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Edabea
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Camp Isolation, part I

Well.



Well. This is it. My greatest chance yet. I went mushroom picking with Wiggs this afternoon. It has been raining for the past two days. Everything was soaked and warm. We crossed the street and entered our neighbors grazing lands. There was cow shit everywhere, and mushrooms by the plenty. The first group that we stumbled upon appeared to be psilocybes. And soon we discovered some more that looked the same. Purplish gills, a dark purple spore deposit on the stem, golden tops, gellatinous pellicle, blueish bruising reaction... The signs were in our favor. So we gathered as many as we could that resembled these and left. My brother became excited when we returned and decided to go hunting again. We found more of the same, and when we returned I decided to sample one before drying the lot of them. I put a large one in the blender and added some banannas and blueberries. The flavor was fine. And now I am waiting. That was about twenty minutes ago. I feel strange, I guess. Anticipation, I suppose. Probably nothing. Man, it’s really raining! I think I’m gonna go in the other room and jam. I’ll let you know what happens... unless I’m dead, in which case... Yeah. Well. I can always hope to feel something, right?
After waiting an hour I thought that I could feel some jittereeness so I made another smoothie with a slightly smaller mushroom. I then proceeded to go into the other room and play my drums. I played for a while and then took a large hit of herb. While playing I became stoned, and then began to lift off... I had an interesting but difficult jam with Wiggs and Alobar, and now I am here, typing. The lift off is slow and probably not going anywhere else. I’m not sure how far along I am. At least three hours into it, from the first mushroom. Two hours and some odd minutes from the second mushroom . I feel stoned? I’m not sure... I sure did feel stoned while playing, but then I started to sweat, and now I feel that trippin’ sweat around me. Its not quite there... and there’s the lucidness of it all. I’m not tired stoned, just... heightened. Aware. No visuals to note... they’re there if I will them to be, but they’re not geometric. Just marijuana-esque visions. The amount of pot that I smoked should have made me stoned for a good hour and now it should be wearing off, making me tired. But instead I feel very lucid and stoned and... mayby I’m tripping. But that could be just because I think I’m tripping. How often does one trip? asks the mockingbird.
“I’m not sure,” replies the Goodfellow, “But you, Mr. Mockingbird, have forgotten your quotations.” He looked at the mischievious bird with quizzicle... shit . Wiggs’s here...

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