Home | Mushroom Info | Experiencing Mushrooms | Trip Reports | Level 4 | The Experience

This site includes paid links. Please support our sponsors.

The Experience

This experience occured on a sunny autumn afternoon in Alabama, only 24 hours after discovering wild psilocybe cubensis mushrooms growing across the street from my new (temporary) home.

This experience occured on a sunny autumn afternoon in Alabama, only 24 hours after discovering wild psilocybe cubensis mushrooms growing across the street from my new (temporary) home. I could not handle the surprise intensity that set in after ingesting them, so I plotted myself in front of my computer and typed on and off for about five hours. A fantastic time, I must say.
Well. I’m tripping balls. This is it. The most fantastic feeling... It is all very lucid and flowing... My pupils are largely dilated. It is hard to imagine a time when I didn’t feel this way... Tired? What the hell is that? I’m trippin... I’ve got to get rid of this childish flow to my thoughts put there by a friend of mine. Instead, I must follow where the paths lead and maybe I’ll end up somewhere... Inspiration? That doesn’t just happen... You’ve got to look for it. Typing typing typing... This is something that I love to do. I love to just type and type and type and perhaps my thoughts will go somewhere and articulate some strange meaning with satisfaction and justice... Did justice just happen? Isn’t it amazing how this language flows and twists and dives and turns around following its own path but jesus... this is important, man! too many interuptions! Where do they all come from? Intelligence... I can feel it in me. To convey a mood? I need to broaden my vocabulary. Expand my horizons. Is that what they call genius? Expansion? Well... Time to set to work (at least that’s what I’m telling myself at the bottom of this wave... The crest is coming...)
This trip is very mellow. Intense at times, but the visuals are almost non existant... repitition of thoughts from yesterday... Yes. The visuals are there, and they are beautiful. But blurry... A stronger dose would bring them into full glory. But I must wait quite a while to experience this again. Perhaps I should go muddy my thoughts with beer. Make myself tired and flow with the breezes, the birds in the trees... beautiful morning... here I am. I’m yours and in this beautiful moment I could be... mine. Well. That is something. I think this playful manner of things works very well indeed with music, but gods, man. this is real.
I will now attempt a book.

Except I was distracted. Interesting how I was about to say, I got distracted, which is incorrect. It makes no sense. This intelligence is a dangerous thing. I fear that people will begin not to like me, which is fine, but it’s not what I want. Just wait for these mushrooms to metabolize. I do enjoy writing while on them, though. I put more effort into it. I put my heart in it. Maybe that’s what Thompson was doing in his younger years. Just sitting awake at night and writing. Not because he wanted to, or because he needed to... Put because he had to. I guess I’ll just have to live longer and let time fill in the blanks. I reminisce about things in my life and realize... I’ve had a good life. Good thoughts and good dreams and nothing but joy in between. Sure there is pain and discomfort, unwelcome feelings and sickness... But I don’t truely understand these feelings... Wait a minute. Scratch that. I can understand anything if I put my mind to it. I think I’d rather just float and twist and dream? Maybe not. I have the desire within me to try and understand. So let us try and understand. Hmmm... There are distractions, though. Interuptions resulting from my want for people not to know... Know what? That I take substances, in an attempt to expand. I keep to myself in an exquisite way. I don’t know why I keep to myself, and am embarassed by my manner and my speech. I am afraid that if I start talking, I will find that I... have something to say? No. There is nothing there. This is depair... desparity... spelling is a strange and wonderful thing. If you mis-spell a word, you have to check yourself and struggle with that word until it flows from you and flows from you and flows from you. So if you set your mind to it and decide to type for an hour, you discover that an hour has gone by and hey! there is one thousand words sprawln out on the page. And somewhere in that hour a great “twist” took place and suddenly you have’nt the slightest clue where you have ended up. Fee fy fo flow flow flow...
Alice Walker is watering her rodadendrums and never knew what yesterday has most brotally brought upon her. She glances at the sky with tears in her eye, and before long she falls into a slumber. The wonder is siezed by something, not Nomes or Trolls or anything that everybody knows aren’t real... But by... inspiration. He has taken inspiration and run away with it. Everybody needs a typer. Those guys over there. They need typers. They are confusing themselves with the intricasies of the flow of the air, losing their thoughts to time... But these thoughts can be recovered. They can be recovered and from there... What then. This is a trip. I must formulate a way to control the trip and bring it into “structure.” I must. But who is telling me that I must do these things? This, my friend, is what insanity is. But never mind them.
I ate some mushrooms... and soon my body will metabolize them and my consciousness will come back. For the better, my friend. For the better. I truely believe in the consciousness expanding properties of this drug. Right now I can only grasp at ideas as they twist and squirm. But when the metabolism reaches “normal,” and there is no more... fuck it. I’m learning how to do this and that right now!
What makes me smile and laugh as I think about the absurdity of my last thought? I’m not sure...
I’m afraid that this trip is really gripping me. I don’t know what to do... It is powerful and I understand that I must come through with my head still intact. I’m afraid that I’m getting the fear! They tried closing in for a second there! right while I had the greatest urgency to pee. I can hardly type right now but I’m afraid that it is the only thing that is keeping my sanity in tact. So write I must. I can be an asshole. I can be a mean motherfucker. When my territory is being threatened. And this, my friend, is my turf. So protect it I must, protect it I shall. Hey! this is making me feel better!

Blank page. What a beautiful thing. Such permanence, such structure. Until I go and fuck it up again. But that is okay. We’ve reached the peak of another crescent and I’m afraid that this next one will be something severe, indeed. Crazyness is what it is. But that is the beauty of the psychedelic and that is what I find so fascinating about . These thoughts; they appear as though from the blue and I can...
Holy bejeezus... Revelations. I’ve switched over from beer to water now and my bother just chimed in with an interesting thought- Tom, my other brother (as if I have to justify these thoughts to myself), had the distinguished and exquisite opportunity of meeting “The President.” What the hell does that fucker DO that’s so important, anyway? I realize that I sound like a fecisious bastard and am probably a threat to national security, so let me put it another way: I don’t know what the hell is going on. There. I said it. But I want to find out. That is the thing about this trip. I want to stick to myself, guard my territory. But I also want to be outgoing and friendly. Or maybe I want to be mean and indescent. (yeah, you liked that, didn’t you? the way Italics are just so damned mean.)
Gun shots in the distance, birds rustling in the trees behind me, footsteps in the hall! We’re in the JUNGLE, and you have to be on GUARD. What is that buzzing? Chirping? Screeching? AHHHHH!!!!
I think that the insantiy has landed in my lap this time, my friend. But gods, it is exquisite and beautiful...
Is that... LAUGHTER? Hmmm... I need to shake myself of these rediculous thoughts and gather the courage to become a “convincing and AUTHORITATIVE author.”
So here goes... As always, I start myself with the “here goes,” hoping that... and there it is! the question that was driving me insane in the first place! “here goes”, Where do I put the comma and the apostrophe? Am I truly that DUMB?? Or maybe I’m demented...
And then there is the question concerning embarrassment. It is embarrassing to be wrong (my point exactly in the spelling. I just don’t feel like THINKING right now) And you see? I did it again. Justification due to embarrassment due to the want for a better future... the ability NEVER to be wrong...
And that’s the beauty of Authorship. You can take a piece and revise it and do all that other menial bullshit, and there you have it! Embarrassment and failure, embarrassment and failure, embarrassment and failure.
The vultures are closing in and they are mean, and maybe musically I’d be better off or maybe I’d be better off on the page. so here comes a new one...

The insects outside are foolishly exciting. The humidity of this bizarre climate is what gets to me... I can feel it festering within every pore of this strange and forgotten landscape that I call my face... And the insects drone on....
Perhaps this is as far as my intelligence goes. Perhaps not...

This is a documentation of the trip. I am riding the crescent waves and hurtling myself earthward at an ungodly speed. Only when I get there will there be justice, for it is justice that I’ve been looking for all along. The laughter erupts from somwhere so totally un- earthly, though. And it mocks me. Is this, my friend, what they speak of in reference to the “Logos.” Just what were those greek bastards getting at when they spoke of such a thing. Was it Greek to begin with? I sure would like to know... Can you tell me, please?

Jon enters bearing the sacred mushrooms. “Exterminate them,” I decree, and for some ungodly reason... he does. And it is for the better.

Phase three hundred and sixty two: There is a martian sitting on his front porch-step. He’s just sitting there, legs crossed and looking mean. From within the oily black dilated orbs that are his pupils emerges the question: “What are YOU looking at?”

Regression. Kick back and let it flow. And that’s the way it goes. And that’s the way it is. Don’t fight it, just accept it. feel it. And oh. And yes. And oh.... It is beautiful... writhing... Ecstatic. This, my friends, is ecstasy. Such an exquisite word! A masterpiece! However, problems develope from within its beauty. It is within these intricasies that we arrive at THE QUESTION (yeah. I, too, like the way that it sticks out on the page). Where we look is the deciding factor in discovering an answer, and how we apply the effort with which we look is... well. Maturity. Plain and simple. So it was, and so it is, and so it will be....

Infinity is a perplexing concept but easily mastered if one puts his (or her- justification, remember?) mind to it. The concern is what “others” think. The result is an effort to try to explain myself. Left justify, right justify, return, reverse... Do it again, only better. I have the tendency to want to write in capital letters, and it’s there that I realize, this isn’t my voice at all. This is one of THEIR”S. I would simply be borrowing the voice of someone else and be abusing it to suit my sadistic means. If the ends justify the means.... What the FUCK does that mean? “I gotta relax, cap’n. My brains hurtin’ and I fear that the jolly old VULTURES are going to be pickin at my skull come the end of autumn. This september no not right now it is october register process calculate REVERSE REVERSE!!!

As I sit here with water at hand, registering the vast beauty of this universe that means absolutely nothing but at the same time EVERYTHING (if one is to look closely enough), I begin to wonder... Are the paragraphs representational of the vibrations that resonate for a longer duration as the trip loses intensity?... Have I finally GOTTEN SOMEWHERE? God only knows... Such an easily abused expression. I love it. I love to whip it out and use it whenever I feel the unique need. GOD ONLY KNOWS. Who is this God character, anyways. You can’t help but print His name in capital letters, because hey, I mean, after all, He’s God, right? Drivle. Rot. Balgerdash! If one would only take the time to examine the possibilities of this God character, one would find that He is simply an Icon that we use and abuse to will away our inability to understand. Jeez! I’m really having TOO MUCH FUN here in Alabama, aren’t I?

That paragraph was ended rather abrubtly, if you ask me. As for the WHITE SPACES, well... They’re getting a little larger too, aren’t they? Eventually the size of their apparent matter will shock and ASTOUND you as the Logos whispers these frightening and exquisite wonders to me, first left, then right, then... Out the ends and GOD AWFUL HOGWART COCKSUCKER FRAGLEFART! That was the Logos. Please excuse him.

So. Where was I? No, No, that won’t do. It’s the LOGOS, remember? He’s the bastard that was saying it to me all along. Find him and kill him. Execution! Extermination! End.

They make my hands swell and everything? What was that? Voices from afar, whispering insanities into the eardrums that I mistake for my thoughts but are really YOUR thoughts, my friends. Not even YOUR THOUGHTS, but THEIR THOUGHTS, and thats when they all turn and look at me with faces astound and they say, “Hey! These aren’t our thoughts at all. They’re YOURS, really.” Oh shit. Do you hear that? Voices? People calling my name.

Holy shit. You’ve brought me back to the realms of SOBRIETY. I’m sober. Michael my friend, has lost his mind ... But hey, this is just ... A reaccurance. A memory. A forgotten dream.

Don’t let others get in the way of your dreams. Embrace ambition. Let it lead you. Don’t fight it. Allow it. Perhaps then you will arrive at the solution to the question that you never mustered the gall to ask. And don’t chastise me. I’m THINKING.

I start at the first step.
It is slow and rigid
Rocky and indescent.

After some consideration
I arrive at the second step
And am startled into BELIEVING

The third and fourth step
Are nothing to me
For I realize that the first step is with me ALWAYS...

Thus Spake Zaruthstra.


I’m over


Now follow closely. Don’t get lost! I feel that I must show you something...

Holy Gods, man! The bastards really are closing in!

Okay. After careful examination of the situation, I propose two solutions.

1. The engine noise (loud and truly terrifying, considering the circumstances) was that of a motorcycle (obvious). A group of men gathered at the utility building across the street were testing their cycles. They work on their bikes and store them inside the building. Perhaps this answers the “Giant, underground woodpecker” mystery that has perplexed us at usually this same time.

2. The men gathered at said Utility Building have access to what is inside and therefore a reason to be there. We are newcomers to this land in the deepest of the deep south and have been causing a ruckus as of late. Too much loud, crazy music. And there’s browny, too. Erik Estrada is of a disagreeable skin tone. Also, we went on our mushroom picking expiditions on the property neighboring said Utility Building. We are tresspassing. We are making too much noise. We are unwelcome. There’s a brown one in that thar house. We’re gonna give ‘em a warning! And so, by a rather uproarious display of engine revving in liue of good ol’ fashioned muscle, these men are trying to force us out.

Today was the most intense of all my intense psychedelic trips. Let us never speak of it again.

Copyright 1997-2024 Mind Media. Some rights reserved.

Generated in 0.024 seconds spending 0.011 seconds on 4 queries.