| Home | Community | Message Board |
|
You are not signed in. Sign In New Account | Forum Index Search Posts Trusted Vendors Highlights Galleries FAQ User List Chat Store Random Growery » |
This site includes paid links. Please support our sponsors.
|
Threaded
Previous
Index
Next
| |||||||
 Some of these posts are very old and might contain outdated information. You may wish to search for newer posts instead.
| |||||||
 indica    Registered: 08/17/05 Posts: 18,905 |
| ||||||
|
This was actualy an event about easter last year and isn't the greatest report i've written but it was annoying me, so I put it here.
** I recently picked myself up some work in a bar/nightclub somewhere in inner city Hobart. It's a pretty dodgy setup, and the pay is absolutely shit. $10/h, but I don't mind mainly because it's just pocket money, and I'd rather be earning a buck than spending it, plus it gives me free entry, free drinks, free Red Bull and access to whatever the fuck I like, basically, including access to some decks so I could learn how to DJ properly and at my own pace. Friday Night... It was my first night. An under-age benefit gig. All went pretty smoothly and the place closed early around 11pm. We hit the staff quarters and continued to drink on, a couple of DJ's were working the decks playing some weird house music, and the lights were off with some crazy smoke machines, lights and projectors shitting out an assortment of music dvd’s and bullshit commercial TV shows, so of course I thought it would be appropriate to eat some acid and maybe a pill. I still had about 5 Hoffmans left, so I went home and fetched them, along with the half pill I found on a couch about a week ago. I taxied home and back and sat down, ate a trip, half a pill and served myself a few drinks. After a good hour, the good ol 'oh, this one isn't doing anything' entered my wayward mind. So, naturally, I ate another one. Give me an hour, and I was lying on the couch spacing out to the KISS Live in Melbourne DVD that was playing on the projector. I was tripping badly. Everyone had told me they were strong, but I took it for granted. My boss came up to me about 4am and said "DO YOU WANT TO WOOOOOOOOOORK TOMORROW NIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT?" Stupidly, I said yes (hey, I need the money). I was frapped out of my brains. The music started getting to me and I had to leave. The flourescent in the paint was moving around a little too much, and I soon found myself in a very awkward position. I bailed out when some of the others did and headed down the stairs to the double-doored entry zone. Standing in the pitch black 2mx2m space with 3 other people was really getting to me and it became imperative that I get out of there ASAP. After much fucking around from my aptly amphetamine-guzzling employer, we finally got the security door open and I began my strange walk home. It was about 5am and the city was pretty much empty. The streets were fresh with the Autumn crispness and the lights danced in my eyes with the kind of sparkle that only the cleanest acid can give. A strange warping sensation was draped over everything around me. Rivers of checkered patterns drizzled over every surface and the street lights took on an altered magical glow that made the streets seem as if they came fresh out of a Tolkien novel. Fractals and coulours were dancing in the dark and there was a constant sound of running water under a phaser. I walked past a few strangers and got the most peculiar sensations and vibes from them. Feelings of being alone, afraid. Like rabbits caught in the trance of a car's headlight. Two distant strangers passing in the night, neither would ever know what was truly going through the others head. Not that it even mattered. After a long and very interesting walk home, I went to bed. The sun was just coming up, so I closed my curtains and put on some Shpongle and Beethoven and left the visualisations running and lay on my back, looking up at the ceiling, the lights from the computer danced across the ceiling and I felt at peace in my small capsule of thought. The fading colours dancing above me were beautiful. I could see intricate mazes forming and morphing across the paint work. There was a swirling of hexagonal geometric patterns breezing across the front of my eyes, and before long it became pretty evident that I was not going to get any sleep. Eventually the basic child-like fractals started forming into full fledged star-scape scenery, and my mind drifted through intensely orgasmic cosmic dreams. However, the surroundings of the confined space that was my bedroom soon became cumbersome, and I decided it was time to leave. Fortunately for me, it was nearly dawn. Perhaps an hour away, the sun would make his ghastly appearance, for my benefit, in some weird kind of way. I put on my coat, fetched my sunglasses, chucked on some shoes, my handy satchel with my notebook, wallet, drink, chewing gum, cigarettes and other weird and wonderful things that would keep me occupied and my handy little half-size guitar. I took these things and headed out the door on a mission that would soon re-affirm just how fucking awesome my life really is. I started down the main street. The likes of perhaps bakers and hard-yard manual labourers were making their way to work. It was perhaps half hour off being considered real daylight, and half twilight, really. The city had just turned over it’s early morning humdrum and was starting to putter away nicely. The acid had me in a fantastic headspace. Somehow I was so much more aware of everything than all these petty fools. Separated from the game they are now playing. Just for this one magical morning, I was blessed to be able to stand back and look at their hilarious ways. Poor Mr. 4am, in his enormously incredible V8 Ford Falcon ute, that obviously makes him so amazingly happy that he has to get up at 4am to attend his shitty day job to earn a shitty wage to buy stupid ass things like this stupid ass V8 Ford Falcon ute that would only ever serve him to get him to and from his stupid ass day job at 4am. I laughed inside. The whole world looked incredibly stupid. Poor little weeds growing up from cracks in the sidewalk. Trying so hard to live, to reach that bit of light, to do what nature intended it to do, only for the council to later come back and poison it, kill it, and then pour another shit tonne of concrete over it to prevent any more life from popping up from underneath it. God forbid we want something living to be growing up from between cracks in the concrete. After all, us humans were here first. This walk took me to some weird places in my mind that would make no sense on paper, but at the time they made perfect sense, and it saddens me a little to this day to see myself in those idiots that I was laughing at on that gorgeous morning. Chasing some life dream of others, that other people have made for me, to somehow reach some ultimate goal in the long run, of happiness, fulfilment, or something. Why do we feed off this grotesque monster so much to attain what we really want? How can we escape it? We think somehow that we’ve got it by the horns and it is us who are exploiting it, but it is it who is exploiting us. For our short lived dreams, because as soon as we die and we think we have all we want, we are gone and the monster can re-assimilate what we have accumulated, and start the cycle over with some young 17 year old apprentice builder who only wants to save his $7 an hour to get a V8 Ford Falcon ute to get him to and from his shitty day job, second hand from the poor fucker who thought he could have the same dream in 500KW of mechanical grunt, only to retire with two kids and a fucking great damned mortgage, so that he has to sell his beloved ute to somehow scrape together some cash to buy his kid a fucking push bike for Christmas. Beyond this walk, I began to get into town. Seeing the young fresh cop patrolling the streets in his shined shoes, to keep the scum off. The same scum who introduced him to his first cigarette. The old woman ridiculously decked out in the latest Chanelle bling, expensive head scarves, quite possibly fake tits and an unmistakeable frowning brow that told the whole world she was in no way happy at all, and herlife was completely wasted in materialism, contrast to what her platinum-bleached hair with greying roots was trying so hard to convey. Soon enough, I reached downtown Hobart, and stumbled across something completely fucking awesome. The Salamanca markets. A weekly Saturday event of merchant trading, good old fashion markets. Hippies from the Huon valley pitching their homecrafts, fruit growers selling apples, grandmothers selling woollen gollywogs, scumbags pitching complete and utter crap, hotdog vendors, wooden carving vendors, Africans selling African clothing, you name it, it’s there. It’s awesome. It’s beautiful and it represents all that was humanly honest, trading and barter. My first encounter at the markets was a group of people locked in small cages no bigger than a dogs kennel. This struck my curiosity and I approached them and asked them what they were doing. They told me that they were protesting against battery hens, and told me about the cruel nature of the industry and what they were doing. I think they cought onto either my somewhat inebriated state or my generally rebellious nature. They told me they’d been active in breaking into these battery farms and releasing all the caged birds, on the down low. I thought this was pretty noble and put my name on their list. I don’t actually recall if I gave them any money or not, I was pretty hammered, but if I did then I feel good about it. I probably didn’t and gave them false hope of becoming another activist. Either way, I meant well and was supportive of their cause. I was fortunate enough to have been in possession of quantitive coin. I managed to survive, quenching an endless thirst for raspberry cordials and mineral water. The acid frenzy attacking the back of my throat kept me ever so thirsty, and my stomach was forever churning in hunger, but I could not eat, but it did not once wipe the smile from my face. The hilarity of it all was fascinating. I spent a good hour leaning against a telegraph pole watching a 10-strong line of people waiting for an ATM. Seeing them lined up, killing valuable minutes of their short and miserable lives waiting for precious life-giving money. Looking so frustrated and shitty that they had to waste a perfectly good Saturday moping around the markets at their own leisure, spending their hard earned money on shit they don’t need for absolutely no reason at all, other than to try desperately and fill some void left in their lives… from what?… who knows. What the fuck are you people doing? As I was leaning against the pole, a woman came out of the newsagents. She had just bought The Age, which is more or less Australia’s biggest newspaper, mostly for the executive types, but nonetheless huge. She came out and walked straight to the bin, which I was virtually standing next to, with a huge smirk on my face. She started emptying the newspaper, a good 2 thirds of it was catalogues and advertising fucking bullshit. She saw me looking at her with the biggest grin on my face and I think she was the only person that day that understood it. She looked at the line of people, looked at me, looked at the newspaper and the bin she was throwing it in, the smirk on my face and she laughed with me. “it’s ridiculous isn’t it?” she said. “You don’t need to tell me” I replied. And we laughed together. For once I welcomed someone into my square. The world in which I exist and how I can see out into their fucking shit. Sure enough, I am just as much a culprit as the next man, but I am so glad that I’ve had these oppurtunities to stand back and laugh at it. If you can’t laugh at yourself, then what’s the point in even laughing? Or living? I left my post and the line of idiots and continued my trek. I came across a guy who was sitting at a table with hundreds of barbie dolls ripped apart and reconstructed into weird and laughably hideous pieces of work. But it was not these miniature models that were funny, it was the guy himself. He was sitting there ripping pages out of some unkown book. Ranting and raving away. I remember him saying “It’s poetry. It’s literature. It’s important.. It’s absolute rubbish!” he was continuously ranting and raving and tearing pages out of this book and trowing them away. Not raving to anyone but himself and the wind and the circus of passers by. It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen in reality. This guy just plain didn’t give a fuck. He looked like your vegetarian friends’ uncle from the backwoods who is a complete tripper and is awesome to hang out with. I stood in amazement and watched this guy for about half an hour. This was no act, this was his own interpretation and rebellion against all the crap he’d been force fed his entire life. This was no act, this was him and his ramblings, Fuck yes good on you, mutilated barbie guy. After this I walked up and down the markets for a while. I saw a guy that looked fascinatingly like an elven person. A guy with fair blonde long hair, sharp facial features and thick eyebrows in a denim jacket, Eyes closed, head in the clouds and he was playing a panflute. Although it was reasonably cliché kind of music, and by no means awe-inspiring, he still struck me as a kindrid spirit doing his own thing. He was busking and not making a great deal of money, but his music was being heard, and I think he appreciated that. He was selling panflutes, and marketing them by playing them. Nice. Another of the buskers was a fantastic old man, a real dark kind of guy, dark glasses on, long grey hair tied back in a pony tail, suede jacket, leather shoes and a whisping goatee and incredibly long fingernails playing some fucking amazing jazz guitar in the middle of the market. He completely struck me, he was fucking incredible,not only in music but in spirit. Who was to know if he actually had any friends or family, for all I know he lived in a small 1 bedroom candlelit flat somewhere inWest Hobart with a single table and cask of wine and chinese take out, raping his guitar every night for every last beautiful note he could pull out of it. He was the essenceof musicianship. His guitar was his superior. I felt fucking awesome for him and threw him about $10 in coins. He looked up at me and didn’t smile, but his acknowledgementwas more than enough. I would have bought his CD had I had moremoney, but my acid frenzy throat demanded that I devote the rest of my cash to nourishment. I am a real selfish fuck. This inspired me to take my guitar up to St. Davids park. Although it was late autumn, it was a beautiful day. The sun was nice and bright, the weather was good and I’d managed to conjure up a fair amount of sweat. But I felt great. This day had turned out more amazing than I could have imagined. I hit the park and picked a nice quiet spot under a big old bare oak tree. All around me families and couples, young and old, were basking in the ambiance of the Saturday. A true family outing. Little did they know an acid freak in a bout of humane revelation was lurking in their midst. I pulled out my guitar and fell onto my back and closed my eyes. I started strumming out just whatever the fuck came to me. I didn’t care, I wasn’t playing for anyone, not even myself. I was playing for the fuck ofplaying. I didn’t care for the sound of it, just letting it flow out, and I can safely say it is the most comfortable I have ever felt with a guitar. Whatever I was playing just flowed out so freely. It was the music of my mind,improvised. Strumming along to the music of the universe, making a moment, a vibe or what ever you want to call it. I sang a little, not too loudly as I’m not confident with my voice, but I did and it felt great. Eventually, the families caught on, and sort of started milling in a little closer to bask in the ambiance of this in-discreet acid freak oozing out some weird ambiance. Another beautiful odd ball in the park who is inviting, come one and come all. I want you to hear this. The acid somehow had lost some significance at this time, and it was all about the music and the atmospheric bubble I could create around me. It was awesome. I felt so alive and free, but still locked in and trapped somehow in the human game, the prisoner who has been in The Hole for ten thousand years who somehow managed to pick up a harmonica at some stage in his imprisonment, and keeps his fellow prisoners sane with his lunatic melodies, smashing his tin cup against the bars of his cell. A stranger walked past me and threw some coins into my guitar bag. “I don’t want your money, I’m not busking” I said. “No it’s good, keep it” “I seriously don’t want it, I’m just playing for the fuck of it” “Keep it” I collected the coins he threw into my bag and headed down to a busker and dumped my coins in his bag. He acknowledged me, silently, and kept playing. I wandered off. At that point though I began to feel free of the human game. I felt as if I could have jumped up and walked to India, for some weird reason, I almost did. I almost felt like falling away from school, work, obligations. Starving myself and living on the streets. I had weird ideas. Grab a piece of cardboard and write “REALITY” on it and stand on theside of the busiest street in town hoping to hitch a ride to somewhere meaningful. Jump on an adventure, meet a serial killer who can put me out of my misery. Why the fuck not? It was at this point I was heading up to the busiest street, and was almost ready to put my thumb out, but sat back and realised just how silly this really was… and I saw a guy standing on the side of the road handing out fliers. I approached him and took one, and started reading it. It was a story about the spirit of easter (now at this point I remember this even was a few days before Easter). It had no meaning, purpose and was not trying to sell anything, it was just a story about the true meaning of easter and how we should celebrate it honestly. This was really nice to see, it was good to see some non-commercial bullshit in this fucking retarded consumerist world. I kept on wondering, and then for some reason headed back to the markets. There I saw a bunch of fat, rich looking fuckers wearing Porsche jackets, with that fat, unfulfilled stupidly beautiful over-aged wives. This was sure to be some worthwhile entertainment. It turned out that the National Porsche Club was in town, wanking over themselves at the Sunday markets, some how they figured that the fascination the peasants invested in the cars extended to the drivers, which was a load of fuck. You should have seen them, the jacked-up over-the-hill retirees with their puffy jackets and trophy wives, gold teeth and necklaces, no doubt to go home and have scotch whiskey, eggs benedict and cocaine-fuelled unsatisfying sex, read the Sunday Telegraph and fart around the world in their stupid fucking cars. How these people could not see how we perceive them is beyond me. People like that make me laugh, but they provide an ample source for entertainment. They parked their cars on the lawns around the markets and flooded the markets, buying absolute bullshit for souveniers. You could so easily tell they would have rathered to be among the cars, sponging up some attention and praise from the common folk. They looked so unhappy and bored, around enjoying something real and wholesome like a good old Saturday market. It kept me amused for a while until I decided to call it quits. I strolled around some industrial parts of town for the rest of the day and took some photos of some random shit. Manneqiuns, and I had to get a picture of the pathetic little weeds growing up from between cracks in the footpath, just because they looked so alive to me. The world trying desperately to fight back at this human disease. After my day, I headed back to my house and went to bed for a few hours. It was one of the nicest and pleasant days I’d ever had. Enjoying my own company, having a chuckle at the world. I met my aunty and her newborn son when I walked in, whom I hadn’t seen for quite a few months and for some horrendous reason I had no real desire to know her at all. I think my reputation had gotten in her head that I was some spaced out drug loony and not to be associated with. But for some reason, I did not feel bad about that at all. She was in her life, happy I’m sure, and I was in mine… happy exploring the things around me in whatever headspace I may be. Just her… for some reason, she’s just a person I could never find level groundings with. Happy to go our own separate ways, so it seemed. Only related by the blood in our bodies. She did not feel a part of my family at that time and usually this would have gotten to me, but on this day, it didn’t. So I showered, changed, bathed and headed off to work to start. That night, I was absolutely fucked. Which is fair enough, but I still had a good laugh at the local trash heads who amuse me with their pathetic drunken behaviour. Watching the guys constantly trying to pick up with the girls, watching the girls reject, the drinks being bought and drank with no reward in return. It was a good night. Poor Mr 4 AM, I thought to myself. And chuckled. After this, I went home, and imploded into a mass orgy of sleep and lucid dreaming. And it was good. But I shall forever remember it as one of the most hilarious days of my life.
| |||||||
 blacksun   Registered: 09/02/06 Posts: 1,390 Loc: United Kingdom Last seen: 10 years, 9 months |
| ||||||
|
Excellent trip report. Read the whole thing :P
It's a fucking amusement park walking around on a saturday with the sun shining, in the middle of a town/city, tripping on something. I remember once in the middle of a pretty hardcore LSA trip, me and a close friend walking through a supermarket on a saturday. All these miserable fuckers.... living to work. Bit like the matrix, only if you have taken the red pill, can you see that you were in the matrix, there is no other way. -------------------- uarewotueat - "Libs are messy as hell, I don't know whether to take a shit or get a haircut when I'm on them!"
| |||||||
|
Noviseer Percussion isFre  Registered: 03/18/03 Posts: 3,994 Last seen: 9 years, 4 months |
| ||||||
|
Oh yea, great report, one of the best I've read (and I've read thousands)
Yea, acid missions alone with a guitar and a wide-open headspace--you evoked that so well, brought back some memories. the ridiculousness of it all... the hilarity... acid does that. That's actually why I prefer mushrooms, which are significantly more sacral in my experience--they don't make you laugh as much as make you bless things. Both are key ingridients to a good worldview imo--the lunatic saints see the world as equally ridiculous and holy. Anyway, you are an excellent writer, keep writing reports for us! -------------------- _________________________________ namaste said: no flamz in da ODD, if you got nothing to contribute then keep yo lips zipped ________________________________
| |||||||
|
indica Registered: 08/17/05 Posts: 18,905 |
| ||||||
|
Yeah, it was thrown together really quickly and this is probably one of the shittiest reports I've ever written, but it was such a fantastic day. I've never really tripped during the day on LSD and this was more or less my first time.
Oh the hilarity! Thanks for the feedback.
| |||||||
|
pasteface pasty  Registered: 04/27/07 Posts: 122 Last seen: 13 years, 10 months |
| ||||||
|
You captured the mood of an acid trip very well. Watching how hilarious and ridiculous everything is around you. I think ridiculous is the adjective I use the most while tripping. Usually in the sentence "haha that's just fucking ridiculous!"
| |||||||
|
blacksun Registered: 09/02/06 Posts: 1,390 Loc: United Kingdom Last seen: 10 years, 9 months |
| ||||||
|
Ridiculous is the word and theme of my acid trips.
-------------------- uarewotueat - "Libs are messy as hell, I don't know whether to take a shit or get a haircut when I'm on them!"
| |||||||
|
hdo3hc Registered: 01/25/07 Posts: 156 Last seen: 8 years, 9 months |
| ||||||
|
nice one! i want to see the pic of the weeds.
| |||||||
| |||||||
Edit 
Reply 
|
| Similar Threads | Poster | Views | Replies | Last post | ||
 |
 |
3 hits of LSD, with an 8th of pan cyans... |  Newbie |
1,414 | 4 | 08/06/05 10:15 AM by Newbie |
|
 |
Should I Trip at a Club? |  The_Clash_UK |
1,320 | 7 | 12/05/01 09:05 PM by egolesss |
|
|
Couple Of Ideas That Hit Me Recently | fjbk47985 |
903 | 6 | 10/12/03 02:04 PM by Bushdoctor |
|
 |
**Shroomery cd exchange club** (  1 2 all ) |
 Learyfan |
3,664 | 34 | 09/20/02 07:28 PM by Learyfan |
|
|
Trip Report: Salvia (10x) 3 bowl-full bong hits. |  iCe_2x |
1,761 | 9 | 06/06/05 08:49 AM by redgreenvines |
|
|
about to trip 10 hits of acid...will update ( 1 2 all ) |
 deltron |
3,235 | 20 | 10/04/03 09:39 AM by Rebirtha |
|
|
Trip Report - 5 hits of LSD |  LilShank |
3,200 | 15 | 04/09/06 08:04 PM by indica |
|
|
valium in case a bad trip hits you ( 1 2 all ) |
 psilo |
26,799 | 24 | 09/18/21 07:36 AM by orison |
| Extra information | ||
| You cannot start new topics / You cannot reply to topics HTML is disabled / BBCode is enabled Moderator: psilocybinjunkie 1,283 topic views. 0 members, 0 guests and 0 web crawlers are browsing this forum. [ Show Images Only | Sort by Score | Print Topic ] | ||
