Foreword Before you begin to read this, you should know that I am *just* now coming down from the trip which is described below.
Before you begin to read this, you should know that I am *just* now coming down from the trip which is described below. Please, therefore, disregard and forgive any wordy or rambling passages you might encounter (like this one?)
What you are about to read is as true as my mind can remember it.
The Back Story
A group of close friends and I are *huge* fans of Canadian uber-band the Tragically Hip. It was determined even before last night's Montreal show was formally announced that we would be going. With the concert beginning in earnest around 8pm, we headed to my girlfriend's apartment to hit the bong and chill. While we were there I elected to show one of my guests the shroomariums I had devised: he was impressed and decreed that we should try the shrooms after the concert (this, in retrospect, was a *very* wise decision.)
The Close Call
While at the apartment a few of my guests decided to hang over the 21st story balcony and, *ahem*, proposition some female tenants that were two stories below us. This resulted in a phone call to the police. I was mortified.
Confident that the cops wouldn't enter the apartment if the rowdy gentlemen were not present, I proceeded to herd my friends down the stairs (21 floors!) and out a back entrance to an alley.... A phonecall to my girlfriend a few moments later confirmed that the police had indeed made it to her front door, and questioned her (she told the truth, of course, that we had left and she didnt know exactly where to), but they never searched the apartment (W-H-E-W!!)
We decided to hoof it to the Molson Centre, and we hit the Hip concert just as the opening act left the stage. The show was epic, and I won't bore you with the details because
a) statistics tell me you probably aren't a Tragically Hip fan, and
b) you know what an "epic" concert is like, or at least have an idea.
We left the concert, picked up my girlfriend and the fun stuff, and headed for a friend's home.
It was about 2:30 am. There were four of us willing to drop shrooms, and I had in my possession six grams of dried Gulf Coast strain. Three of us ate them embedded in McDonald's food products (I now realize what an insult this was to the spirit of the shroom), and one ate them straight.
While we waited for the shrooms to come on, some of us decided to hit my water bong. We did about 1 bowl of kind bud between two of us - myself and J.
This dicey cocktail shaped what would turn out to be one of the most exhilarating, hilarious, and thought provoking experiences of my life.
~3:45 am. My normally placid and level headed girlfriend begins laughing at the sight of my face. She questions why this is happening - I tell her the magic is taking its toll. She huddles on a couch with us, shivering under a blanket her equilibrium completely munged.
At this point J decided to hit the hay. This would prove to be an exercise in futility, and he was soon seen to be writing in fits of hallucination on his bed.
Our other companion P was well equipped for the trip. He had in his possession a gilligan-style hat which was identical to the one worn by Johnny Depp in "Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas." He entertained us for a while by twirling and flipping the hat, seemingly in mid-air.
By about 4:30 am we decided to go our separate ways and live out our experiences as individuals. My girlfriend and I drove to my parents' home to stay for the night.
The Machinations of the Journey
Almost immediately after starting the car I noticed that I had developed a nervous twitch in both arms and hands. I dismissed this and began warming the car up. Turning on the headlights revealed that the snowbank I had parked in front of was now melting at high speed ! The twitch got worse and my speech patterns got caught in what can best be described as a "mental feedback loop". I was munged.
We drove straight home and hit the waterbed. I could hear myself speaking in a gibberish tongue, but could do little to correct it. The twitching reached fever pace. I realised then and there that mixing the shrooms with weed had produced a mind-mashing synergistic trip which I was not at all prepared for.
My girlfriend had come down from her trip by 6:00 am, but I was still doing the funky chicken and blabbing up a storm in bed. We decided I should document my thoughts at this time. Here is what I found written in my bedside notebook, in barely readable scrawl:
"There once was a man who knew a boy, and they climbed a tree and had a grand old time."
"Television is this box with glowing faces of acceptance and hatred - a duality"
"My favourite type of music is the kind with a harpsicord"
"I want a fast fast car. I want to drive far away and stay close!"
"There is an innate reflexiveness about writing about thought, because I am thinking right now"
"Hair is the dessert topping on a delicious dish"
"F*cking BEER is the fruit of the D-E-V-I-L"
"smelly smelly CIGAR"
I still cannot figure out what inspired me to write these words.
I must note, at this point, that I was extremely exhausted and wanted "out" of the trip. But the shroom spirit, in conjunction with the cannabis queen, had other plans.
I tripped until 10:30 the next morning, my consciousness completely consumed by the magic. It was a truly epic adventure I would like to repeat someday, but now I am tired and need sleep.