dmtmixalis
Bluelighter
So there was no innate decision to trip on this faithful night, in fact, I had just received my 3 month script off zoppys (15mg per night), and after acquiring said tablets ventured home (the short way) to immerse myself in some gaba-loving. I grapple with the notion of taking 5x7.5s, bathing in tranquility and attempting to tune into that frequency, entrenched deeply in the midst of my subconscious bio-computer, which emanates creativity from every orifice/pore of my being. I've never been good at grappling. I end up settling for a humble mix of 8x7.5mg, 2 high strain indica joints, and a cup of coffee.
After the second J, i would be lying if i said I wasn't basking in an ecstasy so pure, so 'organic', that it had dissolved (masked) all underlying anxieties and left me tuned in to a place i call the 'space'. A mild ego death, where everything around me is a beacon of hope and love, a magnetic field which transmutes all the internal and external pain into a simple message; 'Fragment the central narrative and embrace the complexities'.
So as i revel in existential profanities; 'time is just an illusion', 'we're made from love and stardust', 'if we witnessed ourselves from the fourth dimension, we would see everything transpiring at the same time. A flat, inanimate wasteland of love and sorrow'. That's when the shadow people called by. They had not been invited. Perhaps they came to pay reverence to my raspy lesbian voice, but its more likely they were here to tear me limb from limb and use my blood and tears in some sort of transcendental potion, which would allow them access into the node of the multiverse i'm currently stuck in. Most people may know the shadow people from speed binges, or if you've ever played the ketamine olympics, the final event being, playing slenderman in the dark, after sniffing no less than a gram of k. I've never won, even winners don't win. I digress..
My room is dark, and the shadow people are dancing across the room in perfect synchronicity, something like a mix of dirty dancing and step up 2, but without the cheesy american dialogue. At first, I merely allow them to sustain their existence in this dimension, but as they become more and more sinister, i reason with myself that the syntax I comprehend, is extraneous, and well, 'we're going to need a bigger boat'. As if by clockwork, the room bursts into a geometrical haven of colours and idea's, curtaining around me attempting to steal, borrow, or tweak my sentience. Is this what air looks like? If so, why is mostly purple? Have i transcended too much? Why the fuck am i tripping off sleeping tablets?
After the second J, i would be lying if i said I wasn't basking in an ecstasy so pure, so 'organic', that it had dissolved (masked) all underlying anxieties and left me tuned in to a place i call the 'space'. A mild ego death, where everything around me is a beacon of hope and love, a magnetic field which transmutes all the internal and external pain into a simple message; 'Fragment the central narrative and embrace the complexities'.
So as i revel in existential profanities; 'time is just an illusion', 'we're made from love and stardust', 'if we witnessed ourselves from the fourth dimension, we would see everything transpiring at the same time. A flat, inanimate wasteland of love and sorrow'. That's when the shadow people called by. They had not been invited. Perhaps they came to pay reverence to my raspy lesbian voice, but its more likely they were here to tear me limb from limb and use my blood and tears in some sort of transcendental potion, which would allow them access into the node of the multiverse i'm currently stuck in. Most people may know the shadow people from speed binges, or if you've ever played the ketamine olympics, the final event being, playing slenderman in the dark, after sniffing no less than a gram of k. I've never won, even winners don't win. I digress..
My room is dark, and the shadow people are dancing across the room in perfect synchronicity, something like a mix of dirty dancing and step up 2, but without the cheesy american dialogue. At first, I merely allow them to sustain their existence in this dimension, but as they become more and more sinister, i reason with myself that the syntax I comprehend, is extraneous, and well, 'we're going to need a bigger boat'. As if by clockwork, the room bursts into a geometrical haven of colours and idea's, curtaining around me attempting to steal, borrow, or tweak my sentience. Is this what air looks like? If so, why is mostly purple? Have i transcended too much? Why the fuck am i tripping off sleeping tablets?
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