Citation: Alice. "Down the Rabbit's K-Hole: An Experience with Cannabis & Ketamine (freebase) (exp16121)". Erowid.org. Jul 19, 2002. erowid.org/exp/16121
It was a warm, extremely boring spring Saturday and I was having my boyfriend over, not expecting to do much but laze around, and maybe share a joint or two as was our custom. We went straight into my room and smoked three joints without thinking twice about it. We were both comfortably stoned, but still bored so the boyfriend he says 'Hey it's a pretty spring day, don'tcha wanna get high?'
Out of his pocket he extracts a tiny translucent brown vial with tiny cork stopper and holds it up for me to behold. 'This... this is K. This is going to be great. Get me a straw, a fork, and while you're in the kitchen, will you get me some munchies?'
So I return to him with a fork, straw and a package of Apple Newtons, they're like Fig Newtons but sweeter and they don't get seeds stuck in your teeth, ha, ha.
He takes the stopper out of the vial and sets it on my nightstand. Then he weighs the fork down, prongs hanging over the edge of the table, with my book, 'The Autobigraphy of Malcolm X' which I was supposed to read for school, but fuck it. He bends the prongs just so, I call him a true crackhead and he says shaddup. he balances the vial carefully on the fork and warns me not to spill it. He takes out his tweaked Bicky and lights up the vial for me, waiting for it to boil and steam, and when it does he says quick! now! and I inhale the steam with the straw, once, twice, three times.
Freebasing is a morbid and macabre act.
Soon I feel a rush of something deep inside of me as I light the vial up for him, as he's taking great draws of K I'm drowning in a paranoiac paralysis, it's quite an unusual sensation altogether.
We have not amused ourselves enough, for we are still on the ground, and so we smoke a few bong packs of $42/g weed, this is ex-hippie burnout musician's choice weed, you know it's good.
I can't move. I can't move. God help me, I can't move. Some powerful force inside of me lifts me up and carries me to the kitchen, I get a drink of water, try not to puke. How much time had passed since that first hit? Minutes? Hours? Seconds? My perception of everything around me is dulled, my senses stripped. I am blind and deaf and mute and I can't feel my legs.
My boyfriend is touching me. Why is he touching me?
He's writing graf on my walls. I can't summon the energy to care, I am lost, swimming in a viscous senseless sea, I'm Alice falling down the rabbit's k-hole and I can't stop myself.
Suddenly and miraculously I find myself on my bedroom floor, wrapped in my comforter, and I'm cold as hell, shivering. My boyfriend is long gone without a single goodbye. I'm falling in and out of consciousness, and yet my fucked-up and beautiful train of thought carries me quietly, safely, warmly through the commotion...
When I awake in the wee morning hours I'm still lying on my floor and my blanket is holding me hostage, a straitjacket.
The most empty feeling whispers through me like an autumn wind.
Oh, dear boyfriend of mine. No, it wasn't as good for me as it was for you.
And I'm still bored.
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