I'm working on a novel about shrooms and alien symbols. This is the beginning of my novel and the narrator's first encounter with shrooms. I've never done them, this is based on recounts from friends and also some stuff I've picked up online. Please comment and tell me how accurate you think this experience sounds... Thanks! J
“Pretty colors…” “Dude, you are so trippin’.” But I knew exactly what he meant. And ‘pretty’ was a serious understatement. What I was seeing was fucking gorgeous. The buildings surrounding the field we were in had blotted themselves out to the point where it looked like nothing in the world but our little field could possibly exist. When we’d first walked up, the field had looked like nothing more than a few acres of dirt and overgrown weeds, strewn sporadically with beer bottles, fast food debris and cigarette butts. But now, it looked like paradise. Hovering above the ground was a blanket of the craziest, most vivid colors I had ever seen. Blues, purples, greens, oranges, yellows…they pulsed and ungulated and made the ground glow with their brilliance. The weeds looked like species from some exotic, gorgeous alien planet. They swayed gently in the pulsing colors. I slowly lifted my head up to the sky, watching as the world around me dipped and swayed. Huge orange birds circled lazily in a radioactive green sky. A purple streak of color flew by and my hazy mind told me to make a wish. But what to wish for? I was in paradise… “Dude…” I lowered my eyes to where my buddy Trent sat. His face looked like it was melting and distorting and twisting. He looked like a reflection in a fucking fun house mirror. A laugh escaped my throat. It was high and squeaky, like I’d been sucking on helium. The sound surprised me and I laughed again, hard and long. A crazy laugh, a maniacal laugh. This world was insane. Beautiful, brilliant. Every shape, every object, every color was so incredibly foreign, yet so familiar. And everything was brilliantly clear. Like before I’d been going through life with bad eyesight and all of a sudden someone decided to stick a pair of glasses on my face. Wonderful and three dimensional. I got to my feet and staggered a little bit. My stomach pitched. I dimly remembered someone mentioning nausea as a side effect, so I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. The colors from the field followed me into the sacred blackness of my mind, filling it with a tunnel of swirling colors. Far away, at the end of the tunnel, I caught a glimpse of a pair of the most incredible eyes I had even seen. Deep blue like sapphires and shaped like diamonds. The pupils, jet black slits like a cat’s. Thick, purple lashes covering the lids. Looking straight at me; into my soul. I stared into the eyes for what might have been seconds, minutes, hours. Time stopped, reality stopped. Finally, a part of me’s dimly aware that my nausea’s fading. The eyes blink once and, startled, my heavy lids fly open. The colors are still there, only even more vivid now, if that’s even possible. Suddenly, out of the depth of the color reaches a translucent, purple tentacle. It sways lazily in the imaginary wind that’s causing the colors to buck and roll. It looks like a sea anemone, and it’s growing longer, reaching out towards me. I watch in rapture as its tip comes closer and closer to me, reaching out, trying to touch my body. I don’t step back, don’t shy away. I’m frozen there, in awe of the thing that’s reaching out towards me. Finally, the very tip touches the skin on my arm. It sends a tingling shiver through my body. It doesn’t jab, doesn’t poke, doesn’t try to grab me. It caresses me. It…tickles. I let out another high pitched giggle and the thing draws away, dissolving back into the mass of color. I let out a crazed whoop and run through the field. The blanket of color isn’t like water, although that’s what it looks like. It has no mass, despite the tentacle that had reached out from its depths and touched me. It’s like a hologram. I run through it, letting it cover my legs. Suddenly, my foot catches something on the ground and I fall to my knees. The pain I’d feel normally from scraping my knees is heightened. My knees practically explode. I can feel the damaged skin calling out to me, wailing at me. But, it doesn’t hurt. I just feel it. Almost as if I’m experiencing someone else’s pain. I unbutton my pants and slide my jeans off to examine the damage. The scrapes on my knees glow red. My eyes drop to the ground and I see before me, underneath the color, a PBR can. The silver aluminum shines like a star and the colors of the label are even more vivid then the blanket covering the ground. I reach out for it and pick it up, reverently. It’s like some precious jewel in this beautiful land. I feel the remains of the beer sloshing around inside, probably mixed with the dirt the can was lying in. I have a sudden urge to drink the dregs of the can. I lift the rim to my lips and let the contents flow into my mouth. It hits my taste buds like fireworks. I can taste every element; flat beer, dirt, spit…each taste distinct and powerful and amazing, exploding on my tongue. “That’s nasty man…” I ignore Trent’s words and swallow the liquid. I open my eyes and gaze at the can for awhile. PBR… I carefully lay the can back in its depression on the hard packed ground. As I’m extending my arms to set the can down, I notice something that keeps my eyes riveted to my arms. Beginning at my wrists, my arms are covered with strange symbols. It’s almost like they’re tattooed there. Not extremely prominent, just a few shades darker than the color of my skin. My eyes trail up from my wrists and I see that they continue all the way up to my shoulder sockets. I rip my shirt off and examine my chest. It’s void of the symbols. I slowly rotate my shoulders and see that the symbols also cover the backs of my arms. Out of everything in this paradise, they symbols are the only things that aren’t pulsing and moving. My eyes are drawn to their stillness. I don’t understand them, can’t read them, but something deep within me is drawn to them. It’s like my brain’s trying to remember how to read them. Like some secret code you know the key too, but can’t quite remember. My eyes slowly start closing and the symbols run through my brain. This time, the colors don’t follow me. I fade into the blackness.
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Uhm, before I get into specifics, I gotta say, look - I write ON shrooms, but I don't write ABOUT shrooms or trips in general. I would never want to try to describe the various forms of psychedelic experience without having personally gone there. Anybody who actually knows it will clock you in a short second, is all...
That said, I write about things that I will never experience, and I do it through extrapolation of human experience that is known to me.
Anyway, what you've described isn't typical of, or to my mind evocative of, mushroom experience. Convert it into some currently unknown designer drug, or call it something from the past that resonates, whatever, but don't be specific unless you can absolutely nail it down so that any tripper would recognize it. Orange birds in a green sky? Sounds more like poisoning than tripping - maybe laudanum, but then I've never done that. 
But I like the eyes. Tell me more about the eyes - make them the focus of this rather a description of some general stuff. The eyes section has got it going on.
How did the dirt get into the can of beer anyway? Makes no sense...
The symbols are good though. I've had numerous trips revealing the runes (this is what I call them) and once in a while (oh peaks!!!) I can actually read them. They're an ancient language/code/repository of knowledge, it occurs to me that they're put there by humans intentionally. It also occurs to me, later, that they don't really exist, but I have more difficulty believing that. 
Keep on with it, but I would definitely recommend going there so your account becomes first hand and totally believable.
PS
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