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Offlineguywiththegun
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Registered: 03/31/09
Posts: 613
Last seen: 1 month, 26 days
The best/worst trip I ever did have....
    #14365364 - 04/28/11 06:26 AM (12 years, 8 months ago)

Friends, I'm going to tell you a story about why I don't really do mushrooms anymore. A little background. I'm not as experienced a tripper as some. I came into it late, had tried shrooms a few times, and had never had acid this point (and in fact have only had it once in my life). When I started growing actives, tripping became a past time. We would drop anywhere from 2-5 grams on a weekly basis and roll around on the floor or go for a walk, whatever seemed fun. It was always good times. There were a few times where I went to kind of a dark place, but I never had a bad trip. Mostly thought loops and talking to myself, which while I wasn't exactly thrilled to be doing those things, they weren't bad. Just unintended side-effects, especially at high doses. The most I've taken was 9 grams, which happened before this story and is documented here.

This was well after that. About a year, if I had to guess, but I can't be sure. I'm really writing this trip report to kinda jog my memory about a lot of it, because I'm thinking of incorporating the story into an article about something I haven't decided on yet (feel free to toss in some ideas!) Four of us decided we were going to go camp in West Texas, out at Caprock Canyon. The plan was to hike for a few days, trip on the last night there, and then drive home on the comedown. One guy wrecked his car, taking him out of the running for the trip, so there was just me, D and T. T is my roommate, he makes an appearance in the last story. D is one of my best friends, and almost completely straight edge. No drugs, but he'll drink. This weekend, he'd decided he was going to try mushrooms with us.

So we spend the next couple of days hiking and climbing, and then ending our nights huddled around a campfire cooking and smoking. It was nice, really peaceful. If you ever get a chance to go to Caprock Canyon, TX then jump at it, it's beautiful.

Day 3 comes. We start the day with a short hike, probably just a couple of miles, and we finish up in time for lunch. We're pretty wiped, so we eat a quick lunch of dry goods, toss down some gatorade and water, and go shower. Just before showering, we all dose with the big-ass bag of home grown Penis Envy. I don't know how much everyone else took, but I know I took an eighth, which for me was a very casual dose and well within my known threshold. I've never had a bad, or even a crazily intense trip on an eighth, so I was fairly certain I was feeling safe.

Me and D go to shower, and as soon as I step out of the shower, I feel it coming up, feel that fluttering bird in my chest cavity bouncing around off my ribs as if it's panicked. I smile, and when D meets my eyes in the mirror, I can tell he's feeling something. I ask, he says he doesn't know. "That means yes," I say.

We drive back to the campsite as fast as we can, where T has packed all our unecessary shit up, but it's not in the car yet. He's good at thinking ahead, and as soon as I look at him and see his smile, I know he's feeling it too. We've got some sort of scary mind connection, if we dose at the same time, we'll come up at the same time, without fail.

Quietly, we file into the tent, sit on our sleeping pads, and wait. It's still bright outside, still sunny and the birds are chirping, and I feel an intense wave of peace, lay back, and let the ride begin.

I've never been a guy who saw a lot of visuals on shrooms. I always got the body high, I always "tripped", but I never really saw anything but vague shapes and patterns. My nine gram trip had given me a taste of visuals, but nothing like this. As I looked at the top of the tent, it wasn't a tent anymore. The sun was shining through, splaying shadows all over the roof, and suddenly I was looking at a movie screen. And this movie screen was playing some serious Pink Floyd shit. Hundreds of identical men marched in unison, briefcases in hand, legs in lockstep (think the hammers from The Wall), walking up strange ramps into what looked like a cross between Big Ben and a skyscraper. "Industry," I thought, and I knew I was right. I just didn't know what I was right about.

My little movie plays out, and I sit up. The world around me is alive. I can feel the sun reaching through the tent to hug me, I can see the molecules in the walls of the tent reacting with each other, and I realize that all of it is a part of me, and I'm a part of it. At a quantum level we are all one.

"Quantum?" I can hear you saying. Yes, quantum. I'm something of a fanatic about quantum theory and weird shit like that. At the time I had been reading this book called "John Dies at the End", which is fucking hilarious and awesome in it's own right, and while it didn't directly deal with quantum theory, it did have a place in the story. The more I think about quantum, the more I think about how most quantum particles are actually dark matter, and therefore I'd be unable to interact with them on a physical level. "That means," think I, "that most of the solid objects in this tent are actually made of nothingness. Which means I can interact with them anyway I please."

This is not logical, even in quantum theory.

I stand up and decide I don't want to be in the tent anymore. However, I'm not stupid, I'm not using a door, I'm going to quantum phase right through the wall of the tent, thank you very much, and show all these assholes what science really means. I'm going to walk straight through a fucking wall and blow minds. And then I'm going to go outside and say "Hey there, sun. Thanks for the hug earlier."

The next ten minutes or so was me, rubbing up against the side of the tent "like a fly trapped against a closed window," in the words of T. I try again and again and again to find the places where the highest concentration of dark matter exists, where I can step through the tent and to the outside.

"Use the zipper," T says, in a rare moment of coherence. I do, and once I get my head and torso out of the tent, I stand there triumphantly, my lower body still in the tent, my top half poking out a slit in the unzipped flap. The sun is beautiful, the desert is beautiful, and there's nothing but the sounds of friendly people cooking their food, children playing, birds singing. It's amazing, almost too amazing, and I go back in the tent. There, we sit around, play with the dog (who keeps changing size and appearance to all of us, yet apparently has an amazingly good time) and babble. At one point, some kids outside real close to the tent start talking, and T busts out with "Shut up kid, or I'll kill you." Silence ensued, and then our laughter.

I don't remember a lot of what happened, and I'm afraid there's a bit of a fast forward here, but let's just say the last thing I remember before this next part was a sense of overwhelming peace and confidence in myself and the path I'd chosen for my life (I was just about to make a big move across state-lines, the furthest I'd ever moved in my life, in order to get my life in some semblance of order.)

Cut to about, oh, 8:30 or 9pm. It's dark. I don't know if you've ever been in the West Texas desert when it's dark, but it gets cold. Fast. This being the fall, we don't have the advantage of warmer temperatures, and when I become lucid enough to discern what my body is actually feeling, I realize I'm cold. Having no watch or method of time control, I realize I don't know what time it is. We've been here for god knows how long, it's getting cold.

But I don't feel cold. I know it is cold, but only because I can perceive cold, but I'm not cold myself. I can't explain it better than that. However, my brain doesn't accept this. My brain says "The final stages of hypothermia are an all-encompassing warmness."

And I think "I do feel kind of warm."

And I decide we have hypothermia. It freaks me out, and nobody will talk to me. D is laying with his arms clasped, his eyes staring upwards, his mind broken, convinced that he has died. He is somewhere in eternity, and unable to help, or even to hear me. Apparently, this was not a pleasant experience for him.

T, who is usually my rock, the guy who is steadfast throughout everything, the guy who ALWAYS bails me out, is incoherent. I literally cannot have a conversation with him. Anything that comes out of his mouth is incoherent babble. I think to myself "Another symptom of hypothermia is loss of brain function."

"No," I think to myself, beginning to panic. "This is not normal. T does not lose himself like this. I do not freak out like this. Something is wrong, and I don't know what it is.

And then my stomach begins to rumble. Rumbling turns to spasms. Spasms become very painful, more painful than other mushroom trips have ever been. I am clad lightly, shorts and a t-shirt. No shoes, no socks, pretty much no other clothes. I decide to observe the situation from outside.

When I exit the tent the second time, it's completely different. There is no sun in the sky, and no warm hugs from it. There are no friendly neighbors outside at their campsites, there are no children playing, there are no birds. There's only a forboding chill, making me worry more and more about my imaginary hypothermia, and the growing ache in my stomach from god knows what. Then, I look up.

There are no fucking stars.

If you've ever been out to West Texas, you see stars. Even if it's cloudy, there's probably stars somewhere. Whoever said "The stars at night burn big and bright" was standing on the left side of Texas when they wrote that. The stars are so beautiful and prominent, especially this particular weekend, that we're sharing the campground with a local astronomy club, we've seen them all over with their telescopes.

But they're all gone! The stars have disappeared. The neighbors and kids and birds have disappeared. We are the only ones left.

We have, I deduce, been shadow-peopled. A major plot point of "John Dies at the End" is the existence of a number of shadowy creatures who are only visible to those who have taken a psychoactive drug called "soy sauce." The drug, which gives the users incredible powers, also has a side effect of making the user acutely aware of the fucked up shit going on around him/her. Freaky silhouettes, or "shadow people," lurk everywhere with unknown intention. To be shadow-peopled mean to be enveloped by one.

When you are shadow-peopled, you no longer exist. You don't just die. Your life is deleted. Anyone who knows you no longer remembers you. Your parents don't mourn your passing, because they never knew you existed. You have been erased from the space-time continuum, and you can't come back.

This is what I begin to think happened to us. We are in the Shadow dimension, a place where nothing exists except people and chunks of the world that the Shadow people have deleted. And they have just deleted a fuck-ton of West Texas and stuck it in their god damn dimension, along with me.

I think about all the people I love, and how I'll never see them again. About my mom, my brother, my sisters, my 2-year-old nephew whom I barely got to meet. I'll never see them again. And on top of that, I'm doomed to float in this Shadow dimension on this little chunk of Texas, drifting until god-knows-what happens. Not only that, but I am insane.

I know it as soon as I think it. I've taken too much drugs, or taken the wrong kind. I had some sort of reaction. My thought processes are broken and scattered across my brain like pieces of a puzzle on a table, a puzzle I can't put together anymore.

About five seconds has passed since I walked out of the tent.

"No!" I shout, stamping my feet. My pants fall down as I do almost comically, but I kick them angrily. They alight on the hood of D's car. "No!" I shout again, standing in my underwear, looking up at the starless sky. I am in full panic mode. T is behind me, still babbling incoherently, driving me farther and farther into it.

I begin to walk around the campground, clad in a t-shirt and boxer briefs, and my stomach spasms again as I wander, talking to myself about the situation and getting very angry at it. My stomach rumbles, spasms, and I realize that this is because I have to take a shit. And I am presented with a conundrum.

The nearest bathroom where I can take a shit is about a 20 minute walk from our campsite. Therefore, it might not exist anymore. Who knows how big this slab of Texas is, it could be a mile, it could end on the other side of everything I see where I'm standing. I have no idea, but I do have a massive poop on deck, and it's not feeling friendly. It feels like it wants to move out, maybe get a job and see the world. It feels like it resents me and is tired of my antics. This shit is leaving my body, whether I want it to or not.

Modesty still somewhat intact, I walk on the other side of the partition at our campsite, where there's a covered picnic area. I walk up to the top of the picnic table, squat like an animal, and streams of liquid shit squirt out of me and all the surface. I literally paint this picnic table with pureed fecal matter. It smells BAD. And it doesn't stop for what seems like forever.

But it does eventually stop. At this point, I lost the underwear, no idea what happened to them. I walk back to where the car is parked and begin futilely trying to open it. I try the doors, the windows, the trunk, the hood, nothing opens. I think about climbing up on top and smashing open the sunroof, but then realize I couldn't do anything if I wanted to. The car angers me, and I hit it a few times, screaming at it to open.

T sticks his head out of the tent. He sees me, attacking D's car, angry, pantless.

"What the fuck are you doing?" T asks.

"We are all going to DIE!" I reply, stamping my foot on the ground again angrily. I begin pacing the campsite and talking to myself again. T is not yet fully coherent, but he's there enough to know something is not good with me. Something is going wrong.

Slowly, he manages to get the details out of me, at least some of them. I tell him about the shadow people, about the car not opening, about everything.

"Why don't you have pants on?"

I pause, a little dumbfounded that he could ask a question like that at a time like this. "Because I had to take a shit."

"Where did you take a shit?" he asks, cautiously.

"Over there. Don't go over there." I do not indicate any particular direction for him to avoid, but he manages to do so anyways.

The entire time we're talking, I'm pacing. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. When I speak, I punctuate my points by stamping my feet on the sand, which is covered with burrs and thorns and other nasty things. Somehow, my feet remain undamaged.

"How are we going to die?" T asks.

"We've got hypothermia. That's why I'm so warm, because it's so cold out here. And we can't get away. We can't. The car won't open."

"Yeah, dude, the car is locked."

"WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?! We're gonna DIE out here, man!" Everytime I take a step, I can feel my sweaty balls slapping my leg. This cannot be pretty for T.

"It means you have to unlock it to get in." The keys are produced from his pocket, and suddenly all my rage focuses on him. "You MAKE THE LIGHTS COME ON AND MAKE THE DOORS OPEN!"

"Dude, you need to be quiet or the cops are coming out here."

"We need to GO or we are going to DIE, man. This is not a world we can survive in!"

T unlocks the car with the key fob, and then walks over to turn on the headlights. He looks at me, confused. "Better?"

"Yes," I concede.

Somehow, I am directed to clean myself up. I manage to wash my ass off in a nearby water faucet, since our TP is all packed up, and I'm shoved in the car, a towel wrapped around my waist. I become cargo as T loads the car up, stacking items on top of me, around me, under my feet. I am just another piece in his Tetris game.

At this point, you might expect me to say "And then I finally came down."

Ooooooh, I wish that had happened.

The auditory hallucinations begin. The radio is not on in the car. But it is in my head. XM Satellite radio, beaming directly to my brain. I realize I can change the stations by thinking about it, but it doesn't do any good. Each station is as weird and hellish as the last. Otherworldly music, choruses of screams, I can't find a station that works for what I need.

Then, I hear it. "Raw Dog! XM Comedy!" Yes. This is what I want I think to myself. "Raw Dog! XM! Raw Dog!" The radio says.

Again. And again. And again. "XM! RAW DOG! LIVE COMEDY RADIO! XM RADIO! RAW DOG LIVE COMEDY XM!" It repeats for a long time.

Then, Jack Black begins to do standup. However, his standup is weird, and consists mostly of saying the lyrics to Tenacious D songs. His voice is weird, distorted. The laughter of the audience is the canned laughter of a mid-seventies Saturday morning cartoon, in no way real or human. It is the voice of a laughter demon.

Next, a racist caricature begins to talk about "Life down in da bayoo, we gon talk bout dem funky gatas and all dat...." This is minus the canned laughter, but this man is describing acts so foul, so obscene, that my brain did not even want to remember them. I just remember being scared shitless by the things "Coon-ass Jim" was saying in my head.

After that, another comic comes on. His entire act consists of "Hey, you wanna cheese pizza? Cheese pizza? How about a cheese pizza? Cheese pizza. Wanna pizza, cheese pizza? Cheese pizza."

T loads up the car and it seems to take forever. He gets D in the passenger seat in front of me. D is in a daze. He looks out at the night and sighs.

"Jake, are we dead?" He finally asks.

"Yeah," I say casually. "Dead is weird."

T finally finishes loading the truck. The tent sits outside though. "I can't figure out how to get it down," T says.

"That tent is an evil place," I say. "And it's probably covered in shit by now."

T nods. "We're leaving the tent."

I sigh a sigh of relief, glad to finally be moving down the road. Glad to be getting out of the shadow dimension. Glad to be somewhere that's not here.

T does not start the car. T does not produce the keys. T sits with his hands on the steering wheel. T is still tripping a bit too hard to drive.

This is eternity, I realize. We've got the car all packed up, ready to go, but we're never going to go anywhere. We're going to sit here, ready to leave, forever. This is as close to leaving as we can get, because leaving is impossible. My thoughts begin to race. Meanwhile, T and D converse casually in the front seat. T discovers that D is dead, and they talk at great length about what that is like.

Finally, the car starts. The drive begins. I spend the first half staring upwards at the ceiling of the car. There's no use looking out the windows, because there's nothing to see. There's nobody else on our slab of Texas, just us, and if we drive long enough, we're just going to fall off.

That's preposterous says my brain. You are not thinking logically. Scientific method, motherfucker.

I experiment lightly with different aspects of the world around me, and realize that we are indeed okay. We are in reality. I finally manage to get the courage to look outside. Cars on the highway are driving right next to us as we haul ass from that shit-covered picnic table and that evil-ass tent. There ARE other people. Things DO exist in this place, or we're all here together.

Then, I realize we never left. I took mushrooms, that's where I went. The trip finally comes to an end. I'm still stimmed, I'm still antsy and awake as hell.

The first words I say to T and D upon realizing my trip is completely over are "I'm never doing drugs again. No mushrooms. No pot. No nothing. No more drugs." I break this vow ten minutes later when T tells me to load a bowl and calm down. I do, and the weed feels AWESOME. So relaxing. We get a burger, and before I know it, we're home. Oh, and at some point on the ride they pulled over at a rest stop and let me put pants on. :feelsgoodman:

The next day, we're all at my place. We wake up, talk about the night before, and I go about rustling up some breakfast. I pull the sausage out of the fridge, intending to make some truly excellent burritos, but I notice it's a different color than the sausage I already had at home. I look at the other roll of half-eaten sausage, wondering what makes it different when the expiration date catches my eye.

Six months prior.

The moral is, don't buy your meat at a convenience store if you plan on eating it before you do mushrooms.

Actually, the moral is: be safe. Get a tripsitter. I could have easily been talked down if one of them had been sitting. If I had been sitting, D wouldn't have had his horrible death trip, which put him off drugs in general forever.

Things just happened to work for us. It seems like everyone left the camping area to go have a last big blast down at the other parking lot, with the telescopes and stuff. If it hadn't been an astronomy club, or if I had been parked next to some especially spookable neighbors, we would have had to deal with the cops. I could have gone to the mental ward hundreds of miles from where I live and been pumped full of anti-psychotics. I could have done something to injure or kill myself, or damage property worse than I did.

Since then, I don't really do mushrooms anymore, not as often as I did anyways. I still like an occasional trip, but I find mushrooms to have a lot of unintended consequences, such as the temporary psychosis I experienced. We still can't figure out why these shrooms were so strong, but we ended up chalking it up to three days of intense activity at the campground, miles and miles of hiking, and an especially intense climb up a steep gully when we lost the trail while hiking. So number two, get plenty of rest. Just in case.

That's my story. Took almost 2 hours to type :docbrown: But that's okay, because I've wanted to share it forever now, and I'm glad I finally got the chance. I'll try to post a few pictures if I can, just to give you an idea of what the campground looked like. It was pretty nice.

And like I said, if your hiking adventures take you to Caprock Canyon, then you enjoy the shit out of it. And don't take any mushrooms.


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OfflineGoddessOfLove
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Registered: 01/10/10
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Re: The best/worst trip I ever did have.... [Re: guywiththegun]
    #14365548 - 04/28/11 07:31 AM (12 years, 8 months ago)

Jesus what a great report ! :omfg:

It was a bad trip infact ? Or do you think you really had Hypothermia ? Anyway mushrooms will not kill you :thumbup:

Be safe man ! LSD is easier to handle than shrooms i think :smile: Shrooms make me in a panic state sometimes and it's very uncomfortable to deal with it :\ LSD you guide it, mushrooms he guides you !


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Offlineguywiththegun
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Re: The best/worst trip I ever did have.... [Re: GoddessOfLove]
    #14365570 - 04/28/11 07:36 AM (12 years, 8 months ago)

Quote:

HofmannBlotter said:
Jesus what a great report ! :omfg:

It was a bad trip infact ? Or do you think you really had Hypothermia ? Anyway mushrooms will not kill you :thumbup:

Be safe man ! LSD is easier to handle than shrooms i think :smile: Shrooms make me in a panic state sometimes and it's very uncomfortable to deal with it :\ LSD you guide it, mushrooms he guides you !




LSD was a LOT smoother and a lot more controllable the one time I did it. Much more mellow, and I agree, I controlled it.

No, didn't have hypothermia. Just tripping. It was only like 50 degrees outside.


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OfflineDamkina
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Re: The best/worst trip I ever did have.... [Re: guywiththegun]
    #14365654 - 04/28/11 07:52 AM (12 years, 8 months ago)

Damn what a hell of a experience you had there! Well written indeed,I`ve enjoyed every bit of it. Makes me reconsider my `I don`t like to be around nontripping people`. :rolleyes: Great job anyway:mushroom2:


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Offlineguywiththegun
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Re: The best/worst trip I ever did have.... [Re: Damkina]
    #14365697 - 04/28/11 08:06 AM (12 years, 8 months ago)



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OfflineGoddessOfLove
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Registered: 01/10/10
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Re: The best/worst trip I ever did have.... [Re: guywiththegun]
    #14365702 - 04/28/11 08:08 AM (12 years, 8 months ago)

Whoah fucking great !!


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Offlinetizjack
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Re: The best/worst trip I ever did have.... [Re: Damkina]
    #14365736 - 04/28/11 08:21 AM (12 years, 8 months ago)

That was an amazing read. Thank you very much for sharing!


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Offlineguywiththegun
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Re: The best/worst trip I ever did have.... [Re: tizjack]
    #14371832 - 04/29/11 09:37 AM (12 years, 8 months ago)

Appreciate the feedback guys. There was a thread a while back about going crazy on hallucinogens, and I mentioned this in passing. Made me want to type the whole thing up. I'd been meaning to for ages, and like I said, I kind of want to incorporate the story into a magazine/web article, but in the format it's in it's already 4500 words. It needs revision.

Performance, feedback, revision, lol.


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InvisibleGhostwriter

Registered: 06/18/10
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Re: The best/worst trip I ever did have.... [Re: guywiththegun]
    #14371990 - 04/29/11 10:38 AM (12 years, 8 months ago)

nice man,

crazy trip eh


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OfflineNicoCL
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Re: The best/worst trip I ever did have.... [Re: guywiththegun]
    #14372097 - 04/29/11 11:03 AM (12 years, 8 months ago)

Quote:

guywiththegun said:
I think about all the people I love, and how I'll never see them again. About my mom, my brother, my sisters, my 2-year-old nephew whom I barely got to meet. I'll never see them again. And on top of that, I'm doomed to float in this Shadow dimension on this little chunk of Texas, drifting until god-knows-what happens. Not only that, but I am insane.



Reading this made me remember the first and last trip I've had with mushrooms over a year ago.

Thanks I enjoyed reading the whole story


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Offlinedarkstar3616
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Re: The best/worst trip I ever did have.... [Re: guywiththegun]
    #14694922 - 06/30/11 12:38 AM (12 years, 6 months ago)

Wow , that was an awesome read man


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"To weird to live, to rare to die":psychsplit:
“(He)Who looks outside, dreams; (He) who looks inside, awakens.” - Carl Gustav Jung


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Offlinethissongis
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Re: The best/worst trip I ever did have.... [Re: guywiththegun]
    #14694999 - 06/30/11 12:56 AM (12 years, 6 months ago)

Quote:

guywiththegun said:
I walk up to the top of the picnic table, squat like an animal, and streams of liquid shit squirt out of me and all the surface. I literally paint this picnic table with pureed fecal matter. It smells BAD. And it doesn't stop for what seems like forever.




Gave me a good laugh when I read this.


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Invisibledrr
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Re: The best/worst trip I ever did have.... [Re: thissongis]
    #14695452 - 06/30/11 03:07 AM (12 years, 6 months ago)

Quote:

I stand up and decide I don't want to be in the tent anymore. However, I'm not stupid, I'm not using a door, I'm going to quantum phase right through the wall of the tent, thank you very much, and show all these assholes what science really means. I'm going to walk straight through a fucking wall and blow minds. And then I'm going to go outside and say "Hey there, sun. Thanks for the hug earlier."

The next ten minutes or so was me, rubbing up against the side of the tent "like a fly trapped against a closed window," in the words of T. I try again and again and again to find the places where the highest concentration of dark matter exists, where I can step through the tent and to the outside.

"Use the zipper," T says, in a rare moment of coherence.



:lol:
I love this story thank you


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Invisibledwpineal
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Re: The best/worst trip I ever did have.... [Re: drr]
    #14697108 - 06/30/11 01:52 PM (12 years, 6 months ago)

Don't have time to read this right now, but posting so I can read later on

:popcorn:


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Offlineguywiththegun
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Re: The best/worst trip I ever did have.... [Re: dwpineal]
    #14721253 - 07/05/11 04:07 PM (12 years, 6 months ago)

I figured I would give you guys a quick update on stuff.

I talk to D on a somewhat regular basis, and he recently confided in me he'd started therapy. I had kinda just played it off (his mom is a psychiatrist and an addiction specialist) but then, while we were drinking, he told me it was because of the mushrooms.

Apparently, D had a problem figuring out if his mushroom trip had ever ended. He had halfway convinced himself that he really HAD died, and that all this was some sort of pseudo-afterlife. It wasn't a constant state, he said, but rather a fugue he would find himself in every now and again, questioning whether things were really real. It fucked with him pretty bad.

I feel really bad, because things could have been different. We could have had someone sit around and watch our asses to make sure shit didn't go insane. We could have dosed substantially lower and just felt a body buzz. There's a lot of stuff we could have done, but we didn't.

At the risk of sounding like I'm telling you what to do, I'm telling you now to always be safe, regardless of the drug. Recognize the risks. Recognizes that all drugs aren't meant for all people. I've known D since he was 8 years old and I was 13, we grew up on the same street, and to merely use the word "guilt" when I describe what happened to him, well, it just doesn't cut the mustard for me. I feel beyond guilt, and I'm currently trying to help his situation in any way I can. I think he had his own issues and stuff before we ever gave him psilocybin, but maybe they could have been worked out easier if he hadn't had the bad trip.

Just be safe, have fun, and hopefully more bad trip stories can be avoided.


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InvisibleDawks
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Re: The best/worst trip I ever did have.... [Re: guywiththegun]
    #14721647 - 07/05/11 05:19 PM (12 years, 6 months ago)

YOU GUYS TRIPPED FACEEEEEEEEEEEE HOLY SHIT :eek:

I can relate the the shitting part, shitting is so confusing to me tripping, if I have a bathroom it's alright, but if I'm out an about like you were I do that same thing, shit somewhere awkward, get it everywhere, forget to put my pants back on etc. :lol:

Thank god you bumped this story, entertaining as fuck. Sorry to hear about your friend, hope he feels better.


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OfflineRewindicus
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Re: The best/worst trip I ever did have.... [Re: Dawks]
    #14721855 - 07/05/11 06:06 PM (12 years, 6 months ago)

Holy Shit man! Just goes to show taking tester doses......and checking expiration dates on food really can't be stressed enough! Sorry bout your friend hopefully the therapy can turn his experience into something positive later down the line. Good luck.


--------------------
“Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind.”- Dr. Seuss

"Too much of a good thing, can be wonderful!" - Mae West

"If you have nothing nice to say about anyone, come sit next to me."
- Alice Roosevelt Longworth





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Invisibledwpineal
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Re: The best/worst trip I ever did have.... [Re: guywiththegun]
    #14725594 - 07/06/11 12:25 PM (12 years, 6 months ago)

Yes, very well written and I felt like I was there with you guys :smile:

There is nothing wrong with your friend searching for meaning in his experience. Therapy may be a great thing as it helps him put things into perspective...but don't be too hard on yourself. If you feel responsible, I totally understand that and can relate - a HUGE amount of energy flows through those of us who have chosen to help people along their path, and with that comes great responsibility.

You can lead someone to the forest, but not walk their path for them. Psychedelics are definitely not for everyone, but none-the-less your friend is lucky to have been given the chance to experience something other. Just because the trip was hard, or dis-located mental processes - that does not mean it is without value or merit.

I wish your friend the best, and you as well.

Thanks very much for the great read...

Light and Love,
DW
:gd_icon:


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OfflineNnugetri
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Re: The best/worst trip I ever did have.... [Re: guywiththegun]
    #17922655 - 03/08/13 01:24 AM (10 years, 10 months ago)

Quote:

guywiththegun said:
Friends, I'm going to tell you a story about why I don't really do mushrooms anymore. A little background. I'm not as experienced a tripper as some. I came into it late, had tried shrooms a few times, and had never had acid this point (and in fact have only had it once in my life). When I started growing actives, tripping became a past time. We would drop anywhere from 2-5 grams on a weekly basis and roll around on the floor or go for a walk, whatever seemed fun. It was always good times. There were a few times where I went to kind of a dark place, but I never had a bad trip. Mostly thought loops and talking to myself, which while I wasn't exactly thrilled to be doing those things, they weren't bad. Just unintended side-effects, especially at high doses. The most I've taken was 9 grams, which happened before this story and is documented here.

This was well after that. About a year, if I had to guess, but I can't be sure. I'm really writing this trip report to kinda jog my memory about a lot of it, because I'm thinking of incorporating the story into an article about something I haven't decided on yet (feel free to toss in some ideas!) Four of us decided we were going to go camp in West Texas, out at Caprock Canyon. The plan was to hike for a few days, trip on the last night there, and then drive home on the comedown. One guy wrecked his car, taking him out of the running for the trip, so there was just me, D and T. T is my roommate, he makes an appearance in the last story. D is one of my best friends, and almost completely straight edge. No drugs, but he'll drink. This weekend, he'd decided he was going to try mushrooms with us.

So we spend the next couple of days hiking and climbing, and then ending our nights huddled around a campfire cooking and smoking. It was nice, really peaceful. If you ever get a chance to go to Caprock Canyon, TX then jump at it, it's beautiful.

Day 3 comes. We start the day with a short hike, probably just a couple of miles, and we finish up in time for lunch. We're pretty wiped, so we eat a quick lunch of dry goods, toss down some gatorade and water, and go shower. Just before showering, we all dose with the big-ass bag of home grown Penis Envy. I don't know how much everyone else took, but I know I took an eighth, which for me was a very casual dose and well within my known threshold. I've never had a bad, or even a crazily intense trip on an eighth, so I was fairly certain I was feeling safe.

Me and D go to shower, and as soon as I step out of the shower, I feel it coming up, feel that fluttering bird in my chest cavity bouncing around off my ribs as if it's panicked. I smile, and when D meets my eyes in the mirror, I can tell he's feeling something. I ask, he says he doesn't know. "That means yes," I say.

We drive back to the campsite as fast as we can, where T has packed all our unecessary shit up, but it's not in the car yet. He's good at thinking ahead, and as soon as I look at him and see his smile, I know he's feeling it too. We've got some sort of scary mind connection, if we dose at the same time, we'll come up at the same time, without fail.

Quietly, we file into the tent, sit on our sleeping pads, and wait. It's still bright outside, still sunny and the birds are chirping, and I feel an intense wave of peace, lay back, and let the ride begin.

I've never been a guy who saw a lot of visuals on shrooms. I always got the body high, I always "tripped", but I never really saw anything but vague shapes and patterns. My nine gram trip had given me a taste of visuals, but nothing like this. As I looked at the top of the tent, it wasn't a tent anymore. The sun was shining through, splaying shadows all over the roof, and suddenly I was looking at a movie screen. And this movie screen was playing some serious Pink Floyd shit. Hundreds of identical men marched in unison, briefcases in hand, legs in lockstep (think the hammers from The Wall), walking up strange ramps into what looked like a cross between Big Ben and a skyscraper. "Industry," I thought, and I knew I was right. I just didn't know what I was right about.

My little movie plays out, and I sit up. The world around me is alive. I can feel the sun reaching through the tent to hug me, I can see the molecules in the walls of the tent reacting with each other, and I realize that all of it is a part of me, and I'm a part of it. At a quantum level we are all one.

"Quantum?" I can hear you saying. Yes, quantum. I'm something of a fanatic about quantum theory and weird shit like that. At the time I had been reading this book called "John Dies at the End", which is fucking hilarious and awesome in it's own right, and while it didn't directly deal with quantum theory, it did have a place in the story. The more I think about quantum, the more I think about how most quantum particles are actually dark matter, and therefore I'd be unable to interact with them on a physical level. "That means," think I, "that most of the solid objects in this tent are actually made of nothingness. Which means I can interact with them anyway I please."

This is not logical, even in quantum theory.

I stand up and decide I don't want to be in the tent anymore. However, I'm not stupid, I'm not using a door, I'm going to quantum phase right through the wall of the tent, thank you very much, and show all these assholes what science really means. I'm going to walk straight through a fucking wall and blow minds. And then I'm going to go outside and say "Hey there, sun. Thanks for the hug earlier."

The next ten minutes or so was me, rubbing up against the side of the tent "like a fly trapped against a closed window," in the words of T. I try again and again and again to find the places where the highest concentration of dark matter exists, where I can step through the tent and to the outside.

"Use the zipper," T says, in a rare moment of coherence. I do, and once I get my head and torso out of the tent, I stand there triumphantly, my lower body still in the tent, my top half poking out a slit in the unzipped flap. The sun is beautiful, the desert is beautiful, and there's nothing but the sounds of friendly people cooking their food, children playing, birds singing. It's amazing, almost too amazing, and I go back in the tent. There, we sit around, play with the dog (who keeps changing size and appearance to all of us, yet apparently has an amazingly good time) and babble. At one point, some kids outside real close to the tent start talking, and T busts out with "Shut up kid, or I'll kill you." Silence ensued, and then our laughter.

I don't remember a lot of what happened, and I'm afraid there's a bit of a fast forward here, but let's just say the last thing I remember before this next part was a sense of overwhelming peace and confidence in myself and the path I'd chosen for my life (I was just about to make a big move across state-lines, the furthest I'd ever moved in my life, in order to get my life in some semblance of order.)

Cut to about, oh, 8:30 or 9pm. It's dark. I don't know if you've ever been in the West Texas desert when it's dark, but it gets cold. Fast. This being the fall, we don't have the advantage of warmer temperatures, and when I become lucid enough to discern what my body is actually feeling, I realize I'm cold. Having no watch or method of time control, I realize I don't know what time it is. We've been here for god knows how long, it's getting cold.

But I don't feel cold. I know it is cold, but only because I can perceive cold, but I'm not cold myself. I can't explain it better than that. However, my brain doesn't accept this. My brain says "The final stages of hypothermia are an all-encompassing warmness."

And I think "I do feel kind of warm."

And I decide we have hypothermia. It freaks me out, and nobody will talk to me. D is laying with his arms clasped, his eyes staring upwards, his mind broken, convinced that he has died. He is somewhere in eternity, and unable to help, or even to hear me. Apparently, this was not a pleasant experience for him.

T, who is usually my rock, the guy who is steadfast throughout everything, the guy who ALWAYS bails me out, is incoherent. I literally cannot have a conversation with him. Anything that comes out of his mouth is incoherent babble. I think to myself "Another symptom of hypothermia is loss of brain function."

"No," I think to myself, beginning to panic. "This is not normal. T does not lose himself like this. I do not freak out like this. Something is wrong, and I don't know what it is.

And then my stomach begins to rumble. Rumbling turns to spasms. Spasms become very painful, more painful than other mushroom trips have ever been. I am clad lightly, shorts and a t-shirt. No shoes, no socks, pretty much no other clothes. I decide to observe the situation from outside.

When I exit the tent the second time, it's completely different. There is no sun in the sky, and no warm hugs from it. There are no friendly neighbors outside at their campsites, there are no children playing, there are no birds. There's only a forboding chill, making me worry more and more about my imaginary hypothermia, and the growing ache in my stomach from god knows what. Then, I look up.

There are no fucking stars.

If you've ever been out to West Texas, you see stars. Even if it's cloudy, there's probably stars somewhere. Whoever said "The stars at night burn big and bright" was standing on the left side of Texas when they wrote that. The stars are so beautiful and prominent, especially this particular weekend, that we're sharing the campground with a local astronomy club, we've seen them all over with their telescopes.

But they're all gone! The stars have disappeared. The neighbors and kids and birds have disappeared. We are the only ones left.

We have, I deduce, been shadow-peopled. A major plot point of "John Dies at the End" is the existence of a number of shadowy creatures who are only visible to those who have taken a psychoactive drug called "soy sauce." The drug, which gives the users incredible powers, also has a side effect of making the user acutely aware of the fucked up shit going on around him/her. Freaky silhouettes, or "shadow people," lurk everywhere with unknown intention. To be shadow-peopled mean to be enveloped by one.

When you are shadow-peopled, you no longer exist. You don't just die. Your life is deleted. Anyone who knows you no longer remembers you. Your parents don't mourn your passing, because they never knew you existed. You have been erased from the space-time continuum, and you can't come back.

This is what I begin to think happened to us. We are in the Shadow dimension, a place where nothing exists except people and chunks of the world that the Shadow people have deleted. And they have just deleted a fuck-ton of West Texas and stuck it in their god damn dimension, along with me.

I think about all the people I love, and how I'll never see them again. About my mom, my brother, my sisters, my 2-year-old nephew whom I barely got to meet. I'll never see them again. And on top of that, I'm doomed to float in this Shadow dimension on this little chunk of Texas, drifting until god-knows-what happens. Not only that, but I am insane.

I know it as soon as I think it. I've taken too much drugs, or taken the wrong kind. I had some sort of reaction. My thought processes are broken and scattered across my brain like pieces of a puzzle on a table, a puzzle I can't put together anymore.

About five seconds has passed since I walked out of the tent.

"No!" I shout, stamping my feet. My pants fall down as I do almost comically, but I kick them angrily. They alight on the hood of D's car. "No!" I shout again, standing in my underwear, looking up at the starless sky. I am in full panic mode. T is behind me, still babbling incoherently, driving me farther and farther into it.

I begin to walk around the campground, clad in a t-shirt and boxer briefs, and my stomach spasms again as I wander, talking to myself about the situation and getting very angry at it. My stomach rumbles, spasms, and I realize that this is because I have to take a shit. And I am presented with a conundrum.

The nearest bathroom where I can take a shit is about a 20 minute walk from our campsite. Therefore, it might not exist anymore. Who knows how big this slab of Texas is, it could be a mile, it could end on the other side of everything I see where I'm standing. I have no idea, but I do have a massive poop on deck, and it's not feeling friendly. It feels like it wants to move out, maybe get a job and see the world. It feels like it resents me and is tired of my antics. This shit is leaving my body, whether I want it to or not.

Modesty still somewhat intact, I walk on the other side of the partition at our campsite, where there's a covered picnic area. I walk up to the top of the picnic table, squat like an animal, and streams of liquid shit squirt out of me and all the surface. I literally paint this picnic table with pureed fecal matter. It smells BAD. And it doesn't stop for what seems like forever.

But it does eventually stop. At this point, I lost the underwear, no idea what happened to them. I walk back to where the car is parked and begin futilely trying to open it. I try the doors, the windows, the trunk, the hood, nothing opens. I think about climbing up on top and smashing open the sunroof, but then realize I couldn't do anything if I wanted to. The car angers me, and I hit it a few times, screaming at it to open.

T sticks his head out of the tent. He sees me, attacking D's car, angry, pantless.

"What the fuck are you doing?" T asks.

"We are all going to DIE!" I reply, stamping my foot on the ground again angrily. I begin pacing the campsite and talking to myself again. T is not yet fully coherent, but he's there enough to know something is not good with me. Something is going wrong.

Slowly, he manages to get the details out of me, at least some of them. I tell him about the shadow people, about the car not opening, about everything.

"Why don't you have pants on?"

I pause, a little dumbfounded that he could ask a question like that at a time like this. "Because I had to take a shit."

"Where did you take a shit?" he asks, cautiously.

"Over there. Don't go over there." I do not indicate any particular direction for him to avoid, but he manages to do so anyways.

The entire time we're talking, I'm pacing. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. When I speak, I punctuate my points by stamping my feet on the sand, which is covered with burrs and thorns and other nasty things. Somehow, my feet remain undamaged.

"How are we going to die?" T asks.

"We've got hypothermia. That's why I'm so warm, because it's so cold out here. And we can't get away. We can't. The car won't open."

"Yeah, dude, the car is locked."

"WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?! We're gonna DIE out here, man!" Everytime I take a step, I can feel my sweaty balls slapping my leg. This cannot be pretty for T.

"It means you have to unlock it to get in." The keys are produced from his pocket, and suddenly all my rage focuses on him. "You MAKE THE LIGHTS COME ON AND MAKE THE DOORS OPEN!"

"Dude, you need to be quiet or the cops are coming out here."

"We need to GO or we are going to DIE, man. This is not a world we can survive in!"

T unlocks the car with the key fob, and then walks over to turn on the headlights. He looks at me, confused. "Better?"

"Yes," I concede.

Somehow, I am directed to clean myself up. I manage to wash my ass off in a nearby water faucet, since our TP is all packed up, and I'm shoved in the car, a towel wrapped around my waist. I become cargo as T loads the car up, stacking items on top of me, around me, under my feet. I am just another piece in his Tetris game.

At this point, you might expect me to say "And then I finally came down."

Ooooooh, I wish that had happened.

The auditory hallucinations begin. The radio is not on in the car. But it is in my head. XM Satellite radio, beaming directly to my brain. I realize I can change the stations by thinking about it, but it doesn't do any good. Each station is as weird and hellish as the last. Otherworldly music, choruses of screams, I can't find a station that works for what I need.

Then, I hear it. "Raw Dog! XM Comedy!" Yes. This is what I want I think to myself. "Raw Dog! XM! Raw Dog!" The radio says.

Again. And again. And again. "XM! RAW DOG! LIVE COMEDY RADIO! XM RADIO! RAW DOG LIVE COMEDY XM!" It repeats for a long time.

Then, Jack Black begins to do standup. However, his standup is weird, and consists mostly of saying the lyrics to Tenacious D songs. His voice is weird, distorted. The laughter of the audience is the canned laughter of a mid-seventies Saturday morning cartoon, in no way real or human. It is the voice of a laughter demon.

Next, a racist caricature begins to talk about "Life down in da bayoo, we gon talk bout dem funky gatas and all dat...." This is minus the canned laughter, but this man is describing acts so foul, so obscene, that my brain did not even want to remember them. I just remember being scared shitless by the things "Coon-ass Jim" was saying in my head.

After that, another comic comes on. His entire act consists of "Hey, you wanna cheese pizza? Cheese pizza? How about a cheese pizza? Cheese pizza. Wanna pizza, cheese pizza? Cheese pizza."

T loads up the car and it seems to take forever. He gets D in the passenger seat in front of me. D is in a daze. He looks out at the night and sighs.

"Jake, are we dead?" He finally asks.

"Yeah," I say casually. "Dead is weird."

T finally finishes loading the truck. The tent sits outside though. "I can't figure out how to get it down," T says.

"That tent is an evil place," I say. "And it's probably covered in shit by now."

T nods. "We're leaving the tent."

I sigh a sigh of relief, glad to finally be moving down the road. Glad to be getting out of the shadow dimension. Glad to be somewhere that's not here.

T does not start the car. T does not produce the keys. T sits with his hands on the steering wheel. T is still tripping a bit too hard to drive.

This is eternity, I realize. We've got the car all packed up, ready to go, but we're never going to go anywhere. We're going to sit here, ready to leave, forever. This is as close to leaving as we can get, because leaving is impossible. My thoughts begin to race. Meanwhile, T and D converse casually in the front seat. T discovers that D is dead, and they talk at great length about what that is like.

Finally, the car starts. The drive begins. I spend the first half staring upwards at the ceiling of the car. There's no use looking out the windows, because there's nothing to see. There's nobody else on our slab of Texas, just us, and if we drive long enough, we're just going to fall off.

That's preposterous says my brain. You are not thinking logically. Scientific method, motherfucker.

I experiment lightly with different aspects of the world around me, and realize that we are indeed okay. We are in reality. I finally manage to get the courage to look outside. Cars on the highway are driving right next to us as we haul ass from that shit-covered picnic table and that evil-ass tent. There ARE other people. Things DO exist in this place, or we're all here together.

Then, I realize we never left. I took mushrooms, that's where I went. The trip finally comes to an end. I'm still stimmed, I'm still antsy and awake as hell.

The first words I say to T and D upon realizing my trip is completely over are "I'm never doing drugs again. No mushrooms. No pot. No nothing. No more drugs." I break this vow ten minutes later when T tells me to load a bowl and calm down. I do, and the weed feels AWESOME. So relaxing. We get a burger, and before I know it, we're home. Oh, and at some point on the ride they pulled over at a rest stop and let me put pants on. :feelsgoodman:

The next day, we're all at my place. We wake up, talk about the night before, and I go about rustling up some breakfast. I pull the sausage out of the fridge, intending to make some truly excellent burritos, but I notice it's a different color than the sausage I already had at home. I look at the other roll of half-eaten sausage, wondering what makes it different when the expiration date catches my eye.

Six months prior.

The moral is, don't buy your meat at a convenience store if you plan on eating it before you do mushrooms.

Actually, the moral is: be safe. Get a tripsitter. I could have easily been talked down if one of them had been sitting. If I had been sitting, D wouldn't have had his horrible death trip, which put him off drugs in general forever.

Things just happened to work for us. It seems like everyone left the camping area to go have a last big blast down at the other parking lot, with the telescopes and stuff. If it hadn't been an astronomy club, or if I had been parked next to some especially spookable neighbors, we would have had to deal with the cops. I could have gone to the mental ward hundreds of miles from where I live and been pumped full of anti-psychotics. I could have done something to injure or kill myself, or damage property worse than I did.

Since then, I don't really do mushrooms anymore, not as often as I did anyways. I still like an occasional trip, but I find mushrooms to have a lot of unintended consequences, such as the temporary psychosis I experienced. We still can't figure out why these shrooms were so strong, but we ended up chalking it up to three days of intense activity at the campground, miles and miles of hiking, and an especially intense climb up a steep gully when we lost the trail while hiking. So number two, get plenty of rest. Just in case.

That's my story. Took almost 2 hours to type :docbrown: But that's okay, because I've wanted to share it forever now, and I'm glad I finally got the chance. I'll try to post a few pictures if I can, just to give you an idea of what the campground looked like. It was pretty nice.

And like I said, if your hiking adventures take you to Caprock Canyon, then you enjoy the shit out of it. And don't take any mushrooms.




Well'p, was going to take a deleriant tonight. Your trip report made me want to steeeer cleaar of anything producing audio hallucinations. Never anything that bizarre, lord knows' i'd possibly die, but I've had some weird ass sounds :P:stoned2:


--------------------
"Organized religion is an opiod of the masses."

"How can you be INsane? That's a goddamn contradiction. "


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OfflineForce Ten
Home Will Always Be Here
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Re: The best/worst trip I ever did have.... [Re: guywiththegun]
    #17923177 - 03/08/13 07:26 AM (10 years, 10 months ago)

I laughed my ass off at the part about you trying to "quantum phase" through the wall of the tent. :rofl:

Thats fucking crazy about the shadow people! I've read JDatE, and I know how terrifying that concept can be. Its crazy how reminiscent the "soy sauce" is to tripping. I'm pretty sure the author has tripped, haha. Did you know they made it into a movie?

Best wishes to your buddy, hope everything turns out well.


--------------------

So hear this please
And watch as your heart speeds up endlessly
And look for the stars as the sun goes down
Each breath that you take has a thunderous sound
Everything, everything's magic


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