Fuck me sideways, i had the most fucked up, as in weirdest trip. I vaped those crystals and had the impression they were weak, not leading to any dissolution. I vaped it crazy, about 6 good hits, I was seeing the visions from, say, a chicken-like POV, in the sense that I was moving/rotating my head but the focus was fixed, while the spatial geometry remained in the same plane, like a fixed structure, exactly like a chicken when you move its body while its head and gaze remain fixed, some sort of stabilizer.
As i kept asking myself where the dissolution was, i drew the conclusion that dissolution doesn't exist. At least for me, there is no more dissolution. i must've spent it all in the past with the oloiloqui and the shrooms, i thought. I stayed in that state, listening to music, feeling it inside me, as if it were flowing out of me, as if i were Infected Mushroom themselves during the performance, and then i'd slipped into glossolalia, as i was seeing a pair of insectoid eyes while they were my own eyes gazing me from the insect point of view, allwhile experiencing the regular humanoid point of view. How the fuck could i see them if they were mine and i was gazing at them, existing somehow one with the earth, with the shit, with the elderflower i had smelled earlier which didn't smell indolic like i hoped, but it was all the same even so, and it seemed to me that I was actually just the smell of the elderflowers, eyes and all. And that idea kept coming to me: ingandubambamântabulibundîngândământat.
Suddenly I realized that i'm not actually me, and how the fuck did a trip that was supposed to last 5 minutes on the clock stretch from 18:30 to 19:30 from about 6 inhaled puffs? A trip where i claimed i didn't dissolve while I was totally diluted in the totality contained somehow in what i suspected was my mine, the body? the mind? Although when i tried to touch my hand i was touching a coffin board, so the natural question that emerges is: am i alive or dead?
It wasn't ontological fear of death, the weirdness was just curiosity. The question was equivalent to: is it 5 o'clock or 6 o'clock? That was about the psychological weight of my existential dilemma.
And if i was actually in dissolution, i was determined to find the trickster, to shake him good, for the self-prank that i am become, but not in an aggressive-punitive way, more like in play, for a laugh, to knuckle his head, although i knew it was me, and i was doing it to myself, but i was happy anyway, playing hide and seek through my cosmic mental space. At one point, closer to the end, i saw myself. or found muself? I was Alan Watts and i was laughing somehow complicitly and amusingly at myself and about myself, from the other side, from behind a thought, at how i was seeking for myself like a fool, nearly failing to find myself. All this time i was a white sheet of paper, smelling of elderflower, what the hell, i didn't disperse after so long? And meanwhile, while i was a sheet, i was stained with a gray ink blot, contrasting with the geometry colored in impossible colors, a blot still undecided if it wanted to turn into a word.
And yet, one question persists: where the fuck are those mechanical elves, Mckenna?
As i kept asking myself where the dissolution was, i drew the conclusion that dissolution doesn't exist. At least for me, there is no more dissolution. i must've spent it all in the past with the oloiloqui and the shrooms, i thought. I stayed in that state, listening to music, feeling it inside me, as if it were flowing out of me, as if i were Infected Mushroom themselves during the performance, and then i'd slipped into glossolalia, as i was seeing a pair of insectoid eyes while they were my own eyes gazing me from the insect point of view, allwhile experiencing the regular humanoid point of view. How the fuck could i see them if they were mine and i was gazing at them, existing somehow one with the earth, with the shit, with the elderflower i had smelled earlier which didn't smell indolic like i hoped, but it was all the same even so, and it seemed to me that I was actually just the smell of the elderflowers, eyes and all. And that idea kept coming to me: ingandubambamântabulibundîngândământat.
Suddenly I realized that i'm not actually me, and how the fuck did a trip that was supposed to last 5 minutes on the clock stretch from 18:30 to 19:30 from about 6 inhaled puffs? A trip where i claimed i didn't dissolve while I was totally diluted in the totality contained somehow in what i suspected was my mine, the body? the mind? Although when i tried to touch my hand i was touching a coffin board, so the natural question that emerges is: am i alive or dead?
It wasn't ontological fear of death, the weirdness was just curiosity. The question was equivalent to: is it 5 o'clock or 6 o'clock? That was about the psychological weight of my existential dilemma.
And if i was actually in dissolution, i was determined to find the trickster, to shake him good, for the self-prank that i am become, but not in an aggressive-punitive way, more like in play, for a laugh, to knuckle his head, although i knew it was me, and i was doing it to myself, but i was happy anyway, playing hide and seek through my cosmic mental space. At one point, closer to the end, i saw myself. or found muself? I was Alan Watts and i was laughing somehow complicitly and amusingly at myself and about myself, from the other side, from behind a thought, at how i was seeking for myself like a fool, nearly failing to find myself. All this time i was a white sheet of paper, smelling of elderflower, what the hell, i didn't disperse after so long? And meanwhile, while i was a sheet, i was stained with a gray ink blot, contrasting with the geometry colored in impossible colors, a blot still undecided if it wanted to turn into a word.
And yet, one question persists: where the fuck are those mechanical elves, Mckenna?
