I dedicate this passage to D – who doesn’t know what it’s like to come up on LSD.
To commit oneself to an unseen future… an unknown duration… a guesstimated dosage. I bet when D thinks of drugs he thinks of is as binary, “under the influence” or “not under the influence”. He doesn’t intimately know the slings and rushes of commencement.
Like a defendant during trial, waiting, waiting… no way to undo the sentence and no idea what it’ll be.
Cultural wars waged over this drug, corruption around its distribution at all levels. And for me, personally, it’s the only one I do without knowing the maker, the dose, the trail from its birth to my mouth. Because its active dose is so small, it’s not worth it financially to cut the purity with anything, and even if it were, nothing can poison in that small a dose. All I know about this stuff is that it had smilie faces on it, it was once in Canada, and a 19-year-old raver chick from Winnipeg assured me it’s “mellow, nothing to worry about…” which for me is a contradiction in terms.
Hear this D: there’s nothing worse than being caught on the threshold. The cowards who choose low doses probably do so because of the fear induced by their very choices. More is not always scarier or more intense.
The LSD asks you to choose its world or yours – and only the willing are given a tour.
So now I sit, stomach rolling, body pushing all toxins to the surface in its innocent effort to excrete the LSD – already absorbed – already passed through me and breathed and sweated out before I’ve even felt the first effects.
It’s been, what, an hour? Did I pay for the ticket without getting the ride?
Body check: increased salivation, thick mucous at the back of the throat, head clear and heart rate only slightly increased (I thank the Lord for organic local food). I am tripping, yes, but I’d guess the dose is ~50mcg. Barely noticeable. My parents’ generation would ingest 10X this amount, ideally, I’d like about 3-4X.
To augment or not to augment, easier to make that choice for someone else than for me. I’m tampering with duration, not intensity. It’s 4:00 pm. Tripping is fun during the day, but the night can wear on if you’ve no one to play with. I am not scared of being taken too far, it’s just that I have things to do tomorrow.
If I increase the dose, I’ll be up all night. And if I don’t, I won’t really trip.
I took 2 of those, dammit. And I don’t even barely feel it. People take 1. That’s why they make them, you know, cut that size, instead of 5X that size. Or is it just marketing?
A bunch of fucking pussies, my generation.
I doubt, D, that at this dose you could tell the difference between the great and powerful LSD and sobriety if you were now in my place.
It’s only prior knowledge that hints at the experience. The shadows on the cement patio COULD be purple. I sense their purpleness. However, they are not actually purple. The music teases me with nuance, yet even when I listen for it it refuses to reveal itself. My thoughts glance off of my divinity, but can’t get inside the lockbox. My handwriting could slant down at a 45 degree angle and take up 1/3 of the page – but no – I’m still able to keep the pen in between the lines set by Mead corporation and the letters, for the most part, don’t have more loops than they are supposed to.
And so, instead of spending the past 1.25 hours coming up on the psychedelic that changed America – I have come up on an LSD-tinged sobriety.
Should I have held them in my mouth longer? The 2 small tabs of blotter paper? Would that have done it?
They were so bitter. I felt and tasted that they’d been either stored with perfume or that the dropper used to drop x # of drops of liquid LSD on them had previously been used for perfume… but still the bitterness made me nervous. LSD has no taste – at least, not at human doses. Bitterness can be a sign of additives, impurities… Scariness. So I considered putting them in my vagina so I wouldn’t have to taste them – thought better of it and threw them out. Sad – I think it was just the smilie face ink that made up the bulk of the bitterness. Still – I have sucked on blotter for less time and it’s worked swimmingly.
Oh well. Without the trip LSD has almost no effect on the body. I’d compare it to 1/3 of a cup of coffee. Mild laxative effect, slightly increased heart rate/breathing, some mild skin sensitivity, a hint of tension, and a very, very clear head. Only now that I’ve learned to be in touch with my body do I notice it.
I’ve had a similar experience, took 2 of ancient LSD and they didn’t work, but I was so “on” that I didn’t feel it at all, because caffeine and nutrasweet set my baseline off already.
Stunning really. That something so mild on the body could be so glaringly real, so terrifically overwhelming to the psyche. Neurons re-trained for life.
I guess sometimes we learn as much from “not tripping” as we do from “tripping”. Today I’ve re-learned these drug lessons:
1. Caution sucks. 2. Whether it’s the 1st time or the 100th, the decision to take a drug is not really in the hands of the person taking the drug, it’s the drug that decides. 3. Don’t wait years between trips. You forget how. 4. LSD will make you lose weight even if you don’t spend 10-15 hours not eating. 5. Never trust Canadians. 6. Drugs definitely make one less nauseous during the “take off” if one has a clean body/emotional plate. 7. Unless someone warns you “This is REALLY heavy acid man” and that person is age 50+ – just take 3 to start with, with LSD it’s really better to overdose than underdose. At least you have both feet on the ground… aren’t stuck straddling the threshold… devoting all your strategic time and mental energy to assessing a state that isn’t.
8. When all else fails, press the giant button marked SYNERGY:
9. Me like the weed. Me like the sex. Weed and .02 on a scale of 1-10 of LSD oh the joy of a bump up in the trip, the emotion, the empathy, the telepathy, but a dulling of the clarity, the joy of LSD is the trip/mild stimulant, and when the weed dulls the stimulus its just the trip it’s so so good and yummy but my mind, no longer sharp as a tack, ah well. Instead:
Sex! And as I’m coming (before the sex), my mind calls up images beyond my control, beyond my normal scope, every man whose ever fucked or fingered me – the biker in the hooker motel, the black door-to-door salesman, the coked up movie producer, the drunken dogfucker, and yes D, you too, and they all meld into one and became the archetypal fucker… and my current man just laughs and laughs his sober lil’ heart out at that… and then fucks me…
10. Three is the magic number:
What they never explain about N2O is why it is called laughing gas. Yah, okay, we all know the common explanation. “It compels you to laugh”. But they don’t tell you that the deep, utter, undeniable and growing physical pleasure of the experience consumes your mind, body, soul, and a latticework of sound and images of pure pulsing play on human buttons, buttons for which you can’t imagine a use as nothing in the last 1000 years of evolution has touched them and the intensity expands within you, until your framework is undone, your capacity expanded and the only thing left to do is laugh, laugh your heart out.
Laugh at the sheer goodness of it all (orange and sparkly, geometries born in the patterns of life!) and marvel at your capability to feel it and as it recedes, you get what you’re laughing at, and laugh even harder in self-awareness, at your own self-induced madness.
11. And later, when all has settled: Synergy Is Good; Make Lemonade.
And now, fuck, here I am. Swearing my fucking head off. Raving about Canadians. In other words: back to my normal old self.
Another story about Nitrous: Experience Maintenance
Another story about Canadians: Pink Taser