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An infinite 6 hours.

Substances involved: T + 0: (9:10) indeterminate amount of marijuana-laced food Psilocybin T + 20 : 3.

Substances involved:
T + 0: (9:10) indeterminate amount of marijuana-laced food
Psilocybin T + 20 : 3.5-4 grams
T + :20 – 3 bowls smoked cannabis
T + :30 – 3 bowls smoked cannabis
T + 3:30 – 2 shots mud slide (25% alcohol)
T + 1:00 – effects ceased

I had the audacity as of late to endeavor to kill even more brain cells than was regularly associated with a weekend’s revelry, and though the price wound up being rather high (I used up every cent I had paying for gas and the actual trip itself, which in the end I decided was all worth the wasted cash, for I had a rather interesting experience when I went, which was in the end a ride that I barely managed to make it away from intact.

Now, paranoia was running high as we approached the hippie commune that we were planning on visiting, as we had seen several police cars parked en route to it, which at first forced us into a swift evasion, then, finally deciding that we’d already wasted too much time, money and effort to be swayed away from the place, and so we steadied ourselves and drove past them acting as naturally as four teenagers-to-young-adults driving past a cadre of police could act.

For the entire first half-hour, we wandered around aimlessly, basking in the overall optimistic feeling of the entire place as music played and people danced about. We bought a hefty amount of ganja food and began greedily chowing down amongst our party of four, and everyone wound up more or less stuffed by the end. Finally, I walk past an indistinct person in an empty patch of the festivities, and a very subtly offered “Mushies” rang into my generally drug-attuned ears. I wheeled about, instantly willing to close the sale. Within 5 minutes of this point, I had downed every last one, minding the instant tolerance you get to the things. Never having had anything but extremely poorly kept mushrooms, I was eager to discern the difference between the pathetic shrooms of my home and the extremely potent number laid before me.

A certain time later, another hippie propositioned my compatriot G with an offer for a nice bit of choice reefer, arguably just about (if not if) the best I had ever had. Originally the plan was for all to obtain mushrooms, but we were down to less money than it would have entailed, so he closed the deal. After this, we wandered a ways away from the commune (ever mindful of any sort of public eye, the price of a stoner is eternal paranoia after all) and proceeded to light up a trio of bowls, planning indeed to finish the whole lot before the night ended, not wanting to transport it home particularly. Another person joined in the circle that we will never meet, and we let him in as if we’d known him forever and he were just stopping and visiting. No one else the entire night decided to insinuate themselves upon our circle, and I was rather impressed with the guy’s moxy for visiting people he will never know by name to smoke weed with.

We wandered again through the grounds, red-eyed and carefree, wheeling about absorbing the local color and culture to the best of our abilities as we let time pass as it may, upbeat and content to wander about penniless, taking all the sights in.

Soon after this, the mushroom’s came on, subtly but surely, at first as a minor buzz that enhanced the weed already rampant in my system, putting me in an even more uppity mood than before. I spent a longer time gazing at minor objects and appreciating them for what they were, such as blades of grass or the sky, and wondering indeed if I hadn’t just wandered into a sort of postcard, the setting seemed so perfect, so organic.

This period didn’t last much more than 20 minutes (although indeed, the compression of the time was so much that if you’d asked me if an hour had gone by at the end of those 20 minutes, I would not have been the least bit surprised to see myself argue that it’d been at least two). It was trailed very closely by the actual, full-force trip, which soon consumed me mentally most entirely and began to drag time at a snail’s pace. The blades of grass, which I had before contented myself to simply stare at, had begun to rapidly and randomly grow and shrink, and their colors seemed to be nearly fluorescently bright. I did not immediately comment

We wandered again upon the aforementioned hill to light another trio of bowls, putting the net amount remaining to just above half its original size as we eagerly burned it out (the weed was peculiarly long-lasting, and it was unusual to see it passed less than four times around the tuneless stoner’s quartet we had formed in the middle of the hill. I looked down at one point, and for a few moments saw a brownish, rather undetailed dog, very distinctly and clearly, running up the hill without barking. It vanished shortly before it met us, and I commenced to asking anyone if they knew where the dog went, and as I rather expected (I already assumed I was just nonsense), got a resounding, very confused no. Now, at no point did I not enjoy this, I must say anything I saw I simply explained away as nonsense, having had some experience with DXM and a few other hallucinogens which have caused me to believe that most of them meant little to nothing.

After finishing off the weed for the moment, we again wandered to the campsite, at the which point they decided to assign me the fairly easy task of throwing away some garbage, which I took to with decent adeptness. Now, I walked directly to a garbage can, but apparently they were thinking of a different one, so I was lost, wandering about rather disoriented all about the site looking for them for right around 5 or so minutes (which I thought was at least 20) before they finally showed up again. As we began walking away, a hippie girl whose name I will likely never know walked by and performed a surprisingly stunning vocal feat of rolling a straight “rrrrrrr” sound for almost 10 seconds. At first I spun around and began following her for a bit, then my friends said something and I started following them after laughing a bit at the nonsensical noise (I wasn’t sure if she accepted the laugh because she knew I was tripping, or simply decided my laughing at her was no consequence, but I probably should have apologized for the affront nonetheless, though indeed moments later the trip was continuing and she was forgotten).

Now, by this time we were all extremely dry-mouthed, having had absolutely nothing to drink except for a single bottle of water I’d purchased earlier on, so they decided to send me on a “mission” to find it. I agreed to do it only if I could get the CD player out of the car at the same time so we could smoke weed with a bit of a soundtrack behind it. The semantics my friend had used gave the whole journey a rather militaristic feel, and I skulked through the jungle of the commune as though I were a secret agent of sorts, bent upon being totally inconspicuous, which I no doubt wasn’t. I meandered back and forth, my footsteps beating a quick intro and outro by the myriad people sitting around, desperately searching for someone selling water. As I walked, I found myself narrating all of the nonsense around me, the swirling people that I didn’t know and barely comprehended, the many places I would walk by, forgetting entirely to check to see if it said “Water 1.00 here” on the side. I never did find that damned water, in spite of my crossing the entire grounds perhaps 5 times I didn’t ever find the place. I resorted to asking around, and a few didn’t seem to know, one person even knew the location exactly but I couldn’t find it even THEN I was having so many problems navigating. (always did have a problem with directions, although this day they were offset to the extreme)

I walked about the grounds some more, still searching for my friends who had seemed to have vanished off the face of the planet in some cruel Outer Limits-esque disappearing act, leaving me alone in the desert of smiley faces and rainbows, (turned out that they’d gone over the hill I’d walked up before to smoke more weed). I heard a good deal of yelling coming from somewhere far off during this point, and it didn’t sound like anyone I knew, but for some reason it seemed to be directed precisely at my person. I tried making it out for a bit before deciding I had perhaps just imagined it and shrugging it off.
I noticed a person carrying what I first thought to be perhaps an air gun, but, in a fact that barely touched upon my fantasy-driven mind, it was in a holster, and the person wearing it was a cop/state trooper, not sure which. He was checking out some hippie, and it barely dawned upon him because of my condition that I should be fearing this person, so as such I simply traipsed gleefully across the psilocybin plain, wandering amongst the psychedelic grass unaffected by the authority figure nearby. I, for the moment, had assumed he was some sort of security patrol for Lord knows what reason. Upon noticing the four others all standing about like English guards glaring at the musical performance (most of the numbers thus far had been protest pieces), I took them as almost part of the scenery and serenely walked away. By this point, the edges of my vision were crowded out with flashing bits of false-color which I was enjoying thoroughly.

Now, at this point, I began to wonder if perhaps my friends weren’t up on top of the hill, and began to ascend the seemingly endless hill that had most certainly become a mountain upon the sun’s setting. I could barely feel my legs pulling themselves up the hill, and though it was a decently steep hill, it seemed as I was walking on flat ground, stride after stride, and for around 60 seconds or so I began to sprint, flying up the hill at a pace that finally made time seem to flow normally again.

As I neared the top and saw no one, I decided not to waste the trip up the exhausting hill, and laid back with the CD player next to me, still listening to the music echoing up the hill from the commune, and eventually decided not to turn it on. All the music I had was techno, and it didn’t seem to me as though it would meld well with the sound being presently played, so I decided to just lay back and marvel at the sights, which I did for around 10 minutes or so, a rather peaceful ten minutes that lasted a hefty amount of time. I was amazed at how ephemeral and picturesque the sky could be at night if you stared at it for long enough, and spent the next few minutes laying in the dirt and reveling in the overall wonderful day that had preceded this moment.

I descended the hill again, still carrying the CD player that I hadn’t bothered to turn on, and resumed the search for my friends when it suddenly began to rain. I took this as my cue to put it away, so I hurried back to the car, covering it as best I could, and opened the door just as my friends ran back, rather panicked indeed. It seemed they’d had a rather uncomfortable scene with them beforehand, and we all decided to make a prompt exit lest we be incarcerated indefinitely.

Quietly we started our car (just at the edge of the lot), and beat a careful-but-hasty exit from the place, which occurred without incident. We had debated tossing the weed away, and eventually decided to risk keeping both it and the piece we had on us (both rather compromising bits of evidence if you ask me, but expensive to replace). It was a 2 and a half hour drive home, but aside from getting hopelessly lost thanks to road construction, the trip home was fairly uneventful, although a cop driving by with his lights on scared the hell out of us most certainly.

As we rode home, I decided to concentrate myself on simply concentrating on hallucinating, (most of the drugs I’ve done have been lacking in visual stimuli for the most part, at least open-eye visuals) and found to my great surprise that I could nearly control the phenomena if I stared upon something fixed for long enough. As I stared at the car ceiling in my ecstatic state, the world seemed to be drawn over with a veil, then replaced with a whole cornucopia of hallucinogenic nonsense, swirling and combining and recombining black-to-blue lines, along various quick flashes and glimpses of single-color objects and creatures, and an altogether muted sound to the conversation occurring outside my momentary dream world, which faded as soon as I concentrated again upon listening to my friends and contributing to the conversation with what was most likely madness and foolishness that only made sense in my own distorted mindstate.

Upon finally arriving at home, I broke out a CD I’d burnt with myriad anime music videos, which we eagerly watched for a little while, watching each before moving on to Unreal Tournament, copious amounts of water, and Mud Slide (G suggested to the rest of us that if we were thirsty we should down some mud slide, but I figured water is the only thing that actually quenches thirst, so I compensated). Now, these sparing shots of Mud Slide that I downed profoundly enhanced the trip experienced, and as soon as the alcohol hit full force approximately 15 minutes afterward, the trip intensified to the point it had been at in the car on the ride home, and for almost 30 seconds, the computer monitor that G had been playing Unreal Tournament on became a cartoonish, warped thing, randomly flexing and distorting in all sorts of strange angles as a yellowish hue coated the white room.

Losing interest in watching the game, I commenced to staring at the plastered ceiling with its many imperfections, and watched as they randomly reassembled themselves into vague, ethereal pictures that I could somewhat recognize, but that were still too indistinct to really make out for certain. Finally, with perhaps an hour remaining until I had come completely down off of the substance (the trip had by now lasted about six, and all told it lasted seven), I went to bed, not necessarily to sleep, but to watch some sort of movie and let sleep come when it may.

Now, just as I was about to put a movie in, I remembered a little project I’d been attempting with a manga that I had owned almost since I started trying psychoactives. I had been trying to force the static characters in this manga to move about their pulp confines with practically any sort of psychedelic or hallucinogenic substance that I’d heretofore attempted, and thus far the little characters had scarcely budged. This time, however, I was determined, and using my knowledge of how I can force myself into visuals, relaxed my eyes and mind for a few moments while reading several pages. Now, the characters moved, albeit a mite unnaturally (usually not changing their stance, but simply their position on the page, or perhaps made a bit of a flourish with their weaponry, although a couple of faces turned a few inches). I also managed to introduce a bit of color to the black-and-white images, and although generally I could do it only upon the character’s outfits, I was still rather impressed that I could force it to happen at all. Finally, most profound of all, I forced one to not really move out of place at all, but simply to have their face utterly warped as though the page were melted, flow outward in all directions for around a second, then snap back into place where they had been (I surmise that had I tried to read said book beforehand and drank a touch of alcohol earlier as well, the characters would have very likely jolly well near leaped off the page and had a chat with me).

Now, at this, my trip finally tapering off after a good six hours or so, I lay back and watched an anime movie while everyone else slept, the characters jumping about a bit unnaturally and at times the scene around them seeming to vanish, and by the end of the movie even these effects were gone and the trip was done, at which point I finally drifted into peaceful slumber, quite satisfied with the entire night’s goings-on. I would guage my trip to be a high level 3 experience, possibly a low level 4 one. I can only hope other users out there can avoid the near-incarceration experience that I had. Keep your heads about you out there, well, to a certain point anyways.

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