@blig-blug : Rather than start yet another thread, I hope you don't mind my resurrecting the dead, and try to detail my experience here....
It was the early 2000s, when "research chemicals" could be bought readily through online sources and delivered to your front door without fear of scrutiny or apprehension. I was earning my Masters degree, so unfortunately I didn't have the funds to buy everything I could get my hands on and create a library of psychoactive substances for myself.
Anyhow, I'd read about DPT on Erowid and was intrigued. I could only afford a small vial of 250mg, so the oral route was out of the question. I tried plugging it, but that was extremely uncomfortable and did not work (the first and last time I ever tried sticking drugs up my arse). I tried snorting it – that didn't work either (I don't have nasal passages that facilitate that ROA).
So I asked a fellow psychonaut at school, and he hooked me up with a syringe. He was middle aged and had been around the block a couple hundred times – thought I wanted to bang H – but was really surprised to hear about this chemical he'd never heard of before.
Saturday night, home alone... weighed out ~75mg on my balance scale (digital scales were still quite pricey back then, if I'm remembering properly), put it in a shot glass with what turned out to be too much water. Once dissolved, I chose an acupuncture point I figured could handle the load and shot it in. My ankle and lower leg ballooned to 1.5x its normal size. But I had no time to worry about that – the rush came on hard and hot and fast, and I had only enough time to get the two steps from my desk to my bed and turn off the music I had on – which I suddenly found annoying.
A kaleidoscope of sounds and colors we're all quite familiar with here enveloped me – complete sensory close-out. Unfortunately, my journal of the experience is a long plane and taxi ride away, so you'll have to suffer through my 20+ year-old memory of the experience.
At one point, I was looking down on the county in which I lived. Just beneath the buildings and streets I saw the ghostly image of a limpid, crystal clear lake in which the souls of infant children waiting to be born were swimming (think Nirvana's
Nevermind album cover). They looked up and noticed me with large, googly, cartoonish eyes that were 25% larger than normal eyes.
At that point, I was simultaneously in the subterranean lake and hovering a 5 miles above. With childlike voices, they asked me what I was doing there, why I looked so old, and when they'd be born. I told them that they had to be patient, and wait for the day when their future mommy would be ready for them – to which they responded, "But we're ready now!" "Are you my papa?" "I think he is-" "No! He doesn't look a thing like you!" "I want to see my daddy!" "So who is he if he isn't one of our daddys‽"
Another part of the trip I remember is that I found myself walking down the produce isle of the supermarket my parents would take me to when I was just a toddler, sitting in the child's seat of the shopping cart. 1980s Muzak filled the air. The air conditioning pushed cardboard advertisements hung from the ceiling side to side – pictures of food and a lady in a Pilgrim's hat with a perfect dentists' smile.... And then, there was the drone of the refrigerators, filled with subharmonics, that kept getting louder until it was deafening...
I then found myself on a suburban street somewhere in my city – or maybe LA. The sky above was yellow. Above me were wooden telephone poles and street lights. Empty lots full of weeds, run down warehouses and houses lined the street. And I watched how decay happens; how things rust; get weak; fall apart. Even the sturdiest of things does not live long.
I met the Rust entity – whom I simply call "Rusty" – because that is how he presents: a long, narrow rusty pipe at the top end of which is a face with two, little piercing white eyes with black pupils, a small toothy grin, and curly "hair" that is actually rust in the shape of an afro. He showed me the decay of all things metal and made by the hands of man with zest and glee....
About an hour later, I was out of the woods, so to speak, and able to journal some notes and prop myself up against the wall next to my bed. At some point, I started to feel/hear a deep, gutteral, low-frequency rumble that seemed to emanate from deep within the Earth. It was palpable, and seemed ever-present, but unnoticed because my senses were normally not attuned to it.
And so here ends my story. I believe I probably tried to smoke what little I had left without avail – not realizing that I'd have to do some chemistry and create a freebase.
Final assessment: DPT is like DMT, but it lasts much longer, and is maybe more difficult to use. I certainly would not inject it again – in fact, that was the first and last time I ever used that ROA.
Thanks for reading! Hope you enjoyed....
