Citation: D X Meth-Head. "Encounters With Anesthetized Corpses: An Experience with 4-AcO-DMT & 2C-B (exp115355)". Erowid.org. Apr 8, 2021. erowid.org/exp/115355
||(powder / crystals)
||(powder / crystals)
Last night I ingested the overhead compounds and encountered a lady who gorged her nostrils in so much ketamine (combined with exorbitant amounts of oral ethyl alcohol) that she took the form of a lifeless corpse, I assumed that this was my first encounter with human death. Caveat lector.
On this day, I was entirely stress-free, I had finished exams and rewarded myself by reading The Story of the Eye by Georges Bataille in its entirety whilst chewing nicotine gum. The night began with the swallowing of a pullulan capsule filled with 19mg 2C-B along with a friend who ingested 15mg, after which I joined a ethanol-fuelled flat party where myself and others paraded around a man who swallowed a shot of Vodka whilst standing on his head. His face took the colour of a strangled aubergine, everyone cheered. The effects of the 2C-B were mild yet introspective, I sat on the sofa and closed my eyes and become absorbed into a state of comfortable unity with my thoughts, I then looked into a nearby mirror and my face looked symmetrically cyclopean, my eyes converging into the region of my pineal chakra whilst the walls in the background bounced in a Shiva-esque motion. The mildness of psychoactivity bored me, so I snorted a 13mg mote of 4-AcO-DMT powder, thoughts became fast-paced and erratic as a crescendo of psychedelia interposed into my mind.
Fast forward to a later point, nearing midnight, I haphazardly weighed 17mg of the psilocin-ester on to my weighing scales and snorted some more. The onset of effects was rapid, I told my friend that I was about to engage in a personal epopteia in my room, so she left to her own hidey-hole for some time. Euphorigenesis took hold of my floundering body, I was almost sick with pure amazement. The euphoria didn't feel pharmacologically-induced, it felt as though my own thoughts caused this bliss. I very rarely masturbate, but when I read exciting books I occasionally undergo spontaneous rapture that forces me to put down my book and quiver in a whole-body palpitation for a few minutes. Call me pretentious, but I don't like ejaculating semen so this acts as physiological succedaneum for the void of sexual pleasure in my life. I thought of plans for a new society that predicates itself on an intimate knowledge of pharmacology and chemistry, a Star Trek society that explores the realms of human knowledge for the sake of exploring. This was a pure terrestrial delight.
After this I forced myself into the communal kitchen where I encountered my friend who had ingested 2C-B earlier and offered her two 10mg capsules of 4-AcO-DMT. She accepted them with glee and cooked a meal of vegan chicken with noodles and broth. I continued to writhe around on the kitchen floor, orgasmically ululating about plans to disintegrate the techno-hazed society that I currently habituate myself in.
Roughly 20 minutes later, the ethanol men and women staggered in. Three people huddled around what looked like a female cadaver, straggling her into the kitchen. I immediately arose from my inner-bacchanalia and investigated the situation. She looked like Mary Magdalen in the painting Mary Magdalen in Ecstasy, the room was almost silent bar the sounds of the lady drooling exudates of saliva into a spittle bowl. The helpers were moving her legs for her, her eyes rolled back into her cranium. I coquettishly asked if she was dead, but the others said she was just anaesthetised. She looked like the embodiment of mind-body dissociation. Another man floundered in, also on copious amounts of this arylcyclohexylamine anaesthetic, he walked as though the gravitational constant of earth increased significantly. One of my lady friends began to berate him for being a privileged white man who can't handle drugs, as he stared at her in an indolent gaze, his mouth wide open and drooling. I am quite dissociated from reality anyways, I usually see social situations as a journalistic venture. With this in mind, I started to narrate the events around me.
ME: HERE I SEE A LADY, THE CLOSEST I HAVE EVER SEEN A HUMAN TO DEATH, THIS IS ELEUSINIAN POETRY OF THE MOST PROFOUND DEGREE, THEY'RE DYING.
THEM: NO DAVID YOU CAN'T BE SAYING THAT, YOU'RE DOING A STREAM OF CONSCIOUSNESS AGAIN!
Here was a modern implementation of the Eleusinian mysteries. The animated corpses of the Bristolian ketamine users, irresponsible drug use in a drug-prohibited society, yet it was all so wonderfully beautiful.
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