DOSE:

1 hit

oral

LSD

BODY WEIGHT:

175 lb

Keep this theme in mind: It's not the words that matter; it's the experience. It may not make sense to you now, but it will at the end. I promise.

In the middle of the trip, I wanted to try something I had learned from my grade school teachers during a brainstorming session. It went something like this:

okay. just type out everything and anything you think of:

Except that doesn't appropriately fit this scenario right now. Let's modify the constraints a bit:

Type out everything and anything coherent and meaningful that you think of.
Okay. Go:

Quite frankly, anything beyond 'soft' marijuana is hard psychologically. Coke, meth, heroin--those are the easy ones to identify. But we also have a whole underappreciated, unrecognized class of drugs: psychedelics.

LSD induces a thought pattern not unlike that of shrooms, which in itself isn't unlike that of a schizophrenic's mind--I suppose acid is our gateway to their minds, as subjects on acid display brain activity akin to that of a schizophrenic's. Therefore, I find it important to savour our short trip into their minds, and take note of the symptoms while it lasts, for we cannot aid those we cannot understand.

In fact, at times it's not about translating into words that matters--as I am, right now--but experiencing the symptoms, since there are many things that cannot be expressed with words; for example, we don't have a vocabulary that can convey internal experiences appropriately to others (I forget what the word is, I'll look it up when I'm sober). The point being: our observations, no matter how minuscule, cannot be adequately described with words.

So here we are, 3:16 AM, Eastern Standard Time, and I'm sitting half-baked on my half-baked, half-assed laptop on half my ass, tripping on acid. I'm writing about this experience not for myself, necessarily, but for others too, so as to shine some light on this subject. Yes--I have considered writing about this later while sober, but that wouldn't have properly conveyed my point; for example, can we really compare a 21st century, brand spanking-new, farm-fresh history textbook to the 20th century, squalid and dilapidated, soot-covered original memoirs of Anne Frank? The answer is obvious: things written in the moment carry more weight.

So here we are, 3:34 AM, Eastern Standard Time, and I'm sitting upright on my upright, tight laptop on my upright ass. As I find it more and more difficult to take this experience--to seize this epiphany and squeeze it into our pathetic English lexicon--but never mind that, I'll try.

Try to imagine this: you're sitting at a park. It's any other day really--sunshine here and there, your daily contacts bugging you about daily things, and whatever else there is. A little boy, perhaps four or five years old, but definitely of walking and talking age, comes up to you, and he asks if you would fancy a treat that he holds hidden in his fist. You smile at this little, precocious boy--not because you enjoy his presence, necessarily, but as a social obligation, as he's just another annoyance in this world. You smile at him, and you say:

'Sure, I'd love to have a look at that.'

He stares at you, frowns and pouts, and says, 'I know you're faking your feelings.'

That takes you by surprise, of course--why would a little boy have such complex thought processes capable of understanding theory of mind? And so you inquire:

'Why, what? I--I would never!'
'It's okay.' He closes his eyes and smiles and opens his fist. 'Try this, I think you'd like it.'

As you peer into his little hand, you find that it's just another peppermint candy. You push the crazy thought of his brain having the capacity to--whatever, that isn't important. You take the candy, fakely smile back to him, and he walks away, humming some arcane tune kids hum these days.

But--here's where the most vital part of understanding what an acid trip is like comes in--as you take the confectionery and begin to put it in your mouth, you suddenly, quite suddenly realize that he was your grandson, and--for a split second--you realize that you had been repeating for a decade the act of smiling at your own grandson, being surprised by his response, and taking his candy. One decade! You demented old bat! How could you not remember your own grandson, the one you cherished and loved and held in your arms as he was born? Come to think of it, he's not that young--I mean, he has a beard and all--and he comes by every Sunday at 3:00 PM to ask if some doctor is treating you alright and if you've taken your daily multivitamins. And for that moment, you realize what your life has become, and for that moment you understand your whole life--just long enough to shed a single tear.

Pop--the candy goes into your mouth. So it was peppermint, just as you had thought. You take one glance at the kid, sigh, and go back to your day off. Oh, perhaps you should go home soon, because it may've begun to rain--your cheeks are a bit wet.

Fin.

Back to reality. It's 4:15 AM, and I'm finding it more and more difficult to stay awake and think coherently. What I tried to convey using that rather protracted story is that acid is about that moment where you just--you know, know. Likewise, I don't think it wise that you waste your time reading some intoxicated user's garbage about some silly drug. Go ahead and try acid. Just try it--for the sake of knowing.

Oh, and did you remember what I said at the beginning? ;).

4:24 AM, Eastern Standard Time. Lights out.

Exp Year: 2014	ExpID: 104147
Gender: Male
Age at time of experience: 19
Published: Jul 15, 2020	Views: 672
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