Eat the Chocolate!
N,N-DMT, homemade batchMultiple doses, laser experiment
I went to M’s after work, stopping briefly to run errands along the way. By the time I arrived, the laser experiment was already set up again. We had tried it before. It had not yielded code, but it had shown structure. That felt unresolved enough to justify another look.
I started with a strong pull from my 3:1 cart.
Sitting upright on a wooden chair to be in the correct position for laser viewing was not ideal. The body load came on quickly, dense and insistent, and maintaining stillness took effort. To make matters worse, the washing machine at M’s place was running—and not quietly. The noise was comically loud. We laughed about it, but it made concentration genuinely difficult.
I tried again with two smaller puffs.
That was enough to trigger the familiar auditory effects: the wobble-wobble voices, the elasticizing of sound. Looking into the laser, I still did not see anything resembling code. What I did see was unmistakable structure—dodecahedral forms repeating in space, lined up in a way that reminded me strongly of Alex Grey’s faceted faces. Geometry without syntax. Architecture without language.
I decided to sit down on the sofa and try again, this time closer to a breakthrough dose.
Residual visuals and body load from the earlier run were still present. As I looked around the room—the wall, the laser, the pulsating lights from M's liquid cooled computers—the colors exploded into something I had never seen with open eyes on any substance. The contrast was extreme, almost cartoonish. Clown colors. Oversaturated, exaggerated, playful in a way that felt slightly absurd.
I took two more solid hits.
The fractals pushed inward, and then—suddenly—everything changed.
Pop.
Chocolate.
The entire visual field collapsed into a monochrome palette: whites, creams, tans, light browns, dark browns. No color beyond that. It was as if I had fallen directly into a chocolate milk commercial. Everything was flowing, soft, creamy. The visuals had texture rather than contrast. Mouthfeel instead of geometry.
I could hear M hitting his cart in the background. At some point he said, “I can almost see it, even from here.”
I answered without opening my eyes: “Can’t do it right now, bud.”
That felt important. A side note written later in my journal would say it more clearly: do not leave YOUR trip. Attention fragmentation matters.
I stayed inside the chocolate.
As the state began to shift again, hints of light blue crept in alongside the creams and whites. When I eventually opened my eyes and tried to look at the laser again, focus was difficult to maintain. The room snapped back into those same clownish colors—high contrast, cartoon saturation—utterly unlike ordinary perception. I did not want to move. I did not want to stand up.
That was when the body load returned.
It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t pleasant either. Just heavy. Insistent. Grounding. I let it be.
By the end of the session, the conclusion arrived without drama.
The spice is too sacred—too important—to waste.
Looking into lasers for code had missed the point. The code is not there. The code is in the trip. And the trip is inside.
I titled the entry afterward:
Eat the Chocolate.
Later, I added a final reflection.
For me, small doses of the spice are not very enjoyable. They feel like the endless comedown from LSD or mushrooms—the restless, anxious sensation that something should be happening. Larger doses bypass that entirely. They move past the body and dissolve the mind instead.
Strangely, the comedown from a full experience carries no anxiety at all. Just peace.
That distinction felt worth recording
Earlier in the evening, during one of the laser observations, I had received a text on my phone. Looking at the screen was startling. The typography was impossibly crisp. Lines were razor-sharp, perfectly defined, as if I were holding an entirely different device. It felt—as M later put it—perfect.
Dose-Dependent Circuit Engagement
Small doses keep Circuit I–III active, producing somatic unease and restless cognition. Larger doses suppress these circuits rapidly, allowing higher-level dissolution without prolonged bodily distress.
This explains why “too little” can feel worse than “enough.”
Not paradox. Threshold mechanics.
