Tuesday, August 26, 2014

Smelfplay (by Nuages Gris)

(image by rob sato)

I ran across this old trip report the other day. The report showed up on lycaeum.org in 2008 by Nuages Gris. In late 2012 someone named Hector the Crow posted it on erowid.

Having read it again, I realize just how beautiful and profound this trip report is. Peruse it and enjoy.



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Smelfplay
by Nuages Gris

http://www.lycaeum.org/forum/index.php/topic,23965.0.html

"Was on a k binge. Sometimes I like to stay away from the baseline world for as long as possible, so I got into repeated dosing and onto an apathetic plateau, not being able to sleep, wanting something. For want of a woman, maybe some other kind of thrill, I thought of smoking salvia – hadn’t in years. Could barely remember what it was like, just thought it might be worth doing, so I did – and had one of those breakthrough trips, shattered the mellow that had whimsied the idea in the first place.

I was at my computer during the flash, mostly just sitting in my chair, slack jacked. I tried to write as soon after coming back as I could – the feeling persisted enough that I could translate some of the trip, far better than on previous attempts. My notes were serious no bullshit attempts to get across that THING. I’m hindered being a writer, beholden to art and ego. Literature can corrupt raw experience. I tried to be plain and honest in my notes, and leave the poetry for later.

I’m holding my toke and counting the seconds. Accidentally exhale at “twenty” and think I’ve blown the hit. Then I realize something’s different. I think okay, I guess this is the trip but everything’s the same, isn’t it? No, some shift. It isn’t showing me visuals, it’s using what I happen to be looking at, my knee, my rug, my beside table to the left and pants crumpled to the right. This is what the salvia has to work with. So it’s saying, what, this, you’re part of this? This?

I’m spinning and realizing “this” is just painted on a wall. Vague sense that it’s because I smoked salvia but the overwhelming feeling is of reality coming apart, the issue being that what I felt as normal and real was dependent on an arbitrary collection of sense data now seen as a painting. “Silly paint, dreamed he was a person”. The joke’s on me, I forgot I was the wall and everything “that person” represents is what I can sense in the visual field and my own body peripherals. I can see the edges of my red jacket and left arm. Also my mind is filling in an image of my face with my black toque on, so this accurate self-image, in conjunction with the bedroom floor in its current state, has become the painting.

I’m spinning and my sense of identity has shifted to null-space. I’m being pulled backward and outward. This is what salvianauts mean by “gravity”, a pulling on the mind, the rug pulled out from under me. The painting on the wall seems arbitrary, why that and not anything else? It’s silly and shocking. Some vital part of consciousness associated with “the self” and “what is real” has become unhinged and confronted with the void. It’s not a void exactly, there’s something there, echoes, ghosts that live in the cracks between dimensions. I’m hearing the chorused voice of an amalgam of minds, no neat separation. Parts of myself are chipping off the painting or combining with other parts to smear into the collective. The collective chatter is noisy and not entirely unified, but vaguely conveying something like: “hey, actually, it’s like this”, a sly twist, strong yet subtle, cerebral yet bedrock. On past salvia trips, I’d thought of those anthropomorphic, eerily communicative energies as facets of my subconscious, but “smelves” is a perfect term, being a play on elves and selves – entities straddling a dichotomy of artificial categories, alien, human, cartoon, playful, wise, in bright primary colors, an external method of living, a place consciousness was not meant to inhabit except by mythic creatures, fish out of water, pigs in space. I can’t call them malevolent but I can’t call them benign. They’re creepy and sarcastic.

I’m spinning and the pulling feeling accelerates, more of a peeling. The paint is peeling off the wall, sometimes in scales or tiles (the lifting of a group of personality traits / visual associations). But there’s an undead feeling to the painting, it’s coming off like a skin. It peels in every thought and frame of vision, not simply in direction but in the dimension I only sense with salvia. I’m being invited to ask the self that peeled off a rhetorical question. I know it will solve everything, it’s on the tip of my tongue but it won’t quite come. It’s hilarious that I can’t explain it, but it’s too serious to permit laughter. It’s telling me “The very point of this pulloff is to reveal you as unsustainable, impossible.” This is the ONE THING that DOES NOT FIT in my reality, it’s the KEY to ontological demolition, the essence of what I must not accept to go on living. How can I be alive to witness it? What is dead? It’s about animate and inanimate and breath and time and wet and dry. There’s an irreconcilable conflict between two worlds. My field of vision and its associated objects is a child’s drawing, and the idea of there being a person in there is perverse.

I’m spinning and being told to look at that perverse person. The pulling/peeling intensifies with each rotation of the existential tableau. My former self is a series of body parts, bits of me or wholes of me from various angles and surrounding sense data in peripheral vision and blind sight, red-arm-jacket, hand-behind-back-with-lighter, knee-crumpled-pants, knee-rug, subsumed in an escalator mountain spiral circuit, spinning salvia scales, an aesthetic unit. Each “scale” is a personified pastiche of self-fragments seen from outside, shoulder with tan face like a cartoon character from some obscure central asian filmboard, the next “step” in the escalator my toque/neck with a fleck of red-arm framed with chains like a swingset. Imagine a top, fused with a staircase, fused with mount rushmore, fused with myself split into a classroom of confused children. Although it feels inhuman, it also has a sly sophisticated social consciousness, a super-intelligent personality overlaid on a conscious crack. It has vast implications but it’s of the micro moment, eternal but infinitesimal, ambassador for the voidoids.

The “other” is watching me become aware of this interdimensional membrane, and saying, in an amused, almost cruelly mocking way: “See? Hehe.” It’s asking me to just try these tiles, just try them, I dare you, ask them a question – like it’s not something that would have occurred to me in ordinary consciousness, to address these scales as people, but now I realize I CAN and MUST, or I’d be denying a revelation. So as the spiral escalator cartoon version of myself comes around for another cycle I address its spinning scale-steps as people. They’re conjunctions of self-identity and what happens to be in my field of view at the time. They have faces, expressions, but I no longer see them as aspects of myself, they’re too weird. I see them as entities who live in the cracks between myself and whatever alien chaos exists in the mental vacuum outside. So I say to these things, hey, look, I managed to step outside something, do you see? What does this mean?

I get the idea to tap the red-arm scale on the shoulder, so I do. To even think of it as a thing that has a shoulder is like doing that to, say, a nondescript spot on the rug, but I’m tapping on each of these scales as they pass upwards and outwards in their cycle, startling them. They’re saying: “WHAT THE FUCK? I’M ALIVE? I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE ALIVE! YOU’RE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE ALIVE! THIS ISN’T SUPPOSED TO HAPPEN! HOW CAN YOU DO THAT?” I’m talking to myself at this point, in two alternating voices, like “Yes, there you are… What the fucking hell?!!!”

The scales are spinning with a speed and angle that is not entirely parallel to my salvia gravity. So in addressing them, it’s like I’m peeling THEM off their spinning self pastiche cartoon and dragging them toward my gravity. I’m sticky with my questions, and what were inanimate components of the bedrock material of reality, either physical matter or some mental construct, are becoming confused peoploids peeling off their peripherals. They’re becoming more than the hallucinogenic characters I imagined them as. Latching onto them with my address is granting them life, making their bizarre personification a reality, and it feels incredibly, mind-blowingly REAL, like HOLY FUCK, this dimension actually exists! And I realize that peeling these peoploids off their reality is creating the impact in their world of a salvia trip, ridiculous, indecent, perverse, shocking, cruel, hilarious, and their gravity, their normal rate of cycling in the spin, is being slowed by my sudden unexpected perception. My awareness of them is grinding their gears, throwing their whole operation into chaos. I’m thinking perpendicular.

And I guess I’m not quite as fargone as I could have been, because I think, so THIS is what salvia does. Although that doesn’t seem to have a lot of meaning in and of itself. The thought is like the launching pad under atmospheric haze back at camp canaveral. It’s like the crease of the fold, I know it means something but I’m not sure what, like yeah, I smoked salvia to cause this, but THIS, what is THIS, what was THAT? What is anything?

The insistency of this feeling fades after a few minutes, and I become aware of myself as a whole. I keep saying “Holy fucking shit, what the fuck was that?” Maybe five minutes after the dosing (impossible to tell) I decide to focus all my energy on remembering and describing the trip, which immediately brings me “down” to a functional level, but also keeps the feeling focused in memory for a good ten minutes afterward.

The first thing I write is “okay, something serious just happened”. I go on to say that “some system exists between dimensions”. The rest is notes that I turned into this report. I’ll have to do it again, but I’ve already forgotten why. The feeling is gone, there’s just words.

Salvia is sufficiently advanced shamanic technology. Not that it has no psychological/physical explanation (the two would need to work in tandem, meeting at truth by tunneling through opposite sides of the mountain) but any explanation of what causes the self-peeling feeling is far beyond whatever understanding presently exists in psychology and neurology – or at least in my understanding of that understanding.

Basically, it turned my mind inside out, inverting sense of self and what is “alive”. The self that existed within the confines of my body became alien, undead, and what had been alive and “me” was outside that strange cartoon person. My mind was in the crack, the void, the room, not just in the sense of physical space (“physical space” seemed two-dimensional, a painting) but some mental dimension outside my normal way of thinking – like before I’d necessarily been a solipsist, thinking all that was “me” was locked inside the head. Now some formerly unknown outside meta-me was pulling a prank on that narrow normal one by switching places, having me confront the “outside” I could never believe in before through a rapid chemical process, mockingly transient.

Although certain metaphors and themes occur with frequency, overall I’m amazed at the diversity of experience people report. I guess it demonstrates either the uniqueness of any given mind, that the trip differs so greatly from one to another – or it shows how difficult it is to describe/analyze/remember, if everyone is having essentially the same experience, but in the telling, they all sound like separate worlds.

Existential is a good word to use. Upon being “peeled”, my awareness is left to confront a field of vision and all that it “means” – the associations that make up my human delusion – from an external perspective, the void outside my head. Suddenly, the me gestalt is rendered arbitrary. The most absurd thing is that I’m still physically locked in the gestalt, I can receive no information beyond the capacity of the body’s sense organs, but my awareness seems to have moved outside the body, to the “dead” world beyond the head. But the salvia reveals that what’s outside my head isn’t dead exactly, just a kind of consciousness I can’t normally recognize as consciousness, or communicate with in any way other than cryptic kinetic chaos.

I’m not sure what effect being on the residuals of a k binge might’ve had, but I suspect that mindset helped me analyze and remember more. I could ease into it, flow, and not fight the trip. I was still shaken to my soul, but it wasn’t as mind-blowing as it probably would’ve been had I been sober. Although in that case I probably would’ve “given way to astonishment” in McKenna’s words, and not questioned what was happening or interacted with the trip. Doing those things allowed me more insights.

One thing I can say, interdimensional travel is a good way to get the mind off sexual frustration."


Sunday, October 27, 2013

Salvia X Files: "Anomaly at Lompoc State Hospital"

(image by oliver hibert)

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The following post is a short story about a salvianaut who ends up inside a psychiatric hospital. After his friend visits him, things start to get interesting. The story reads like a ‘Twilight Zone’ or ‘X Files’ episode.
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I sat gazing through the plexiglass partition that separated me from two California State Police officers. The bench seat I was sitting on had a bad spring. I wondered how comfortable the two officers up front were. Looking out into the night, I noticed that our vehicle was sandwiched between two other police cars. Fog was rolling in as usual for this time of year. The California coastline streamed by like a dream. I thought about my friend Lane who worked with me at the Santa Barbara Mail Processing Facility.

After a polite knock on the plexiglass, I asked one of the officers why they needed three cars instead of one to get me to the hospital. The officer driving glanced back and chuckled, “That’s what we’d like to know. All we know is that the hospital is under some sort of lock down, and they’re taking a lot of precautions.”

“What the hell is going on?” I thought to myself. “This can’t have anything to do with Lane.” I tried to piece together the events that had occurred during the last few days. All I knew for sure was that Lane had been placed under section 5150, an involuntary psychiatric hold. He had supposedly been considered a threat to himself and to others after the police picked him up for creating a public disturbance.

This wasn’t the first time he had gotten into trouble. I should know, because I was with him the last time he wacked out. We were doing something that we had been doing for the last couple of years, smoking salvia extract. I usually limited myself to 15x tops, but Lane always wanted to go farther. Smoking 40x was no big deal for him. One night after hitting the 40x, he suddenly jumped up and exclaimed, “I can fucking manipulate reality!” I told him to calm down, but he pointed at something in the room. “Look!” he screamed. I quickly turned my head and saw something flash alongside a wall. Lane then bolted through an open door. I ran after him, but he had already ripped off his shirt, and he was waving it in the middle of a nearby street. How he was able to run around like that under 40x without falling on his face was beyond me.

The three police cars turned off the highway and made their way to a large campus like group of buildings. Surrounding the buildings was a twelve foot high chain link security fence. After stopping briefly at the front gate, we headed toward an imposing looking brick building. Chiseled in marble above its front entrance were the words, 'Lompoc State Hospital'.

After exiting the police car, I was given a visitors badge and escorted inside. A tall middle aged man walked up to me and said, “Are you Mr. *Edit*? I answered that I was, and I asked him what was going on. Before he answered, I glanced around at the central area and the surrounding hallways. There were armed security guards everywhere. The tall gentleman then said, “ My name is Dr. ######. I am the lead psychiatrist here at LSH. Your friend, Mr. *Edit* was remanded to us by the superior court of Santa Barbara County. We came to the agreed upon conclusion that your friend was showing symptoms of schizoaffective disorder.

There was an uneasy silence before I inquired, “Why all the police and security guards? Does it have anything to do with Lane?”
The psychiatrist raised a hand up to his face and ran a finger across his receding hair line. He then uttered, “Your friend was involved in an anomaly along with several officers who were guarding him.”
“What?” I asked incredulously.
The psychiatrist motioned with his arm and said, “Come with me.”

We proceeded to walk down a flight of stairs to an underground system of tunnels. During working hours, these tunnels were normally used to safely escort patients around the facility. An armed security guard joined us and we continued along one of the tunnels for what seemed like a hundred yards. The psychiatrist then began to explain the situation.

“Your friend was first sent to a hospital in Santa Barbara, but something very peculiar was going on with his behavior. It was decided that it would be better if he were sent here to Lompoc.”
“What kind of peculiar behavior?” I asked.
“Your friend was somehow involved in severe physical disturbances at the other facility.” The psychiatrist then looked over at me. “We know that the two of you have been using salvia divinorum.”
I stopped walking and turned toward the psychiatrist. “Sir, could you just please tell me what’s going on?”
The psychiatrist gestured toward a door and we climbed a flight of stairs. Now we were in a totally different building, a building with a slight odor of death wafting through its halls.

The psychiatrist’s demeanor began to change. He became more serious. Grabbing hold of my shoulder, he guided me to a holding room. I started to get nervous. I could feel my asshole puckering up. Moving closer, I noticed that the inside of the room had been grotesquely rearranged. As I stood at the open door, I got chills. Appearing before my eyes was something that looked like a fucking scene out of the movie ‘Alien’.

Somehow the room had lost its dimensionally square identity. The room’s hard angles had become curved. As I slowly walked through the door, I noticed that the inside of the room had the rough appearance of a wheel. All of the objects that had previously been situated on the floor, like chairs and a cot for sleeping, were now embedded all along the curved surface of the room’s walls. Also embedded onto the circular walls, at approximately the four o’clock position, was the ossified remains of a human being. Staring at the face of the human, I quickly realized that I was looking at my friend Lane.

I stepped forward to get a closer look. His face, while ossified into a pasty shade of white, still had the smell of death on it. His expression displayed a strange and creepy smile. He was seated on something embedded into the wall that resembled a chair. Astonishingly, I realized that his body was seemingly replicated into two-dimensional copies of itself. The hardened, replicated copies layered away behind him until they disappeared into the room’s curved wall.

I was almost at the point of passing out when the psychiatrist shook me and pointed his finger at the room‘s floor. Sticking out of the floor’s surface was a diminutive, porcelain humanoid. I bent down and studied the figure closely. It was a tiny police officer with a look of terror on his face. My darting eyes noticed dozens of other porcelain humanoids embedded all over the wheel-like surface of the room’s interior.

The psychiatrist put his arm behind me and led me out of the room. He told me that the porcelain humanoid closely resembled one of the missing police officers. I was at a loss for words as we walked down a hallway before arriving at an office of some kind. I sat down, oblivious to the fact that there were other men standing around me.

While sitting there slowly going into shock, I began to hear a distant laugh coming from Lane’s room. It sounded like Lane. It was Lane. My mind was now completely confused. I looked up around me. “Do you guys hear that laughing sound?” Everyone was stone silent. A black man wearing a white lab coat cleared his throat and said, “Man, I been hearing that shit ever since I came on duty.” The psychiatrist quickly turned his head toward the black man and gave him an angry look.

I started to nervously run my fingers through my hair. I looked down at my shirt and noticed that my visitor’s badge was missing. The psychiatrist then composed himself and said, “Mr. *Edit*, sometimes it’s necessary for an individual’s rights to be temporarily suspended for the sake of the surrounding community. We here at LSH believe that you might be a risk to the community in the same way that your deceased friend was a risk. Therefore, we must unfortunately inform you that…”

My heart was now beating so hard that I was experiencing palpitations. The psychiatrist’s words were a blur. I suddenly stood up and exclaimed, “I lost my visitor’s badge. I think it’s back in the other room. I’m going to go get it.” I then ran out of the office. The psychiatrist behind me yelled, “Hey, you can’t go back in there.”

I heard a security guard running after me as I raced towards Lane's room. The muffled laughter was getting louder. I ran through the door and was immediately shifted with force into a seated position. I could feel my body harden up. A rush like the rush of a salvia trip fell upon me. My mind was being taken over by salvia reality. I could feel my body calcifying.

When the security guard ran into the room, his shoes and feet were immediately sucked into the floor’s surface. I was able to watch him through my calcifying eyes as he struggled to regain his balance. The room was now beginning to slowly rotate, and the curved, wheel-like interior transformed into a type of malleable concrete jelly. The security officer’s legs were now slowly sinking into the liquefied floor. A look of extreme panic washed over his face. A few seconds later it was up to his waist. Then the guard frantically reached for his gun before firing off two quick shots into the rotating mass.

While still watching him sink into the quivering floor, I felt a sudden lurch backwards as I shifted from one reality into a cloned secondary reality. I was being replicated backwards into the curved wall the same way that Lane was replicated. I felt more jolts as my ossifying body shifted backwards again and again.

The security guard was now up to his neck in the concrete quicksand. Then, with a blink of his porcelain eyes, his now shrinking, anguished face quickly disappeared beneath the floor’s quivering surface.

The laughter around me began transitioning into a hypnotic trance as I continued to shift backwards through replicated realities. Soon I began to notice the outlines of pixieish entities in the periphery of the hospital room.

The physical world of the state hospital was now rapidly fading away. From behind me, I could sense a large rotating, organic wheel composed of humanoid beings. One of the humanoids reached out his arm to me. It was Lane. As I grabbed his hand, my salvia body slid out of its earthly cocoon. And like the multicolored, soaring image of a butterfly, I was free.

Thursday, September 19, 2013

The Entire Stack of Worlds are but One Master World


(18x - one hit)

Clears throat…
“GGeeeeYYYYuuuAAAAAAAwwwwdddddddd
DDaaaayyyyyyyymmmmmmmmmMMMMMMnn”

“SsSSHHHHHEEEEEEEEEEEiiiittttttttttttttttttttt”


What the Fuck???
I remember going to a place that’s off limits to Earth people.
It’s not so much a singular place. It’s more an acknowledgement of a System. I saw the System.

Is it possible that we all see the System at some point while tripping, and it’s washed clean when we come down? So what IS this System?

It’s related to parallel worlds, but it’s more complex. The whole parallel worlds phenomenon is a shadow of something even more fascinating and disturbing.

Here’s a visual way of describing it:

Imagine standing in front of a giant aluminum screen, say eight feet high and 50 feet across. Paint a two dimensional world on that screen: a Technicolor world “IN PROGRESS”.

Now imagine another (somewhat) identical, super-thin, aluminum world behind it, also containing a Technicolor world in progress. Keep going: more and more super-thin, adjacent worlds all in progress - all packed together. Hundreds of them, thousands of them, 10^500 of them.

Here’s the thing: you are in each and every one of those worlds as they “UNSTACK” from a far distant endpoint in salviaspace. As each world unstacks, you are there; your body, your mind, squeezed tightly inside everyone of those pliable, aluminum screen worlds.

As you rapidly pass through each of those membrane-like screens, you are CONVINCED that every one of those world-screens is TRUE REALITY. Your brain’s short term memory is nonexistent; and as each True World passes by containing people talking to you, it is immediately forgotten, only to be replaced by another, almost identical True World.

You are not just a conscious passersby, remotely viewing this in quiet comfort as it is unfolding. You are EXISTENTIALLY there, physically and emotionally there, feeling the roller-coaster process through each super thin, 2D world as it all rolodexes through hyperspace.

THE ENTIRE STACK OF WORLDS ARE BUT ONE MASTER WORLD.

You are wiped out by the experience. Sweat is poring out of your pores. (I won’t bother telling you what was happening in my chest during all this. Believe me, you don’t want to know).

So it’s not just about a conceptual understanding of parallel worlds. It is existential and ontological. It is experienced by your whole being.

And what does it all mean? Hell if I know. But fundamentally, at the center of our existence, there is something going on that we are totally incognizant of. Our shared, physical world might be but a snapshot within a wide, expansive continuum of separate yet inseparable worlds : worlds not dissimilar, but worlds similar in their structure.
Indeed - an infinite number of Earth world templates waiting for our discovery.

/-----------\

The Master World is a globe-like, highly massive structure that attracts parallel worlds onto its surface. These parallel worlds all seem to be Earth-mimicking in nature. They contain human scenarios in progress: 3d scenarios collapsing into 2d, semitransparent, curved sheets. The individual sheets stream onto the Master World as a continuum - an integrated, continuous variation of similar Earth-based activities.

The salvia beings allowed me to see their Master World, but they would only allow me to enter as a physically dead man (not just talking ego death). I did not have the courage to die.

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above image -- the original Facebook.
the 2007 archive page contains some good youtube videos.
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Sunday, July 28, 2013

Dreaming Oaxaca

(image by henrietta shore - circa 1925)

"Dreaming Oaxaca"

The Mexican holy man affixed a ceremonial Indian hat atop tripping man’s head, which was already beading with sweat. Only an hour ago, a hot sun receded under the far horizon, and stars were now beginning to fire up like stationary lightening bugs.

The holy man then placed a quid of specially prepared, enhanced salvia leaves inside tripping man’s mouth. After speaking a few soft words in Spanish, the holy man pointed tripping man towards a field of scraggly grass sprinkled with flowering agave plants.

Holding his hands up in prayerful obeisance, tripping man ventured to the center of the field. As he chewed the leaves, an aura of salvinorin molecules breathed outwardly from his body. The air was soon painted with a green and purplish haze.

Tripping man now began to focus on his heart. It felt like a rhythmic drum beat rising in intensity from deep inside his chest. Louder and louder it pounded. Louder and Louder and suddenly a Giant RIPPPING sound: the ground in front of tripping man RIPPED open like an earthen Zipper made of Shrieking gravel.

Rising out of the opened earth in front of tripping man’s astonished eyes was a trail of seven curanderos, each waving a reddish-black transformation mask in his hand. The seven men were identical replicas of each other. They erupted from the ground like an undulating serpent -- like a snake of clones -- like a roller coasting dragon. Scanning past tripping man’s eyes, the trail of curanderos all flashed mischievous grins before disappearing back into the grassy knoll from which they, only seconds before, originally sprang.

Tripping man’s legs quickly buckled, and he sank down to a kneeling position. Two dragonflies, one winged with gold and one winged with rubies, darted in front of tripping man’s face. They froze in mid air, then danced together in flight before darting off again. All this while a rustling wind sang in whispered tones a hauntingly salvia-esque corrido across the Oaxacan nightscape.

The crescent moon gently orbited an outstretched tip of a palmetto branch as tripping man mashed out with his teeth the last of the quid juice. No longer sure if his eyes were wide open or tightly shut, he soon lost the ability to focus on anything in front of his rubbery body.

Now, with a fresh upsurge of salvinorin molecules traversing his veins, tripping man emptied his awareness of all extraneous baggage. His consciousness began to drift away: to recede like an ocean tide. Filling in the void were approaching visuals only his fellow travelers of salvia space could have imagined.

What appeared as a darkened wheel as wide as the night sky began to roll against the ground towards tripping man. Not to be outdone, the ground pushed back like retinal lava directly against the motion of the sky. The ground and sky became like two giant organic gears working in unison; the mechanics of which eluded tripping man‘s conceptual understanding.

Although tripping man’s brain was barely functioning, he pivoted to the left and recognized his horse that had previously been tied to an exposed agave root. The horse was now being dragged across the night of consciousness itself, along with an accompanying system of ever miniaturizing horses: all fractaling away from tripping man’s point of view. The horses slid off into the distance like an MC Escher painting; a spiraling staircase of wooden horses: hundreds of them, all purple and green, all rocking together in synchronized unison.

After a while, tripping man slowly stood up and surveyed the situation around him. What looked like rodents or hairy elves were scurrying around in the dark, apparently trying to put everything back together again, back to where everything was before the salvia journey began.

Scanning the terrain in sweeping motions, tripping man’s eyes searched for his friend the holy man. Suddenly, the cry of a coyote cut a jagged note across the valley. In the distance was the frozen silhouette of something silvery brown. Its eyes, one ringed with gold and one ringed with rubies, stared back at tripping man’s face. And then it was gone.

Tripping man stood there and smiled; and he continued to smile while fireflies arched like stars toward the morning dawn.

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

2D People Inside Linoleum Worlds

(image by michelle jader)

(18x - one hit)
Transcribed a few minutes after actual trip.

##------##

How can I explain How can I explain How Can I Explain????????
....All those people from other worlds peeling off my eyeballs??

They were like two dimensional magnetic sheets containing compressed representations of our everyday world.

I fucking saw the heel from someone’s magnetized foot pulling away from my fucking RETINAS.
Multiple people inside multiple worlds peeling out of my fucking EYES.


There were people actually talking to me as they looked down at my body which was positioned near a floor. Each different person was speaking from a totally different world. These ‘world peelings’ were like some kind of futuristic, magnetized, semi-transparent linoleum being pulled off a ground surface of some kind (directly in front of the outer edges of my eyeballs).

Shit. The people in these other worlds were carbon copies of the people in our everyday world. They kept telling me to stop fucking with the Matrix. They didn’t actually say, “Don’t fuck with the Matrix.” It was more like they were continuously trying to keep my mental self-awareness down so that I wouldn’t figure out What The Fuck Was Really Going ON.
I could actually hear their normal-sounding voices. They were as vivid as if heard in a television soap opera -- and I was embedded in the soap opera;
THEY WERE PISSED THAT I WAS FUCKING WITH THEIR REALITY PROGRAM.
THIS SHIT WAS REAL REALITY TV.

############

For an hour I sat in my lazy boy chair holding onto my pipe, too nervous to take the hit. I knew that some HEAVYOSITY was coming my way, but I never expected this.

This trip was high tech, but only in the sense that our mundane, everyday world was being replicated right in front of my retinas. These everyday worlds were like 2D sheets of magnetized, semi-transparent linoleum carrying people away as they were being rapidly scanned (3 ScansPerSecond) from the outer edges of my eyeballs.

The people in these linoleum sheets were trying to keep my cerebral awareness at a minimum. They were telling me something like, “You’re not supposed to know about this, intruder.”

So there it is -- another day, another hit. Tune in tomorrow -- same bat-shit time, same bat-shit channel.

#########
EDIT (a few hours later)
#########

When I was watching those semi-transparent, linoleum floors scanning away, I wasn't in my kitchen staring at the floor. I was in a darkened room with my eyes closed. The visuals weren't caused by my last retinal imprint.

While they were scanning off my eyeballs, I got the very strong impression that if I could lock on to one of those worlds (with a kind of retinal will power), then I would have been able to enter that world. Each of those worlds were incredibly close to our everyday world. Maybe the fact that the hallucinated worlds were so Earth-like could actually help a tripper fit into that Earth-world facsimile. It's possible that the people in these scanning worlds realized my intent to enter their particular world. That might be why they tried to dissuade me from entering. I guess that would really have wrecked the Matrix.

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

Sometimes Things Go Wrong When Smoking Salvia

(image by mark ryden)

What the hell just happened? This was no normal trip into salvia land. I can still feel strange sensations running up and down my backbone. I really shouldn't post this trip report………….

It all began with my usual pre trip meditation walk in the dark. I held a small LED flashlight in my hand to guide me as I mentally prepared for the sojourn. It was approaching 1 AM. Everything was quiet in my apartment complex. I sat down on my foam pad and held the pipe in my hand. I grabbed my Bic lighter and lit the bowl of 10x/plain leaf blend. Blowing the smoke out of my mouth, I had no sense of concern, assured that I had already taken down my smoke alarm and placed it in a drawer in another room (or so I thought). I took another hit. As the smoke billowed from my lips, I started to notice the usual rotation effect of my closed eye visuals. I began to drift away…drift away…drift away…..HOLY SHIT !!!!!!

I FORGOT TO REMOVE MY SMOKE ALARM AND THE SMOKE IS CREEPING TOWARDS IT.
Oh, and by the way, I’M FUCKING TRIPPING !!!!!!

Tripping or not, my mind was filled with one thing and one thing only: the prospect of my smoke alarm shrieking at one o’clock in the morning throughout the apartment complex. It was flight or fight time and I needed to fly over to my smoke alarm before it went off. Still in the dark, I immediately rose up from my foam pad. My mind was now a ball of torrid confusion. My legs were a bundle of twitchy, rubbery muscles; but I had an important task to carry out, and I needed to keep my brain together long enough to accomplish the goal.

I made it over to the wall switch and turned on the light. There was a table nearby that I could stand on to reach the smoke alarm. I pushed the table underneath the alarm, but something was wrong. My brain was having a hard time keeping up with my actions. My hands were attached to the legs of the table and I couldn‘t remove them. They were frozen onto the legs as if I were being mildly electrocuted. Also, there were little cartoon animals running down the length of my arms. They provided a kind of stretching action to my arms. I became absorbed in the antics of the little cartoon animals. This seemed to last an eternity. I just stood there hunched over motionless with my arms attached to the table legs.

I could feel strange sensations traveling up and down the length of my spinal column. What the hell was going on? Where was I? Who was I? Why was I hunched over with my spinal column tingling all over? Then it hit me. “JESUS CHRIST, my fucking smoke alarm is about to go off.”

I began to see into the immediate future. My smoke alarm would wake up the neighbors. Someone would knock on the door. I would open it, still hunched over clutching a table leg like some crazed freak. I’m sure I would have said something like, “It’s OK, I’m stoned on salvia. I’m tripping on a major hallucinogen. Nothing to see here, move along.” But that didn’t happen. At least not yet. I still needed to free my hands from the table so that I could stand on it.

Now, mind you. I was in the plateau phase of the salvia trip. My mind kept wanting to smear all across the living room walls. I had to keep my brain together because I needed to jump up and stand on the table. That, of course, was a bad idea. Rule number six in the salvia handbook states: "Don’t fucking stand on tall pieces of furniture when you’re tripping". But I had to get to that smoke alarm, so I jumped onto the table. I knew that if I slipped and fell, the smoke alarm would go off and an ambulance would arrive to take me to the hospital for a 72 hour psycho hold.

I grabbed onto the base of the smoke alarm in order to twist it off. Again, there was a problem. My brain refused to communicate with my hands, and my mind once again started to drift. While standing on the table with my hands grasping the smoke alarm, I began to visualize my body transforming into the hind leg of a mechanical cow, its belly the same off-white color as my living room ceiling. Somehow I had suddenly become an integral component of an otherworldly bovine space station slowly rotating in hyperspace. Thankfully the visual dispersed and I soon came to. Twisting off the smoke alarm, I stumbled over to a kitchen drawer and shut the alarm away.

Next, I just stood there alone in my apartment. Everything was peacefully quiet. No ambulance had arrived to take me away. The tiny cartoon animals had gone from whence they came. I then turned off the light, sat down on my foam pad, and sighed a sigh of relief. The trip was over.

#postscript#
I don’t know if there was enough smoke in the room to actually set off a smoke alarm, but try telling that to someone tripping on salvia who’s only mission in life is to remove said smoke alarm.

Friday, November 11, 2011

Eyes That Were Once My Own

(image concept by 'FrenchMachine')

“Wake up, Humans. Wake up to the Truth!”
That’s what the man at the corner of 5th and Main was shouting.
“Wake Up, Humans!” he yelled again.

I turned off my Ipod and placed the ear buds in my front shirt pocket. I then walked up to him and looked into his troubled eyes.
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
He tilted his head and tried fixing his gaze on me. Through his field of vision, he watched as my body slowly rotated. Not only was my body rotating; he could see everything around me rotating in synchronization with my body. As he continued to gaze in my direction, he watched as the sidewalk rolled across his retinas, along with an attached street lamp and a blue post office box.

The man then brought his hands up to his face and began rubbing his eyes. “Don’t you understand?” he asked. “Don’t you see what’s going on all around us?”
I turned my head and surveyed the downtown area around me. Everything seemed normal for a Monday afternoon. What was I even doing talking to this guy? He was obviously a homeless man, probably a wandering schizophrenic.
I calmly said, “I don’t see anything strange.”

The man suddenly swooned and fell over onto his side in the middle of the sidewalk. Tears began rolling down his cheeks, and without talking, he raised his arm and pointed a finger at a storefront across the street. To my amazement, I could see a bright, ghost-like figure slowly moving toward us.

I took my eyes off the ghost heading in our direction and looked back down at the disheveled man. A wave of fear immediately surged through me as I saw his body quickly decomposing. Little bug-like creatures resembling robotic maggots were bubbling all over him. His body began to shapeshift. The features on his face were changing as were the clothes he was wearing. After what seemed like ten seconds, the homeless man had totally transformed into another human being.

The transformed human was now wearing the clothes of a postal worker. He opened his eyes, smiled up at me and said, “Wow, this heat must have gotten the best of me. Could you help me up?” I put my arms around his upper back and helped him to his feet. Still smiling, he said, “Thank you, sir.” I then watched him walk over to the blue mail box. He inserted a key, unlocked a small opening, and pulled out a white plastic box containing some letter mail. He grabbed the letters and placed the plastic container back inside. After relocking the mail box, he gave me a polite salute and walked away. I stood there with a complete look of amazement and confusion as he rounded a corner and was out of sight.

A frozen moment passed before I was jarred back to reality by a commotion a couple of blocks from my location. Up the street a small group of people were standing in a circle. They seemed to be looking down at something. My heart was already pumping hard, so I decided to work off some adrenaline by jogging up to them.

When I arrived, I could see an anguished woman in her early thirties sitting down on a curb. She was in the middle of a conversation and wiping her face with a tissue when she said, “They don’t want us talking about them.”
A man in the circle asked, “Who doesn’t want us talking about them?
“The salvia beings.” replied the woman. “They are the ones taking over. They’re taking over our bodies.” The woman then stood up, surveyed the people around her and said, “The salvia beings are turning us into clones. They’re replacing us with human copies. They look like people, but they're different from us.”

While I was listening to her, I lost my balance and began to stumble. I quickly grabbed the shoulder of a man next to me wearing a Yankees baseball cap. He turned his head in my direction and asked, “Mister, are you OK? Do you need some help?” There was something about his alien expression that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

I was beginning to feel very dizzy so I decided to crouch down. I tried in vain to grab hold of the ground. It felt like the whole world was rotating around me like a post apocalyptic circus ride. The entire downtown area was rotating. I couldn’t believe what was happening. It was like a scene from some futuristic movie. The woman who had been talking looked over at me with a secretive hint of concern. She held out her hand to me, but it began to stretch like taffy before I could grab it.

My mind now blacking out, I could still hear the woman’s distant audibles echoing over to me. It sounded like she was saying, “Don’t let them cover your mind with amnesia. You’ve got to hold on to your sense of self.”

But it was too late. I was already losing it. The whole downtown was rotating like some beastly gyroscope of bent buildings and twisted concrete. My hands were tingling. I could see tiny bug people sprouting all over my arms like bacteria. It then dawned on me what was happening. I was turning into a clone. I was losing my identity. I was losing my life.

The next moment my head slammed down onto the street’s hard surface. My face felt like it was spreading out into a two dimensional film stretching into infinity. I tried to close my eyes, but it was no use. A clone was already looking through the eyes that were once my own.

Wednesday, May 25, 2011

She's Waxing Reality Off My Face

(image by iain macarthur)

I was reading alone in my livingroom, when suddenly there arose a loud cry coming from my den. Putting down my book, I ran into the room and saw Mr. Swim sitting in the darkness, his hands clutching the armrests of his recliner. Immediately, he arched his head back and shouted,
"She's Waxing Reality Off My Face!"

I raised my arm to turn on the light, but he grabbed my shirt and said, "Keep It Dark. I can still see the trailing edge of the reality moving away from me. It's like a woman's wedding gown sliding across the surface of a floor, flowing into the distance like retinal lava."

I asked him what was going on, and he answered that he had just smoked some extract.
"How much did you smoke?" I asked.
"Some plain leaf topped off with 10x," was his reply.
I was worried that he was freaking out, but he said he was calming down because it all seemed so familiar.
"What do you mean, it seems so familiar?"
He was silent for a moment. Then he said, "Whenever I do extract, all my trips start out with the same opening visuals."
I then asked, "What do you see?"

He adjusted his chair, leaned back and said, "The opening visual field usually contains some brightly lit building blocks. During this latest trip, the building blocks transformed into carvings of mallard ducks. Except they weren't ducks. They were people, all cloned from the same wooden original. They arranged themselves into the shape of a chair. It's like the back of the chair was made of two vertical mallard people connected together by four horizontal mallard people.
I poked his recliner and said, "And then what happened?"

Mr. Swim continued, "I must have blacked out for a few seconds. When I came to, I saw the back side of a human being flowing towards me. As soon as I recognized the form as a human, it immediately began to deconstruct. The human's back broke up into horizontal bricks, and then rematerialized as the surface of a coffee table. This all happened within a couple of seconds. It's as if the human wanted to cloak himself into the table, to hide within the table's ubiquity."
I stood there trying to gather this all in. Then I asked him,
"So what did you mean when you yelled, 'She's waxing reality off my face'?"

Mr. Swim lifted up his hand and dragged it across his hairline.
"It's like someone grabbed hold of my scalp and ripped my face off. But it wasn't my face being ripped off. It was reality being ripped off. I no longer identified with my material face. I now identified with the visual membrane flowing away from my face. I had been sucked through my eye holes into a visual world that now contained me and all my identity. Time had seemingly broken in two. I could see my face receeding into its own temporal field; and now I was traveling in time through a different temporal field."

I stood there in the darkness watching him, my mouth ajar.
Mr. Swim continued, "There was something beautiful about this visual membrane. It was half organic, half inorganic. It was completely made out of interconnecting entities, similar to people, all working together to form this living, constantly morphing hyperdimensional tissue. It was like an alien civilization living in a type of cosmic womb. I knew intuitively that if graphic artists could duplicate what I saw, the world would change overnight. It would be a REVELATION, a REVOLUTION."

Mr. Swim then adjusted his chair back to an upright position.
I asked him if he wanted the light back on, but he replied that he was going to sit there and collect his thoughts. He was considering posting them on the internet.

And so I exited the room and closed the door behind me.

Thursday, April 7, 2011

Should We Leave The Salvia World And Its Beings Alone?

(image Rob Gonsalves 'acrobatic engineering')

......Oh shit......I just saw it roll over my (sub)conscious mind. I even heard voices of some guys saying something like, "stop it, stop it", or "don't let, don't let".
There IS a fucking reality out there filled with people. Our (sub)conscious minds are able to roll up on this other world while we are tripping. All I remember is these beings yelling something like, "don't let, don't let". When I heard that, I panicked and the trip aborted before the guys could finish their sentence. I then began to frantically claw my way back to consensus reality. These beings were human-like. They spoke in English. They DID NOT want their world to be exposed.
So what the fuck do I do NOW?

I’m going back there. All this shit has not been for nothing. There IS a fucking world out there. It's composed of beings who want to remain hidden. This other world is in our fucking MINDS. It is real and salvia exposes it.
And I got it all on audio.

I was totally attached to the visual as it was rolling over. The visual was a self contained reality unfolding itself temporally. When I saw the (two?) male beings, their bodies were embedded onto the surface of the reality sheet as it was unfolding. Their words "don't let, don't let" were also embedded onto the unfolding sheet. When I saw the beings and heard them speak, at first I tried to memorize the words. Then I tried to fight my way back to my voice recorder. I think there's a lot of silence on it.

Even though I just heard a few words, the point was clear. "Don't fuck with our world."
But guess what? I’m going right back there with my voice recorder, even if I end up with a heart attack.
I listened to the audio. Here is the transcript :
"OK....ha ha....I see....." followed by four minutes and fifty seconds of irregular breathing.
But I did mention later that the world was the very same and familiar world I’ve always seen, except this time up close and personal.......with beings that spoke in English?? WTF?
Yeah, what is it with all the secrecy? BFD. These beings are humanoids who speak our language. We access them through our minds. Don't we have a fucking right to visit their reality?
Hey, I have approx 200 hits of 10x and 50 hits of 25x to explore their world. They will have to kill me to stop me.

I can't remember anything about the salvia world that rolled by/through/over me. But I’m sure that I saw it all in splendid hi res technicolor. I wish I could have gotten the details into my voice recorder. :(
This trip was a major milestone for me. I have always wanted to actually communicate with a being. The dialogue was one sided, I listened while the beings spoke. The words were actually audible, but not through the ears, rather through the mind.
The vibe I got was that these beings were like sentries who were visibly upset/afraid of salvia reality being exposed.

Another major vibe I got was that this salvia reality is too well established for only me and a few others to know about. The vibe is that there is a network of people who are Very aware of this 'other world', and they are monitoring websites to see if anyone new "comes on-line", so to speak. I know that sounds paranoid, but WTH.
This salvia world seems to be far more primordial than our consensus world outpost. The salvia world is like an established empire, an empire deeply hidden within the strange confines of our entheo-awakened minds.

When I saw those talking beings, they unfolded out of a rolling civilization. They and their words were embedded into the topography or infrastructure of the actual reality. The whole thing was somewhere between 2d and 3d.

There are many different types of salvia trips. Only a small percentage of trips sound like mine. My trips are about another civilization cloaked in concealment.. It's like a child's secret garden, full of innocent beings. They allow me to play in the garden as long as I don’t tell the adults about it.
I'm going to throw away the note pad and voice recorder and just play in the garden.

/////////////////

I've been trying out my newly purchased (no frills) vaporizer. At first I was using plain leaf. I tried getting the temp hot, but the experiences were underwhelming. Tonight I decided to try the 10x. I retired to my bedroom, turned out the lights, and plopped onto bed.
I noticed a slight heartburn and tried to burp it away. No luck. I don't like to trip with any background pain, but I figured that the 10x wasn't going to get sufficiently vaped anyway. So I lit up and slowly sucked the vape into my lungs. The aroma tasted like popcorn. I began to see visuals, so I knew it was working. The visuals weren't very strong though. Suddenly, I noticed something odd. Instead of peaking quickly as with regular smoke, I experienced myself slowly elevating upwards. The visuals stopped, but I kept elevating. It reminded me of weed. I felt like I was in two worlds at once. The world of the living and some other world. I also began to notice the pain in my heart area. The never ending elevation along with the heart pain started to freak me out. I began to realize that I was acclimating to my own upcoming death. I rose up from my bed and got the hell out of my bedroom. I figured that I would be better off in my living room. While walking through the hallway, I got the very strong impression that my dead mother was waiting there in the living room. She had been sent to escort me back to the other world. I was completely awash in the specter of my own death.

When I reached the living room, my mom was not there. I found my trusted recliner and sat down. I got the vibe that the world of the dead is the more real world, and the world of the living is a type of ongoing experiment : a chance for the dead to experience life.
So now my heartburn is fading away, and my vaporizor sits on the table. It whispers to me, "come back, the popcorn's ready."

////////////////

I wonder what the Mazatecs would think about vaping? Vaping isn't the same as smoking.
I hit the same half bowl of 10x in my vaporizor two more times, for a grand total of three hits. I got strong visuals all three times, my last hit the strongest of all. Unfortunately, there were no beings or no sounds. The visuals, while vivid, were very nondescript. I'm going to empty the bowl and burn it in a regular pipe to see if any salvinorin is left.

I got the vibe that were it not for living human beings, there would be no knowledge of the universe, no knowledge of the beauty nor of the random violence. This is assuming that there aren't other advanced life forms around.
Human beings are creatures that are capable of intellectualizing the universe. We are the universe's ability to reflect upon itself. This spectacle of humans driving around and ordering cheeseburgers from open mouthed mechanical cartoon faces at drive-throughs is an absurd farce.
We are the fucking universe gazing at itself.......
AND IT'S ORDERING A HAPPY MEAL.
.
.

Saturday, January 15, 2011

A Lady Wearing Dainty White Gloves

(image by Yoko d'Holbachie)



Rabbit dives headfirst down the rabbit hole.
Pokes his head out, looks at you and says..........

"Do you guys experience visuals that enMESH with your tripping mind, creating a structure made out of interconnecting, solid, metallic pieces that, while always entwined, move up and down and all around creating forms while still maintaining their interconnectedness? And do you FEEL this structure as it becomes you? And is it HEAVY like a visual carpet made of parallel bicycle chains? Weighty? Settling down like a twisting, rolling montrously half alive half machine THING moving and churning and creating objects out of itself?"

-------G
------F
-----E
----D
---C
--B
-A long line of tiny black cats were running in place as their furry bodies curved up a tea cup being lifted up by a lady wearing dainty white gloves.

“What’s going on?” the lady said politely, looking at her legs that seemed to go on for miles.
“Did you put something in my tea?” she asked, somewhat hesitantly.
“Who are you speaking to, dear?” another lady enquired.
“I really don’t know. Who am I?”
“You’re you, dear“. The other lady replied.

The lady with the white gloves dropped her teacup, and she watched it descend in slow motion, eventually smashing into the yellow tiled dining room floor. Instead of fragments of the cup’s fine china careening outwardly, the lady with the white gloves saw tiny, shiny hummingbirds radiating from the point of impact.

“Oh my,” the lady with the white gloves gasped. “I don’t think I’m quite right at all. What in heaven’s name did you put in that tea?”
The other lady answered, “Oh, you must mean the crystals of pure salvinorin that I told you to place under your tongue. Did you get an effect?”

“WWWHHHOOOAAA”

The lady with the white gloves began to twist to her right, her body slicing away into anotheREALITY. Her outstretched hand pressed against a membrane embedded with hundreds of tiny men shaped like shiny toys.
“Wow, woW, wow, wOw ,woW. I really need to get home.’
“You have a new home,” the other lady said. You’re with us now. You can’t go back.”

The lady with the white gloves placed her fingers inside her mouth.
“PATOOUUY,” she spit, running as fast as she could out the front door of the other lady’s house.

The other lady walked over and looked out her window. “I forgot to get her name,” she said softly to herself, as she placed the vial of pure salvinorin back into its secret place.