I took a pendulum, tied it to my bed lamp, and pushed it. The soothing swinging undulations reassured me, that time was indeed still passing, and i gave up all endeavours related to making sense of time.
The memory of this still trips me up sometimes when looking at a clock.