DOSE:

5 seeds

insufflated

Anadenanthera peregrina

(ground / crushed)

BODY WEIGHT:

175 lb

I'd gotten some Anadenanthera Colubrina and Peregrina recently, and although hesitant to take something up the nose that's supposed to be like inhaling a ton of miniature razor blades and burn like magma, particularly so if not given the proper preparation, thought perhaps to prepare it ahead of time to let it sit and mix. Measuring out about one-fifth of five grams (of the Peregrina I'm pretty sure), this came to around 4-5 seeds a gram, decided on five, one of which was noticeably smaller. Many reports I've read state four seeds as a potent enough dose, I figured extra prepared would be of no harm, some being lost in processing, also seeing as I only recall having insufflated (insufflation being the intelligent man's name for snorting) one thing before, I thought it unlikely I'd even finish half of it. Whatever leftovers there might be would be saved for next time, as this snuff holds up to time decently well.

A slight tangent. As just mentioned, only one thing's gone up these nostrils. That thing? Animal bone. Crushed, of course. Animal? Bone? Whaa? Animal bone. Don't ask what bone, or from what animal, got no clue here. Even the person pulverized it knew not. It came about a little something like this: drinking heavily one night, there's a guy in the room we'll call Viking. Barely know him, but he's the most Norse person I've ever met, not that he oozes such an essence (and not that he oozes nothing else). Anyhow, he's on the ground, cross legged, crushing something. 'Grinding some spices or some such?' I ask, ignorantly. 'No, this's animal bone' he says, taking no offense at my lack of perception. 'Animal bone? Really?' I say, not astonished, but still somewhat impressed. I continue, 'Yeah? What from?' 'I don't know, this here's been sitting around for a while, not sure of it's origins anymore.' He's got a jar next to him, filled with other bony bits. I ask out of curiousity, and therefore out of necessity, 'whatcha gonna do with that?' I've got no fucking clue what it could be for. At all. 'Was thinking of throwing a ritual tomorrow.' Ahhh, I think, that makes some sense. Wait, he continues. 'Unless you wanna do a line.' Well, that's the gist of it anyways.

Enough with the storytelling (of other stories). Therefore, a tangent from the tangent, or, back on track... So, these five seeds enter a metal measuring cup, which hits the stove top to roast. The point, depending on who you ask, is to make the seeds pop or at least get dry enough that one can take the seed casing off (no problem at all, it's super thin and flaky). One reason being, it doesn't grind so well, and I didn't much care for sheets of seed casing going up this nose of mine. Didn't wait to hear them pop, but figured them dry enough, took them from the stove and peeled the skin off them all. Mortar and pestle at my side, I took to breaking the seeds apart with fingernails, figuring this might aid in their grinding. Grind grind grind grind grind, and they look to me decently powdered. Find the calcium hydroxide, and eye in about one quarter of what's present. Grind some more to even it out, add some water, and stir. Probably made it too soupy, so I let it air dry instead of kneading it all dough-like.

I forget about it, notice it a day later and it's all crusted onto the insides of the mortar, smells nutty. This smell was present before, I just failed to mention this. A week or so passes, I've got some time to kill, and mid-day and all in my stomach is a bagel and cream cheese and coffee. I make sure my trash can's mostly empty, clear my bed, straighten my sheets (bad geometry can fuck with me sometimes, especially when tripping), and get a roll of toilet paper ready (that's my nasal tissue of choice, thank you very much). I've not much going on in my head, just another day with some spare time, and I always try to experience a new plant on its own turf, without attempts to guide it. Nobody else's in the house to bother me, just my chill ass room and music queued up on the computer.

Go into the kitchen where the clear table's at, with the three lines presented somewhat nicely atop. Three being an especially magic number to me right now. Grab a dollar bill and the bucket. Fumble a few times rolling the bill in a way I finally deem appropriate, snort one line up my left nostril, another the right, and again finally with the left. Eyes water, and nose feels like vomit nose (the feeling/smell/taste/whatnot I get after vomiting, that doesn't leave no matter how much I blow my nose), though no vomiting's been done. Yet.

The innards of my head feel to be expanding, though my skull doesn't. Pain. Go to bathroom to check color, as some reports from the 50's or some shit spoke of faces turning purple. All looks fine. Make way to bedroom, make way towards bed, go to check time on computer and upon seeing screen, feel sick, and get sick, too. Luckily, sick into the bucket. Sit down on bed, set (not drop) puke receptacle down, look around for the tissue, and realize everything appears both crisper and smoother simultaneously. The tissue looks crazy, and whatever sort of snot this is, it blows straight through it. Normally with my folds it holds better, but not this time. Not any of these times, it so happens. The color of the snot/puke looks like a faded neon green and brown, murky yet vibrant, what Slimer might look like if he were half dried and gritty poo, instead of pure ectoplasm.

Shit from my mouth again. Not that it matters, but took a shit from my ass prior to the insufflation, just for good measure, gotta be careful, especially on new substances, I for one care not to defecate in my quarters. This time I pay more attention to the insides of the container, there's a plastic bag inside, crumbled up, but to me it looks like a luffa or whatever the hell they're called. This time, maybe it's the darkness, I don't really know, but briefly I see a child holding a circular object up to me, perhaps a ball, can't make it out. Think how crazy it is, but before too much thinking puke some more. Lots of vomiting, nowhere near the style of alcohol vomits (not that I at all expected such). Harsher, and with much less warning. It's a matter of perhaps a two second heads up (er, down?) and out it spouts. I feel weird every time after ralphing, and realize it's because I'm not taking in any air. Gotta breathe. Forget about every time. After puking three or so times, and blowing the nose many more, my body feels somewhat calmer and I think to lie down on the bed, stretch out. Hands resting under the head, my left arm drops on a snot rag. Beautiful. Beatific. No.

There are open eyed visuals, lines cutting across things, mostly in relation to their borders (wow, don't these fingers look neat?). But keeping eyes open agitates stomach, so they're closed. This calms it some, but not entirely. Puke a bit here and there, think in between and during these sessions. I've tripped before, shrooms, LSD (though I swear that shit's been weak every time I've tried it), and hawaiian baby woodrose (kind of), but this kicked all their asses in intensity many fold (manifold). Ah, well maybe not the ass of 30x salvia.

Here's why. Perhaps (at least part of it). Every other time I've tripped, I've been capable of directing my thoughts to some degree, and not to merely respond to whatever comes to mind (at least it has appeared thusly). Not so here, not with this the Peregrina. Something would come to mind, but stay only briefly. Holding onto thoughts was very difficult, and their loss was frustrating, immensely so. I cycled through very few topics, and began to speak to myself all the while, feeling that hearing these thoughts aloud would aid in their retention. Not so. It was kinda like being high, but instead of that whole incapability of telling a short story, it was hard as hell to maintain even a short thought.

This pissed the hell out of me, looking back, it was infuriating in a way similar to that of trying to learn a new skill is, and being absolutely incapable of even the most basic steps on the way to some proficiency with that skill. Instead with thoughts, something used every day. Incapable. There wasn't much thinking of 'me' or 'I' or '[insert name here]', even when speaking aloud I'd say 'remember this [my name]', and even that didn't sound right to hear me called that, perhaps because it was in my voice, but don't feel that's the reason really.

This ego-less-ness (not a without, but rather a lessening), or what have you, might have led to my becoming smaller. Not in size, mind you, but in perception. Tending towards thinking of myself as a unified whole most of the time, and perceiving primarily from the head and eyes, this became otherwise. The body belonging to this 'I' became not it's own, not something it possessed, but instead countless locations in which it (this I consciousness) resides in and on and through, which make it up. 'I' was not fixed, in constitution and location (not that they're all that different I guess). In short, a perceived unified consciousness comes after (and on top of) countless conscious-parts, which themselves are in flux, merging, separating, etc. Well, at least that was the mindset at the time.

Anyhow, getting pissed as hell with the passing of each thought, as I fucking love being able to recall and tell of previous experiences, and felt this time such would be incapable. I wanted a tape recorder, no, just a recorder of some variety, to hear what I had to say, to be my memory for as long as this would take. There was much yelling, cursing, I know I kept asking 'what does it matter if/that ...' and lots of valuations, and wondering if they mattered, and why does it matter if they matter, should I battle my stomach and the thought-flows, or attempt to keep them restrained.

In passing it'd be great to know what all was going on then, but that shit's as much in the abyss as the previous stomach contents are in the bucket next to my computer desk right now (what, I only finished four hours ago). In attempts to remember things, I set out to number them as shorthand (shortmind) references. All attempts at such, however, ended up something like this: '#1 what does it matter that [insert something I forgot here]? Bah! Why does that deserve priority and privilege as number one? It doesn't! But why does numbering matter?' Back and forth, on and on. It expanded outward, danced (spiraled block-like) around a center, didn't repeat forever, Samuel Clemens said (to perhaps misquote), 'History doesn't repeat, it rhymes.' All thoughts were bastardized reiterations of previous ones, slightly altered. Thought moved in straight lines, then, when finally diverging, at sharp nearly right angles, flying far off, but soon to make a lap by again.

Everything went so fast. With every passing breath a passing thought. Sounds began to anger me, turned off my stereo, and although my room was massively warm even with the cold air coming in from outdoors, shut the windows (and locked them) to keep the sound out. Got up and slammed my door (just meant to swing it, but more force came out than expected). Made it back to bed, and felt ill'ish. Not wanting to forget everything, found a notebook, and could keep eyes focused on it well enough. It was the eye of the tornado, though didn't look back (and might've winked once or twice, despite this), everywhere else the chaos, but the pen and the paper fought them off, so long as these globes of vision strayed not.

Wrote and scribbled a little and realized nearly an hour had passed, even though it seemed at most to have been ten minutes. More writing, visuals not noticeable at this point. I was voicing everything written (or rather, writing everything voiced), but the pen could hardly keep up with the speaking/yelling, oftentimes I'd say a word and before it had been written another word would come out, the pen following the newer one. So many incomplete words are on that paper. Periods (circular, not dots) become parts of other letters that pick up or stray from there. Wrote on for a while, felt tired. Don't recall what I did after this. Probably napped after sprawling out, as sprawling kicks ass while tripping.

All in all, this being the most intense trip of mine yet, and though the most frustrated I've felt in years (in all states of mind/body), I enjoyed it greatly and will likely be doing so again in the not so distant future. Probably going to mix with some maoi such as syrian rue, as this has been said to smooth it out and also increase the length. The smoothening and lasting longer (perhaps slowing down?) might lead to greater thought remembrance, which is highly desired by the likes of me.

On a possibly unrelated note, the next day I took approximately 16 seeds worth of Baby Hawaiian Woodrose, after processing via cold water extraction (shaken fairly frequently and sat in the fridge for 48 hours or so), then filtered out, evaporated, and collected the remnants. This had nearly no effect on me, other than mild nausea, and a bit of a body trip. No mental effects were noted (I've done BHWR before, and noticed them at less than half this dose). Methinks this may have something to do with the Anadenanthera taken probably 14-16 hours priorly, or perhaps an over-processing...

Exp Year: 2008	ExpID: 70973
Gender: Male
Age at time of experience: Not Given
Published: Oct 4, 2009	Views: 10,678
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Anadenanthera peregrina (285) : First Times (2), Difficult Experiences (5), Alone (16)