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First trip (bad)



My cousin, his friend, my brother, and I, all consumed the mushrooms inside of his (my cousin’s) garage, where we hung out for a good 40 minutes. 30 of those 40 minutes were spent in there alone by me. I was spinning around on my cousin’s punching bag, embracing the new feeling. All was fun. Then my brother came in, and we went down to the bonfire. (it was FUCKING dark outside, by the way, my cousin lives on a farm) That was when I started to notice the beautiful fractal designs. When we finally got down there we sat and enjoyed the fire until it started to rain… then my cousin and his friend went up into their river-hut (a one room building on stilts) , which I always seem to have a hard time getting up. So, I walked off, ALONE, in the rain, and I began thinking how I could never give that little bit… That small piece of effort needed to accomplish tasks that I can’t accomplish. That thought turned into many different ones, all moving and transmutating so fast that I couldn’t relay any of them out to the world. They were all inside of me, dying to get out. The thoughts were fractalized (all constantly turning and eating themselves). Then my cousin and his friend came down from the house and decided to go back up to the garage. They told me to get this bag of hot dogs for them. I had a little bit of trouble picking it up and putting the hot dogs into it. They seemed to keep falling out, and it genuinely looked like there was a hole in the bag. Then, my cousin’s friend held the bag open for me, saying, “it’s just a bag, it isn’t going to hurt you”, he held it open for me to put the hot dogs in, and I just dropped them on the floor. That brought on my first tears. Then we walked the entire grueling way up to the garage, where they left me outside, alone, in the rain, once again, so they could talk to my cousin’s dad to go into town. Then my thoughts turned into my family always shunning me, and I’m always the Black Sheep, I’m never allowed to do anything normal, and how I am just a dumb faggot and the like. Tears were streaming from my face, and I’d go to wipe them off but I couldn’t feel it. The feeling of the tears coming down came before they actually traveled down my face. I went to the car and sat down, alone. Then the other people came in, and sat in the car, too. They were all facing me asking me things like “are you ok?” They were all talking simultaneously, which proved for a very frightening effect. They were all the same volume and what they were saying didn’t make ANY sense at all. I kept telling my cousin: “it’s not the drugs, it’s me. I’m fucked up.” That quote (I’m fucked up) sticks in my head like a bullet. (i.e. I’ve had a flashback or two involving that scene) I kept thinking how my life was just like a White Wolf story. (the kid with the fucked up childhood that becomes a whatever; the important part is the fucked up childhood) Then the car took off and I felt a little better. (changing the environment helps when you’re having a bad trip, because sometimes you don’t know what’s wrong, so you’ll make up stuff, when what’s wrong could be something very trivial such as being too dark or too cold) I leaned against the window and watched everything go by (leaving INCREDIBLE tracers) as I thought about humanity and why I think these things… We drove through A neighboring big city (Yakima) and I narrowed the feelings down to the fact that people remember. You can’t fractalize light and dark any more than the concept already is, so I stopped there, and just didn’t think anything. Oh yes, somewhere in there we stopped in a gas station, and I think that may be what saved me, because changing the environment breaks the current train of thought, in most cases. I’ll never look at gas stations the same way again. By the way, the whole time my body felt like it was spinning and falling and moving in all directions, my hands were noodles, my face was a crumpled piece of paper… Then we pulled into my cousin’s drug dealer’s house. The peak ended a little bit before then, so at the house, we just sat in this couch and stared at everything for a few hours. (You are immune to the harmful thought processes after the peak is over. Some people still get paranoid after the peak, though. Like my brother. After the peak, I call this phase of the trip “Groovin.” Because nothing can go wrong, and nothing is intense. It’s just… Groovin) Then we went home and went to bed. By the way it takes a few days to a week to recover from a trip and get back to reality. Well, that’s about it.


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