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Report 6 April
3 grams of Powdered Syrian Rue and 1.2 grams of unidentified psilocybin mushrooms.
I am in my mid fifties and have not tripped since my late twenties. I have had perhaps 20 - 30 experiences with acid and less than half a dozen light experiences with fresh mushrooms.
In general 1.2 dried grams of mushrooms is basically a threshold experience. Warm inner glow, a slight euphoria, reality a bit brighter and perhaps a slight tendency to introspection. I had been given the mushrooms a while ago by a friend and didn't know what to do with it as it was not enough for a decent trip. Recently I had done some reading on Psilohuasca I thought that it might be the way to make for a worthwhile experience.
As far as setting went, my wife was to be my minder and we would stay at her brother%u2019s house away from our teenage kids. This unfortunately fell through and we decided to stay at a cheap hotel. It was a really strange dilapidated art deco era place with garish yellow concrete rendered walls, paint peeling and water stains on the ceiling. The furniture was configured like something from an HP Lovecraft story. The chair could not fit the table as the bed was in the way. It looked like the space had been perfectly configured to maximise discomfort. It was at the end of a long and very The Shining like corridor.
Set - Took my 15 y/o son to soccer in the afternoon and had an explosive argument with him on the way there about him slipping off at night and getting blackout drunk. Lost my temper with him. He is a very difficult kid, just like I was, only multiplied. 10 minutes into the game he injures himself and I had to take him to hospital. Discussed calling it all off with my wife but she thought we could still go ahead. She stayed with him at the hospital and I went to get ready.
So set and setting perfect!
17:55 Three grams of Syrian Rue mixed with some with lemon juice and water and swallowed in one gulp. Rinsed down with a little more water and lemon juice.
Set intentions of understanding why I am unable to do do the work to realise my visions.
18:20 mixed up 1.2 grams of unidentified psilocybe with enough lemon juice to turn into a slurry, stirring every 5 minutes.
18:40 Mix with half a glass of water and down the hatch.
Listened to Patti Smith - Ain't it Strange, PJ Harvey - Silence and Tom Waits - Black Wings with new headphones. Music was already vivid, heard some things that I hadn't noticed before in the Patti Smith song.
Thought that this whole experience might be a bit of a fizzer as the dosages were not enough.
As this place was really noisy, full of electrical buzzes, fridge compressors kicking in, guests climbing the stairs, pedestrians chatting outside my window and cars whizzing by. I decided to stop listening to music and switch on the noise cancelling and listen to pink noise to stop any external interruptions. The sun going down creates an eerie atmosphere in this place.
Beginning to feel quite a strong body glow, I am feeling cold so I get into a sleeping bag with my clothes on, close my eyes and encourage the trip to come on.
19:07 My wife arrives to tripsit. I am thinking I am going to have to work at this to get the most out of it. Closed eye visuals are there but very muted. Have to concentrate to get them to ignite.
19:37 get up to go to the toilet. Feel somewhat disoriented, my head is swirling and I am finding my balance is slightly awry. I go back to bed and lie on my back. Now I can feel the full body tripping experience, my brain is buzzing and I am feeling flashes of contentedness. For the next three hours I am peaking and lie in silent darkness.
Trying to nail down what happened during this period is somewhat difficult. I won't try and do any chronology because there really wasn't any. I dipped into a world that I had been before, not quite deja vu but pretty close.
Before I lost language I wrote down on my phone We live our lives asleep at the wheel.
I dropped into the vast expanses of the preworld, or the beneath world. This was a world of language, of syntax and grammatical structure that was the invisible infrastructure that the visible world was built on. This was the unconscious verbal soup that that all existence was based on. A world of relentless recurring verbal nonsense words that lay behind meaning.
Erangamating, thinkstomp, aracatumuling, bitmutching, bitmoiling, enketoiling, arinkating formenting, each meaningless word would bubble up to the surface. They would compound and recoil bouncing off each other and ricocheting around. Some words would be energised and appear in bold, hot with meaning where multiple layers had connected to this sound. There were recurring words that would appear at the end of a sentence with a comma after them that would return. This was the mighty primordial soup of meaningless chaos that all meaning was based on. I existed in this formless chaos for hours. It was intensely exhausting and repetitive.
I was trying to make sense, I was groping for meaning, I was intensely disappointed that there was no ecstatic revelations. No insights, no nuggets of wisdom to bring back from the experience. I had been here before. It was a mind-land where nothing happens because everything that happens is generated here. The formless, meaningless chaos that our whole edifice of rational thinking was based.
Eree-eckating, smelting, becketing, bismoiling, roitering, thingstop, areoling, betsmirtering, dipthong, ditheronterling, squirleting, ring-a-dingling, quoitermass, gestaling a-rinketaling. Burbling, roiling voiceless wordstew that recurred and recurred and recurred. Endlessly nothing-everthingness fermenting, fomenting relentless noiseless argumentativeness vividly bouncing across my mind screen.
C-a-n-'-t f-i-n-d t-h-e w-o-r-d-s
Aringha, aringha butterthing, jeremy thinkstop, jeremiah, aringha, aringha jeremiah, aringha, aringha soulless neckmire, aringha, athinka thingamewhat, atinker, aringha, thinkspot. The endless cauldron of whirling words. Inescapable recurring, redoubling spate on stake on state. In the mindless formless breakdown of melting mind.
I am at the intermediate point between my son's Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder and my mother's dementia. Aphasia - the words lost in the chaos of mind. Doppler effect, words backwards in my minds eye. The backdrop of white hot blackness sinking wordlessly in the bleakest world of subatomic meanings. I-am-heart-of-circumstance. Circumference of the circular circadian circuits circumnavigating the poles of the literate-illiterate esoterica. Heartbeats of the wormworld, take back the thing, the thing, the thing ad-lost mechanism of meaning stripping stipend of the murk. It gets murkier. The lurking murk, the murk lurker, lurking the the murk. The threshold lost at the beginning. The meaning lost. The meaninglessness of the lurking murk.
Oh please let me out of the twitching, swinging breeze of meanings lost in the melting putrefaction of words. I AM EXHAUSTED. Yet strangely calm. A clam. A claim on a clam with aim that's calm. Why am I not getting any meaning? W-o-r-d-s without meaning. Again and again. Here's recurring for you. Aringha,
Left there, hanging, at the end of the paragraph. Recurring, recurring, anka and again, arinhga,
Here comes aringha-tinker again bouncing off the Myall clouds! Aringha,
Aringha, pinker, stinga tailing everprescence, despoiling chocathinkcat, thingcat, amulling, aringah, atinka septasingerousness. I am Thursday and the clouds have forgiven. Septawallawalla inka spuriousness thinkstop.
Here at the end, another thinkstop. Thingstop. Thinstop. Arailing ente sailing froma frinkboard. Aye ela, aye ela thinkstop arailing.Terramonawailing, wailing, wailing at the wailing wall. Herononesbounds athinkamating wentawailing. I am sinkbound. It's the jerrycan! Understand, understand, UNDERSTAND!
Rend the subjects mate, yes, yes, yes! I have gone into inaudia. Nowhere near the thinksbottom on the chavelary. Here I link the list of words - nonwords.
Septeremicus in the spirtleinkus! I am lost word of the murk world. I think in jeryobtomulicus intermethinkus obtulinkas. It's vision words, ultraworlds interuptus, interiganus, interlopers from the spattering frame. Flame Us! Inflame the range of rage in us. Interemicus obfuscutulus introspective interrogation of the word. Of the wordless, of the world of wordlessness in the spoon of forgiveness. Ah the insectoid meaning with the wings dripping on the halcyon dreaming. Intervening, interscening intravenous in circumlocuting the written. It is not written.
There is no writing! Here the void ceases the word. Here the world ceases the void in the terms of the word. The world left wondering at the void.
I am ceaseless. Causeless duality in the pick and stick. In the thick of it. The stick, the stick ereundant spickering of the tinkering. What a mule it he's pickering. It's the sound where words are visible. Enteropicus scalentopicus. Half man in the machine hub. The sub hub. The nub of the hub. What's the hubbub bub? It's the soaking sub in the suburb. The word, the word the lost word of worlds. The lost word, the lost word, the lost word. I speaketh the lost word, unheard in the limitless darkness of time. Ascribed with vengeance with the specious sebaceous scaling ninny-hop in the basement. Went rent along. Aringha, aringha!
The scaling space in the calm. Enkatering entering eschatological spectering in the ceaseless spattering, the thing, the thing, the thing. Terriana-minimalisquat, instatinker-minimalisquation.
Entering spark of voidoid. I am mark of void! I love you. Aringha,
Left at the end of a sentence marks the bouncing duopoly of duality where the spine of living time rents asunder the whirlpool of underworld words hinging the meanings from the meaninglessness. Architecture of generous despair. Aringha,
The veil of silence from the listing words is lifting.
Words begin to obey me.
The ceaseless flail starts to fail.
Land ahoy. I catch the floating words and sail. Sands of time underfoot.