On the evening of the 21st, I sliced up a six-inch San Pedro cutting and a six-inch Peruvian Torch cutting. They both looked pretty bad, being the worse for wear from the shipping in an unpadded mail package; also the vendor had obviously not cared for the plants. Neither cutting had been allowed to callus before shipping, and the Torch cactus had some stem-end rot. I felt bad about eating them, but i obviously could not make them grow if I potted them. So, boo hoo. But I also noticed that the cuttings were not very mature: the green flesh had a thickness of approximately nothing.
All around, not a great set or dosage for the trip! But, I was determined, and I had the proper reverance for the cacti. So, I sliced them up. Then I remembered that I should skin them. This proved to be a futile effortt, because the pieces were too thin. I pitched the skinned and unskinned slices in a pot with about 1 1/2 quarts of tap water and boiled 'em for about 45 minutes, until the liquid reduced enough to poke the slices out of the surface. Then I removed them, blended them, and returned the mixture to the pot. i boiled that until it seemed about enough.
When that cooled down, I strained it through an old shirt and squeezed the pulp, giving me about four cups of evil-smelling green tea. Yikes! Too much sick-tasting tea. I put that in a plastic tankard and let it chill overnight. I got up at six and drank as much as i could, about 3/4 of the liquid, in one hour, using pomegranate cider as a mixer. It tasted terrible, no lie. The stuff went down all right, but nothing could kill the aftertaste. After that, I went in and laid down beside sadsappysucker and waited for the come-up.
For about two hours, I jittered and felt freezing cold; no effects, though. Just when I had made up my mind that nothing was going on, I got some terrific closed-eye visuals. Mostly I saw thick swaths of saturated oranges, purples, and blues. I saw fields of red and everything flashed, open eyes or shut. So at eight o'clock I was definitely tripping at a bit more than threshold level. My body felt light as foam on an aluminum frame. My limbs swung easily, and I felt very spacey. I went to this place: http://www.larrycarlson.com/flashmovies.htm to amuse myself during ascent.
But like I said, the green flesh was weak and thin. After watching that for a *good* long while, I went back in and laid down with sss (yeah, she slept in a little that day) and watched the CEV's. More super-saturated colors in flashing/morphing display, jewels, mesas, birds, various objects, icons, sigils, etc. Pretty, definitely artsy, but not exactly what I had hoped. SSS trip-sat me, keeping me company. At about noon, I got out the glass and saw that i had a lot of 5-meo DMT left in the barrel of the pipe. While sss looked on, I pulled a long hit from it and laid back.
The effect really took me places, immediately. The CEV's became too much. So, I put my bent arm over my eyes and rattled off a description of what I saw to sss. A portal opened into my grandmother's mind. I popped up inside her head, seeing what she saw. She looked out the window, feeling lonley... again. I saw a discarded insect exoskeleton on her window screen. It caught the sunlight and looked alien and weird. She thought about grandpa and me, and told me, the best thing in the world is a colored glass paperweight you gave me for Xmas, when I was 63 and you were ten years old."
Then I saw a flood of imagery related to the family religion: a cross made of whale tails, faded in the middle; a whale seen from underneath; a swimmer seen from underneath the water, with the sunlight sparkling through the waves; a white whale trapped underneath the ice. The whole drama of my teenage drug use bubbled up and unfolded like a flower, and I received all her emotions and disappointment in my failing at life. I saw thick, fuzzy colors, like color-saturated yarn, all over my body. then I realized that I didn't know what I look like.
A blur of different faces flickered over mine. Male, female, young, old, Caucasian, Hispanic; all passed by too quickly for me to grab onto anything but a superficial representation of the real face. I found myself in various exotic locations during this episode, and when i spoke, I seemed to project my voice into vast emptiness. In the everyday world, my mouth spoke up against the sleeve of my sweatshirt; but in my mental space, a bubble in the math opened--I spoke into that space, outside of the hologram, into the holodeck. I heard the echo. I saw exploding soft green sacs: the cactus, spilling its blood to give me wisdom. Again and again, the cactus died, exploding, bleeding, sacrificing its life for me. It struck me as a Christ-like sacrifice. I stressed that the cacti told me all of this, showed me all of this. I kept seeing a dove, and a dove with two sets of wings on either side of the body, joined at the tip to the set of wings on the other side of the body.
When I took my arm off my face fifteen minutes later, I had tears streaming down my face. The empathy rush from gram's mind had overwhelmed me. SSS trip-sat me for an unknown time, chatting and paging through a book of Japanese fashion photography. I analysed each model, guessing their motives and personality, and hypothesizing their design's intent. After a while, I decided to do another hit of DMT.
Again, I reclined and placed my arm over my eyes. This time, a dark space opened up. I heard a girl shrieking for her Daddy, and a purple rose sucked down into a blue stone on top of a grave. I saw the face of a Harajuku scenester dressed in a little French maid's outfit. Another girl, dressed as a Peruvian shaman, stood somewhere nearby, watching her. The animation took form with torn pages making up the characters' bodies. Bit by bit, the whole district took shape. Pieces of torn photographs assembled into the sunlit sky and the buildings, flickering and shifting, alive by the hand of the Creator. The shaman girl looked at the maid, who disappeared except for her head. The sky came colors behind the shaman's figure. I was her, then i was myself; then I was her, then i was myself. I saw *as* her, first-person, looking at the maid: and she was the maid, then she was herself; then she was the maid, then she was herself. The trip was hers, she was the main character.
Looking slightly down inside the dream, i saw saturated colors like a knit sweater and a Gualtemalan bag. I had a sweater on. I saw a first-person perspex inside a cafe: the maid-girl watched a scenester guy smoking. I/He pretended not to notice, but he saw her: then he was her, the he was himself; then he was her, then he was himself. I saw a first-person perspex from her eyes: she saw him, then she was him; then she was herself--then she was him, then she was herself. I saw the cafe: I saw the smoke, the tables, the minutest detail. I was a waitres bringing the boy and the girl a tray when they sat together and talked. I saw the street outside, with the Peruvian shaman-girl, with the sky flashing, watching the maid-girl, who disappeared except for her head. I saw my clothes: purple and orange and red sweater, Guatemalan bag. All the faces from the book jumbled together.
Somebody had a body made of bread dough, unbaked. The purple rose disappeared into the blue stone on the grave and the stone turned into bread dough, soft and gelatinous. I saw a weird Thing swimming around, like a pin with two crescent moons on it. The pin rotated, and four moons sprouted. Then it urned again, and four more crescent moons appeared. The eight-rayed star turned into a Peruvian Torch cactus head. The figure repeated itself, turning into a mace with eight blades. I saw a jewelled lozenge, then a vertebrate creature swimming. It had a head shaped like a post with a crescent moon on either side, exposed spinal vertebrae, and a long tail which flagellated like a chain. I remember a mesa, red on a red plain, under an orange sky with purple clouds. Scraps of paper with appropriate colors converged to form my mother's body, walking in Harajuku district, there but not there, travelling in the shaman girl's dream. Then the face of the maid etc. 
The face of the maid-girl turned into a scrap of page with her face on it; the scrap stuck to my eye; I saw it drifting back and forth in the tide of a warm ocean, in which I myself floated. A rapid transform culminated with a funereal image of my own father's memorial and a sentimental motto decorated a prize with his name on it. Then i came down. Again, the imagery overcame me. It was a bit too much.
I spen the rest of the day posting here, surfing porn, and watching CEV's. I took melatonin and licorice tea to sleep and remained asleep for a total of 9 1/2 hours. I posted this report to integrate/purge the trip. It has stuck with me a bit more than I had planned; however, the images from the flash site are thought-provoking.
Which is good, because they keep playing through my head! This trip rocked my jewels.
C'est tout.
H_O
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.oOo. Are you high? .oOo..oOo. You look like you're on some kind of drug .oOo.
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