DOSE:

repeated

oral

5-MeO-DiPT

(liquid)

BODY WEIGHT:

145 lb

The night before last was an absolutely incredible experience. Let me start by saying that 5-MeO-DiPT is not necessarily, in the upper-middle dosage range, a wimpy thing. Despite the suggestions of the tremendous amount of research and reading (approx. 100 hours) I did before investing and ingesting, I always had an inkling that it would be more than some worthless body-fry as most people would credit it. Let me give some of my personal foxy history before beginning.

Using my friend's credit card, I purchased 1 gram of powdered 5-MeO-DiPT from a well-known and reliable supplier. Upon its arrival, we opened up the small, black Ziploc baggie and I was, to be honest, amazed at how pretty it was. Powdered foxy, or at least my batch, has a beautiful whitish-blue crystalline sheen to it, almost opalescent in nature. I used the liquid measurement technique, which is an awesome alternative for those without such a pricey and accurate scale as to weigh milligrams. I dissolved 1000mg of foxy in 500 drops of everclear (95% grain alcohol), and proceeded to place 5 drops per-person (approx. 10mg) on the backs of my friends' hands. Oh god, what a mistake.

To get an inkling of the taste, imagine the most bitter thing you could possibly imagine. Now multiply that by infinity. By unanimous consensus of all who have tasted it thus far, it is the worst-tasting thing on earth. It was compared quite eloquently by my friend M, whom shall be mentioned later, to sucking Xanax out of a cyborg's rectum. It took us an entire summer to discover that, out of hundreds of heady, potent, spicy, sour, sweet, and otherwise strong food products, plain Hershey's chocolate bars are the only thing thus far discovered to mask the taste.

But anyways. We determined, by a gradual increase of dose, that 8 drops, or approximately 16mg, was the intensity of choice. We had figured out by then that a good method for avoiding the taste was to drop our doses into a half-emptied ginseng capsule, which as well provided a nice lift to start the experience off. The general consensus among my friends is that 16mg of our batch of foxy is approximately equivalent to 3 hits of acid, minus the dirtiness often associated with it. I have never taken acid personally, but I have a little experience with mushrooms, MDMA, and ketamine. The most I ever ingested (before the latest trip) was 10 drops/20mg. My friend J, who is somewhat of a hardhead when it comes to psychedelics, topped the charts, ingesting the heroic dose of 30 drops/60mg (note that I did not condone this).

Following this, we all proceeded to a rave, whereupon he sat in a chair mostly motionless (not dead or in danger, just obviously loaded) for about an hour. Once he regained mobility (or the will to such), he described his state as 'reeeeeeeeeeally twisted.'

On my 20mg trip, I had some great experiences, such as seeing Jesus come out of the wall, then turn into satan, reminding me of the duality of our existence. But the night before last was truly my best trip ever. When I first acquired the foxy in late May of this year, I 'borrowed' a small, sterile vial with a dropper screwtop from my school chemistry lab. This is what I diluted and subsequently stored (in a dark closet) the foxy in. The interesting thing about foxy is that, at least in our experience, we couldn't get our bodies to exhibit resistance. For a week, I literally tripped every day or every other day (I know, crackhead, crackhead ) In addition to a COMPLETE regional deficit of LSD for about 6 months prior, and continuing to this day, the lack of tolerance caused the foxy to be rather quickly consumed.

My friend M, whom I mentioned earlier, and I hadn't tripped in about 3 months, and when cleaning my closet 3 days ago, I found my old foxy vial. Arbitrarily, I unscrewed the dropper top and noticed a significant amount of white, powdery residue on both the dropper and an equivalent amount on the vial's screw threads. Oh boy. I touched my tongue to it, ready to suck it dry, but had second thoughts about the potential for a too-much-trip. Immediately I called M because she is A. my best friend in the world at the time, B. my most psychedelically compatible friend, and C. likely to strangle me if I didn't share this opportunity with her. She came, we licked, we gagged.

We had no clue how much we had just eaten. I had a vision on MDMA once, not so long ago, of Timothy Leary scowling at me; a scowl not of disappointment or disgust, but one of 'you know what you should be doing'. MDMA was becoming very unpleasant to me at the time, and that cinched it. When I opened my eyes from that I was stuck with the phrase 'I'm a tryptamine man,' and have thusly ceased to ingest phenethylamines and had nothing but fantastic tryptamine trips.

I like to think of myself as fairly versed in the psychoactives, but I always had a hidden sense that I was kidding myself when it came to profundity involved in those experiences. I have subsequently ceased my drug usage, but this sentiment has never left me, even to this day. I won’t deny that I’ve learned important things from having done drugs, but I rarely had any real insights while ON them. This night was a bit different. I can’t deny one of the symbols from this trip was inexplicable to me, as if it was an observation communicated to me by some separate entity.

My parents were still home, but they were fast asleep. It was about 10:00PM, and we started the night off by lying on a blanket in my back yard. It was a cool summer night, with some pesky mosquitoes we repelled with Off. We watched the clouds as the Foxy washed over us. I saw Beavis and Butthead in the clouds, then Butthead disappeared and Beavis morphed into the pope. This juxtaposition was incalculably funny to me. Some kind of special synergy exists between me, Foxy, and clouds, and it was in Spring Tide that night.

After an hour or so of chatting under the stars, we retreated back inside for water and relief from the mosquitoes. We returned to my room upstairs where we wouldn’t disturb my parents, and turned on my fiber-optic light show doohickey that is very entertaining on psychedelics, and spoke for hours about metaphysical and spiritual things. The psychedelic posters on my walls, as well as the psychedelic art (I’m going to make an addition of it to the art vault, I think) of mine I have tacked up, really complimented the environment. The only lighting was that fiber optic trip toy thing that was a constantly shifting order of soft, rich lights. I was really enjoying myself, especially because M is very receptive of my REALLY weird abstract humor when we trip together, and I was on a roll.

We finally went to sleep at about 4:00AM, but not until I parted the Venetian blinds and looked out of my window for no apparent reason, and was surprised by a tentacled, floating black ball with wisps of green electricity hovering outside. It was about the size of a basketball, and I started laughing in delight when I saw it because its symbolism was clear to me: this was the physical manifestation of my imagination. I let the Venetian blinds fall back into place, and told M about it. She thought it as delightful as I did, and we continued putting on our pajamas. The strange part, though, is that I opened the blinds back up, and it was still there. I did it again later, and it remained. It was an interesting night.

I have never been able to rationalize that ball to myself. It’s the one thing I’ve never been able to accredit to my subconscious or ego’s subtle messaging to me. It keeps me on my toes when I remember my drug days, and I’ll never forget it. It was a wonderful, profound experience.

Exp Year: 2002	ExpID: 21161
Gender: Male
Age at time of experience: 17
Published: Aug 28, 2006	Views: 7,578
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5-MeO-DiPT (57) : Various (28), Retrospective / Summary (11), General (1)