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Universe Is Tiny
DXM
Citation:   YanRi. "Universe Is Tiny: An Experience with DXM (exp115367)". Erowid.org. Aug 23, 2023. erowid.org/exp/115367

 
DOSE:
T+ 0:00
450 mg oral DXM
  T+ 2:00 150 mg oral DXM
BODY WEIGHT: 180 lb
I have quite substantial experience with psychoactive substances, including dissociants - about a dozen of trips on dextrometorphan and ketamine each, and over 20 nangs/ whippets/ N2O short sessions. During the trip I was taking psychiatric medication (mirtazapine, sulpiride, reboxetine), but the trip was similar to previous ones and I don't expect these drugs to have strong influence on the trip. Dose: 450mg dextrometorphan (DXM), then additional 150mg DXM after 2 hours.

I ingested 450mg DXM and began watching a movie after about an hour, knowing that the effects would start in about 15 minutes. For some reason I am drawn to choosing silly scifi teen dystopian movies, while doing DXM. I suppose that the motive of confusion about the world around me and big reveal by the end fit well with the dissociative trip.

Around about 30 minutes of watching the movie with the effects present, I pause it and have spontaneous idea to start writing a trip report. The language may seem dispassionate, but the effects were very intense at this point. I'm watching "Maze Runner: Scorched Trials". My mind keeps fixating on situations like being stuck in a room with closed doors or being in an empty room and having my shirt as the only possible tool.

World feels very limited in that regard. I keep considering the correspondence between material/ properties and function of everything. My shirt is a shirt both because it's made out of warm, nonrigid, opaque material and also, viewed from function angle, because it covers my body from cold and nakedness. A bed is a sturdy frame and a soft flat cuboid and also, viewed from function angle, something I can lie on. The wardrobe is a combination of connected planks and metal hinges that through that can adopt the function of storing and concealing objects.

Dissociants seem very distant from psychodelic also in that regard that the whole phenomenological vs. narrative description dichotomy seems to unravel. Phenomenologically, it's almost void - all I see is that I am in a dark room, that is composed of black elements against the cuboid seen from the inside. I can also conceptualize some elements as white, even though I perceive them as still very dark; and some reddish light, that is also very dark nonetheless. I can't shake the feeling that I'm in the 3D graphics program like Blender or game engine like Unity. There is no concept of infinite universe - it feels like all of the existence is the room I am in. It reminds me of a VR environments I used to make, I feel like in one now. I don't believe there is anything beyond the door - it will only render, when I open them.

I wonder how I am getting Internet, if there is no objective reality, just this singular room. It makes me think of holographic principle - instead of assuming the existence of vast 3D world outside of the room, I can imagine that it is the infinitely thin and compact 2D surface of the room doing all the computation and simulating the influence of the outside world.

Speaking of surfaces, I'm drawn toward the concept of skin/ surface/ peeling. I wonder if there is anything underneath the skin of my hands - if I'd scrape that would it turn out to be hollow inside? or maybe filled with a blue light? The same goes for my laptop - is it just the hollow casing? How can I assume the existence of parts that I do not see. Why must there be any parts - can't the casing behave as it behaves on its own?

When I close my eyes, even that part disappear. I'm left with the imprint of my retinas and the pressure on my skin. I can quickly forget about the ontology of the room or of the laptop - the only thing left is the quiet high-pitched squeal, the proprioception of arms, legs, torso and head, the flowing away afterimage and the "chopper sensation". Characteristic to alcohol, N2O and huffed solvents - feeling of small movement from A to B, that keeps and keeps repeating; whenever I reach B, I start back at A; moving is pleasant, but sudden jerk of getting back is unpleasant; it's the opposite of fluid.

Somehow everything feels dark - even light. I'm surprised at the fact that my fingers keep hitting the right keys on the keyboard. It seems completely separate from conscious experience. I'm writing down these words while being hardly conscious of it. My mind keeps flying away and leaving my fingers on their own.

I acknowledge the presence of my grandfather. Now it seems that this apartment is all space in existence, and we are the only two existing beings. We have no contact. I pity him, watching TV. It's absurd to me that he watches some politicians talking - neither these politicians, nor the things they talk about exist. I ponder the paradox of a living person giving attention to something made up that exists only within a virtual space of a screen. An aquarist who feels reigned by the fish in his aquarium. Then I step back and reflect on myself pondering on that.
I ponder the paradox of a living person giving attention to something made up that exists only within a virtual space of a screen. An aquarist who feels reigned by the fish in his aquarium. Then I step back and reflect on myself pondering on that.
Two beings in existence: one observing the aquarium, the other observing the act of observing the aquarium. It feels like a waste of a cosmic proportion.

I decide to meditate for 45 minutes, but somewhere before the meditation I ingested additional 150mg DXM in order to extend the trip.

I'm back from the meditation. It started with sausage fingers. Sensation of interdigitation growing in thickness. Then it passed through a whole spectrum of modalities. The music of waluśkraksakryzys is always with me here. Or the sound of unglueing. Of uncorking. Of tearing. Of heterogenousness. Karbunkuły comes to mind. Or Katya. Or sluggish slippery. Everything is crinkly. There are teddy bears in seductive poses with conical teeth covered in blood. Long noses. Goos with gravel and breaking bubbles. Even the light is dark. There are pimpled fatsos cannibalizing the bony anorexics. It's very drag - Kandy Muse is laughing. The category is - there is no cure. There's redness and pus and this is not alarming in any way. There's perfect equanimity. It is hell and it is fine. The suffering is all a drag. Drag queens pose as diseases. There is a ball of naraka and the music is the sound of taking a breath after a long time.

Long walk into zen. Becoming the grains of sand on which the Buddha walked. The music of waluśkraksakryzys is still a spine of this journey. And Bimini Bom Boulash pops in for some reason. It's all very punk. Emptiness wonders how it can help this higher level creature.

There is still a voice in the back yelling "Inform the world about the CHOP". The CHOP is the unpleasantness of the jerk, the pop, the gargle, the tearing, the carriage return, the unpleasantness of stumbling and spraining your ankle, of hearing your bone snap, of the sound of speech played backward, of stepping into chewing gum. There was a thought then that the CHOP is ubiquitous and a vary deep reason of human suffering, even though we rarely become aware of its presence.

Then I resumed watching the movie and the effects persisted for a while before suddenly disappearing but without me noticing the exact moment of that. When I noticed that I am left with only the shadow of these effects, it felt as if it must have been at least 15 minutes.



Exp Year: 2021ExpID: 115367
Gender: Male 
Age at time of experience: 28
Published: Aug 23, 2023Views: 317
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Meditation (128), DXM (22) : Alone (16), Music Discussion (22), Mystical Experiences (9), Glowing Experiences (4), General (1)

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