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Tripper Gesalt

Three lives liberating time with some humongous fungus



Things have happened involving a heroic dose of potent stropharia. What follows we'll have to take slowly, you can't rush to the bold proclamations and claims of special powers a mere three days after ripping a membrane upon which the visibile universe floats within a higher dimensional space.

Ahem.

  So there I was, seventeen hours into a fast and having smoked three bowls with my childhood friend in his nice Madison apartment. My triad had but recently congregated at my vacant home for a night of revelry both in celebration of Dusty's 19th year and because ominous storms suggested the end of times, or at least of all sentient life on this planet. It was just getting dark. We slipped in the Space Odyssey 2001 DVD as we waited  for our water to boil. Earlier in the day I had concocted my tea (because I had little else to do) and stored it in the freezer in hopes of potentiating it (alkaloids like cold bla bla bla). Unfortunately I forgot about it and so it had frozen into a bizarre looking dark blue mushroom popsicle. D was not interested in drinking mushroom tea which has a rapid onset, so instead leisurely munched on his many caps as the water boiled and we watched planetary acrobatics to the soundtrack of the epic Also Sprach Zaruthustra.

  Right around the discovery of the monolith and the poetic expression of the Will to Power, we were summoned by the whistle of the teapot. After steeping Kwik Tripper's mushrooms for ten minutes, we all began the task drinking, chewing, or slurping the night's sacrament. Despite the varied states of matter our fungus came in, it's metabolization seemed to come at around the same time, that is to say, threshold effects could be observed in as little as ten or twenty minutes, which is weird for mushrooms, but not, as we have learned, with these mushrooms. I don't really remember the chronology of our movements during this period, only that we grew bored of the movie, shifted from room to room, inside/outside, until finally Kwik Tripper recieved a call from his girl and stated that he was quite alright to drive and zoomed off to pick her up. D and I weren't really worried, because we totally believed him, even though we were begining to feel some serious vibrations.

  Again there was the confused shuffle in and out, up and down, left and right, here and there. No direction at all. This would continue quite a bit for the early part of the trip (and this was still quite early). One minute it was absolutely essential to dig nature, gaze at the stars contemplating occult mysteries and grand cosmologies, or simply stand on my driveway smoking a cigarrette. The next it would be of the utmost importance to descend into my basement and cringe with delight at the awesome sonic landscapes produced my the most simplistic operations on a guitar while using five different effects pedals through my computer.
 
  It was only a matter of TIME though before we got to worrying about our friend Mr. Kwik Tripper. Where the hell was he anyways? We vaguely remembered him mentioning something about picking his girl up. It may be pertinent to mention that earlier that night I had jokingly invoked Lucifer with a bunch of silly enochian and latin names. Had I inadvertently wrought the forces of darkness upon my friend? Perhaps at that very moment Kwik Tripper was being written a savagely unjust ticket by a highway patrol officer, or even worse, had not picked up his girl, but instead Lady Babalon herself, wrapped in scarlet and the stains of orginal sin. Dusty and I set out to find our lost comrade, walking and talking worriedly down my driveway about what tragic fates may have befallen him. In the distance we espied two mystic eyes moving towards. Wait, nevermind, it was Kwik Tripper arriving triumphantly in his horseless carriage, everything was alright, we had averted both the angry wrath of God and the peturbations of the horned one. We could rest easy and talk happily about what bullshit invocations and summonings are.

  Once again the neurotic tendency to pace without purpose set in, especially in Dusty. While it held sway over me for a considerable time, I angrily wrested control and became determined to accomplish some sort of cosmic goal, whatever that might mean. I could tell Dusty was grappling with the same lack of purpose I was when he started asking questions both of me and of himself that seemed to be like a sort of checkup. I told him to find a direction and just go with because it makes absolutely no difference whatsover what you do in life so long as you don't drive me insane by continuing to pace. With that the matter was essentially settled. The disorganized and wild character of the trip had set in; there was to be no unified group experience, everyone was determined to trip in their own way and nobody really seemed to care if anyone else was coming along. Nevertheless, the spatial relationships between us and near constant movement garunteed that we would see each other along the way, inquire what the other was doing, marvel what it must be like to be having that kind of trip, and then continue on our merry way. All in all a kind of gesalt of trippers.

  At that point in TIME Kwik Tripper was enjoying nature and his woman, and would later inform that he went for a lovely bike ride a la Hoffman and ended up sitting in one of my neighbor's yards. Dustin and I found ourselves in my basement again, this time listening to some selections of Tool. The first tune was Third Eye, probably my favorite Tool song. I love the way that when listening to Tool (especially while tripping) you find yourself in these vast emotional, psychological, and metaphysical spaces which you are free to explore, always by referencing the content to your own experience, which at that point in time was of course the spectacle of pure being and the temporality of my own existence. Ah...Next came the wonderfully apocalyptic Anemia. This song reminded me of the possibility that the universe may end that night and I worked myself into a pious frenzy over that that thought executing wild shamanic death dances and twirling my body into dizzying states of neverending Beatitude.

  I left Dusty in the basement laying on the couch drifting away into dreamier states of being. Upstairs I put on the 10,000 days album and listened to the entire thing straight through, which seemed like a small consumption of TIME. I alternated laying down, melting seemlessly into the floor watching new spatial dimensions rise and fall in relative darkness and performing metaphysical gymnastics, and stomping around my home, digesting power, riding the wave, and conjuring up demonic forces with the mad movements of my arms that I knew without a shiver of doubt would soon destroy everything, including me and my friends. I laughed maniacally at this thought, and as Dusty walked upstairs to see what I was doing informed him that I am not Josh, but the Demon Asmodeus, keeper of hidden knowledge.

  I became curious what Kwik Tripper might be doing, so I walked outside to join him and his girl. We smoked a bowl together, and I told him of my intentions. I asked him if he might want to help bring about the end of the universe. He gave me no answer, which I took to mean maybe, and then scurried off back into the house to finish my work.

  Soon I lost interest in this project and returned to laying on the floor and melting into the carpet while listening to the majestic spiraling distortion of Adam Jones. Having already spent an accumlated lifetime on acid mulling over the starkest of existential questions, I felt no need to delve into aspects of my own mortality on this trip. Instead I invited myself to a wonderful little electric eyeball circus in my mind, a veritable visionary playland replete with the most engaging and enjoyable delusions I've yet induced myself with. I am a character in the books I read. I am dream.

  The trip slowly wound down. Activities like obsessive doodling, smoking of blueberry nugz, smoking of hash, watching Naked Lunch, smoking of beaster nugz, and the ingestion of fabled delicious cookie cake were the pleasant karmic games we played until a all encompassing shadow swept over us (oddly just as the sun was coming) and brought sleep. I think the Two Towers was suggested or even started, but it was too late for anything to become of it. We rested. We higher bodies of enegry disinegrated most comfortably into nothing, only to arise the next day paradoxically complex zen simpletons writing poetry and drawing neat pictures. And that my friends is the incredible truth.

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