DOSE: T+ 0:00	71 mg	oral	Fluorexetamine	(powder / crystals)
T+ 1:11	Sips	oral	Alcohol - Hard
T+ 1:35	couple hits	smoked	Cannabis	(flowers)

BODY WEIGHT:

170 lb

In my friend group, one of our typical Friday night pastimes is consuming research chemicals and attempting to engage in some sort of technically demanding activity together in spite of their impairing effects. Quite often, this activity is cooking, and even more often, the substance of choice is a more recreationally oriented dissociative, typically 3-MeO-PCP. This has spawned a whole host of backronym monikers for the substance, including "Pie Cooking Powder", "Pool Chlorinating Powder", and "Public Consumption Powder". For this particular Friday, the course of action was clear: not only did we receive a small bag of FXE in the mail recently that we've been itching to try, but Tony's mom also sent him an excellent family recipe for banana bread. In this report, we attempt to answer one of our main research goals: can FXE stand its ground against the mythical recreational potential of Pie Cooking Powder?

The experience begins shortly after I come back home from the gym and eat a post-workout meal. My friend, who we'll call Ralph, picks me up to go to our friend Tony's house. We arrive at the house, and after a few quick pleasantries get right down to business.

0:00 - We measure out our doses and dissolve them in water. This takes a little bit of time, as the material is highly granular and coarse. Tony takes 50mg, and I take 71mg. As the solution goes down, the taste comes as a bit of a surprise. The bitter, rubbery taste typical of arylcyclohexylamines is definitely still present, but this time it acts as more of a background note in the face of the flavour of musty cork. The taste is relatively mild compared to other arylcyclohexylamines. After consumption, we chat and amble around the house waiting for the effects of the substance to make themselves known. For the duration of this report, Ralph has abstained from taking FXE.

0:08 - Incredibly, I am already starting to feel the first reports of the come up. There is a vague looseness to my limbs, and a smooth headiness I can feel on my face which is similar to the flush one gets after drinking too much. Ralph wants to go for a smoke, so we join him outside on the porch.

0:14 - Things are definitely taking off. I feel like I'm staring at a massive, blackened anvil cloud that refuses to drop its rain. A talkative, wiry energy is welling up in me as I give an impassioned review of the different binders and notebooks I used to own to Ralph. All the while, Tony is sitting serenely on the balcony. The air around him is embossed with a stately presence, as though the line between his body and the air around him has become bold.

0:19 - Tony notes that he's starting to feel the "disso blanket", that is, the odd feeling of heaviness on the skin that seems to mark the effects of virtually all dissociatives. I too feel blanketed by the air, hyperaware of how turgid my limbs are with blood, and how rigid my bones are in my body. While this description may sound gruesome, I feel perfectly pleasant as I'm sitting and chatting with my friends in the cool autumn air. We're sitting and savouring the weather.

0:25 - The manic energy builds. Tony and I are having a conversation about some of our most extreme psychedelic experiences and how they've impacted us. Actually, conversation may be a misnomer - I've been vomiting a poorly constructed torrent of adjectives and metaphors in an attempt to describe my most powerful 5-MeO-DMT experience to Tony, who seems to be far less impelled by the dopaminergia of the substance than me. He's still posed at the edge of the porch, nodding and listening to me with a profoundly neutral facial expression that reminds me of the face that cats make when they stare into the distance empty-headed. As I continue rambling, I realize that I also probably have the same sort of "Passport Photo" look on my face. Ralph returns from the bathroom and immediately laughs at how uncanny we look.

0:30 - What a rush. I ask Tony how he'd compare it to his other dissociative experiences (primarily ketamine and DXM), and he plainly replies that FXE is like ketamine without the numbness and sinking oomph. I definitely understand what he means - my limbs are easier to keep track of than they are on other dissociatives, and the whole experience feels sharp and "in-your-face". Speaking of the face, I feel very aware of my own face as well; it feels full of blood and overtaken by tingles and zaps. Ralph asks us a little bit more about the substance we're on, and immediately my rambling begins again as I try to explain the pharmacology and chemistry of the substance to him, scribbling some information haphazardly onto a sheet of lined paper. My memory is totally shot, but in spite of this I find great joy in trying to parse my mind for facts and explanations. FXE would work perfectly for being the centre of attention at a houseparty.

0:44 - The time has come. Banana bread! We shuffle inside, tripping all over the doorframe in a bonafide robowalk. We scour the kitchen for utensils, dropping things everywhere and trying our best to communicate in a slurry of "uhhhh"s and baking instructions. Tony and I are cackling at our own incompetence, and are having some of the best fun we've had in weeks. Mixing and measuring ingredients is surprisingly not too difficult, although the sensory distortions of FXE certainly put an exciting new spin on the experience. My hands feel like they're made of steam bent cedar, organic and robust yet inhuman. They still maintain enough mobility to mash the bananas and stir the batter, though much less fluidly than when sober.

0:50 - I go to use the bathroom, and look in the mirror as I'm washing my hands. My vision feels saturated and darkened, as though everything is candlelit. In the middle of my sight is my face, transmogrified into a grittier and older version of myself in a way that almost appears photoshopped. I feel simultaneously frightened and relieved by the sight, as though it has confirmed that I will have lived a full life at the expense of one day being old and weak. I can hear Tony talking to himself outside, and I quickly wash my hands so I can join him in putting the bread in the oven.

1:11 - Now that the bread is baking, we once again find ourselves with time to kill. Luckily for me, the stimulating edge of the compound is also slowly starting to abate, and Ralph has begun rolling a joint. The smell of the weed mixing in with the banana bread is an impossibly complex sensory experience to describe, and I feel like now under the influence of FXE. I can pick out and toy with all the individual aroma notes in my mind and compare them to other smells. This is interesting considering that my senses of taste and smell are usually profoundly blunted by most dissociatives. I describe the experience to Tony and he insists that I try some whiskey, and hands me a glass. I take a couple of timid sips, taking the time to really get a feel for the flavour. The sensory flourish is rich, but most shocking is how strong the warming feeling of the alcohol has become under the influence of this drug - my whole body feels like it is dripping with the magmatic glow of an ember which originates from my lips. My throat is also coated with the warmth of the liquor, feeling at once coarse and gentle like a sort of velvet sandpaper.

1:14 - Tony plays some Black Sabbath on his speaker system while we wait for Ralph to finish rolling. As I'm sitting on the couch, I decide to close my eyes for a bit, and am met with visions of a grainy desert scrubland, motionless under the light of a distant and dim sun. The environment changes as different passages of the music play, and gradually the landscape evolves to one full of lush baobabs. Eventually, the visions focus on the fruit of one of these baobabs, which, in painfully intricate detail, falls slowly to the ground and implodes, consuming the entire environment with it. I open my eyes in disbelief.

1:24 - The time has come to smoke some weed. I feel pretty sober, but given what I was just doing less than 10 minutes ago, I can comfortably conclude that I was just experiencing delusions of sobriety. Getting up certainly puts things into perspective for me, as I have considerable difficulty walking to the door (though not enough to run the risk of losing my balance). Once I stopped moving and sat down outside, the feeling of being extremely dissociated immediately vanished. How odd! We pass the joint around and chat a little, and I once again close my eyes to get a feel for the visuals. The shrubs are back, but dimly fluorescent, now dancing round in perfect hexagons. The hexagons open to reveal boxers fighting in slow motion in an infinite ring. Ralph passes the joint to me, and I take two hits with such great ease it might as well be air.

1:35 - After passing the joint around for a few minutes, I am feeling pretty bricked. Being stoned has made my perceived sensory frame rate drop even further, and the synergy of the substances is making it even more difficult to keep linear trains of thought than if I were just high. As I'm unsuccessfully grasping for straws at how to join the conversation Tony and Ralph are having, Tony suddenly spots a raccoon in the bushes and excitedly points it out to Ralph and me. In a surge of giddy boyish curiosity, we get up and pursue it into the woods. Though we were unable to find the raccoon, we did get the kick to go on an evening walk, which was interesting in its own right. The darkness, interspersed with streetlights, made the woods an intimate and closed environment. I feel a strong sense of camaraderie with Tony and Ralph, despite the fact that I feel inhuman - as if God forgot to fully program my thoughts and cognition and left me unfinished. At some point in the walk, we find a beaver, which was very challenging for me to pick out as I stared crosseyed into the brown muddy earth of a riverbed. When I saw it, however, I practically leapt out of my pants with excitement. This substance can be very stop and go - full of vigorous excitement at times and murky vacuity at others.

2:01 - We make it back home and savour the fresh banana bread. The taste is incredible, definitely enhanced by the weed but also imbued with a sort of warm nostalgia that I'd attribute to the FXE. We eat the banana bread in record time. At this point, the influence of the FXE is still noticeable, but starting to wane. From this point in the night forward, it acts more like a seasoning to the high of the weed we smoked than anything else. We spend the remainder of the night chatting, and I eventually pack up and leave, probably at around 3:30 as I felt sober enough to do so.

This is a nice substance! For starters, it is quite visual, though its visuals are fairly distinct from other arylcyclohexylamines I'd consider visual (O-PCE and 3-MeO-PCE come to mind). Whereas the closed eye visuals of O-PCE are highly abstract and expansive, FXE provides more realistic, dream-like visuals. FXE is also highly stimulating for me, in a way that feels more forced but less manic and uncontrollable than that of 3-MeO-PCP and 3-MeO-PCE. Overall, I'd say the substance is interesting, and worthy of addition to one's collection for both casual recreational and psychonautic use. Whether or not this substance can stand up to the sheer silliness engendered by the group use of 3-MeO-PCP is still debatable, though Tony and I would without a doubt use this substance again at similar doses and in similar contexts. Furthermore, I think pushing the dosing up to the point of holing could provide for some incredible experiences. Further research is required!

Exp Year: 2024	ExpID: 117852
Gender: Male
Age at time of experience: 22
Published: Feb 15, 2025	Views: Not Supported
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