Citation: mundane. "Cactus Flip: An Experience with Cacti (San Pedro), MDMA & Cannabis (exp87427)". Erowid.org. Nov 16, 2012. erowid.org/exp/87427
I clock out at 1:15 PM. I'd wanted to get out of there ASAP, but the damn work ethic wouldn't let me leave until 'my' work was done. What's fifteen minutes, anyway? Panda's not even going on for nine and a half hours.
Frantically I rush, nevertheless. Grab my Jansport and speed-walk back to the break room. Get my plastic bottle of straight-from-concentrate orange juice from the fridge and dig the blue pill bottle out of my backpack. You know, the one with 9 grams of mescaline tar encapsulated. Yeah, that one.
Two-by-two, I hold size-0 veggie capsules between my teeth, being careful not to let my lips or tongue touch them. I worry that the slightest taste of bitter cactus isomesc will make me gag, and this is tough enough already. This way, the pills and the oj go into my mouth simultaneously, and I swallow it all before I can taste anything but the vaguely-orangey flavor of commercial citrus juice.
Making isomesc is my current favorite way of ingesting mescaline. I buy powderized cactus skin ('not for human consumption'), fill a water-tight 1/2 pint jam jar half full of the stuff, saturate it in 91% isopropyl alcohol (it's been suggested that Bicardi 151 or Everclear could yield even better results), shake it up, and let it soak for a day (shaking a few times throughout). Let the powder settle and then pour the alcohol through a coffee filter. Repeat until the alcohol is clear. Evaporate all of that off, sprinkle flour over the whole thing (or else it's too sticky to work with), scrape it and stuff it into capsules (I use size 0 veggie capsules, which I hear take longer to dissolve in the stomach).
By 1:20, the nine capsules are down and I put the juice back in the fridge and take out the ginger ale. I drank ginger ale the first time I swallowed cactus and didn't experience vomiting at that time, but that was with tea. Since then, it's been capsules. I figure the ginger ale can't hurt, regardless, and anyway it's a tasty beverage, so I pour a travel mug full.
I'm paranoid about nausea. Besides taking this right before hopping into a car (a combination which proved to be vomiting-while-driving stupid in the past), I'm also taking this right before attending a music festival, where I'll be both alone-among-strangers (something I'm comfortable being) and stuck-with-port-o-potties (which I'm not so comfortable with, especially when I'm remembering three weeks ago when I look isomesc and ended up hugging pavement, wishing for the puking to stop).
On the other hand, I'm seeing mutha-fukkin Panda Bear tonight! And that outweighs all other considerations. If I have to heave my innards into the blue chemical stench of a port-o-potty in order to be in a mescaline-and-MDMA-provided psychedelic state, then so be it.
I believe in using psychedelics responsibly for purposes of personal growth, but I also believe that some my life's best days have happened when I was under the influence of psilocybin or mescaline, so when I foresee a potential 'awesome day' in my future, I tend to add one or the other into the mix, just to make it that more exceptional. There was a time when I thought this was cheating somehow, like juicing up on steroids for the Tour de France. But life isn't a competition, despite what some may tell you; life is an experience. And if I want to do something to make an experience that more memorable and important to me and interesting to the story of my life, then I feel it's almost a personal responsibility to do as such.
While I absolutely adore mescaline and consider it an old friend, I find it very difficult on the body. If it's not outright nausea, then it's a vague sense of numb iciness radiating from the stomach out to the limbs. Mescaline also lays me out, making me so physically tired that I really just want to lie down. It's phenomenal for pure observation as a result, but not the best thing to take on a day when I am expecting to be walking around lots and awake late.
I hope the MDMA is going to counteract some of that.
It was only six days ago that I did this combination for the first time, testing the waters at the Chemical Brothers show (a night when I had a sober driver). At that time, I had taken about five grams of mescaline and 1/2 of a pill more-or-less confirmed to be MDMA and caffeine. It was the most visually astonishing trip I've had so far. I mean, I was up late into the night wide-eyed, jaw-dropped and drooling (okay, maybe not that) as I stared unblinking at the astoundingly beautiful swirling colors and shimmering light that the sights in my bedroom became.
This time I take more mescaline to compensate for whatever tolerance only six days' break would leave (I estimate somewhere between eight and nine grams, factoring in the added weight of the capsules and flour) with the second half of the pill. And, as always, as much cannabis as I felt I needed (well, more or less). And caffeine: I had coffee for breakfast, along with the usual banana and hardboiled egg back around ten. Nothing since.
I'm on the road around 1:30. [Erowid Note:
Driving while intoxicated, tripping, or extremely sleep deprived is dangerous and irresponsible because it endangers other people. Don't do it!]
I turn on the AC and light up a joint rolled with vaporizer leftovers (very little THC left). I hope it'll settle my stomach. Which isn't exactly upset yet, but it knows when I've ingested a bunch of capsules and what that means for it, so it's getting fussy. It's going to take a lot more than a vape poo joint to nick away at my tolerance, anyway, so I'm not worried about my driving being compromised.
It's the Saturday of Labor Day weekend, and the roads are holiday-bare. I don't hit traffic until I get to the festival's exit. Parking takes a while and costs $20, but I get a spot and trek in. Stand in line for a bit, feeling off, but also sensing that it's not going to get much worse, I'm not going to be throwing up over my fellow festival-goers in the cattle lines.
So thirsty. Don't know why; I had that mug of coffee, mug of soda, half the bottle of juice, and water. It's hot, but not dehydratingly so. Standing in line tires me out and I yawn several times. Or maybe it's the mescaline. Shrooms make me yawn, too (in the literal way; in the metaphoric way, they make me sweat euphoria as angels message my brain and kiss my eyeballs).
To speed up this first part, here's how it goes:
Some volunteer hands me a schedule. 'Nope, I don't know any of these groups, so I'm not in a huge rush.' Get in, peruse the grounds, eventually end up at The Screaming Females in time to see them perform their final song. 'Holy shit, this band is awesome! I wish I'd seen more of them!' It'll happen a few more times throughout the event.
They end at 2:45 and I walk to the far end of the park where the Oak stage is. The set times are staggered nicely, so it's possible to easily watch part of everyone's performance. The band playing now is Devila 666, which is a rather unimpressive punk outfit. I leave that, walk by the comedy tent, watch a few minutes of some unfunny comedian, and decide that I'd prefer to be sitting down in a shady spot, listening to this enticing band I'm hearing coming from the center (Redwood) stage.
I find a semi-shaded spot on the hill. Down in the slightest of valleys is the stage and crowd pressed against it. The band is Warpaint, and they are excellent. Doomy, melodic, shoegazing synth rock with a great female vocals. I'm into it. The mescaline's making itself more known to me, bringing those vague feelings of bodily strangeness to the forefront. Nothing is visually different, but I feel a little more psychedelic/less aware of self. I could be on the brink of something.
I figure it's a good time to smoke a little pot, just to lessen the physical strangeness. I take a few hits off of a small joint and nod my head to the music. I want to remember this band.
I sit there for the remainder of their set and into the beginning of the next band's. It's nothing I feel I need to stay for, and anyway Best Coast is playing on the Oak, and that's a band I know I've heard on Morning Becomes Eclectic. I walk over there, feeling vaguely psychedelic and mostly bad. The least-visited group of port-o-potties is over at the other side of this particular area, so I head over there. I can't really tell if I have to pee or not, but I go just in case.
I'm almost through my first bottle of $4 festival water and want a cold drink. Something fizzy, sugary, and with caffeine. There are two lunch trucks parked behind the stage. Why not? I'm enjoying Best Coast. Might as well be in line while I'm listening to the music.
The one I choose is a Gogi burrito truck; I think a burrito sounds perfect right now. Oh, and my other choice is a french-fry-based-meal truck. My tummy sensation (and overall health) says 'no'. It's about 4:45 and I haven't eaten in almost seven hours (though I did drink a few hundred calories). I have no appetite, but I have a sense that beneath it all, my body really needs food.
The wait in line is miserable. It's one of those 'if I hadn't already waited so long in this line, I would leave' sort of lines. You want to wait it out just to spite its length. There's no shade (didn't buy a VIP pass) and it's quite hot. I'm saving the last inch of my water, but it's boiling in the bottle. I'm getting overheated, feeling very weak, and starting to believe I'm going to trip at any moment. What am I going to do when I get to the register and I'm tripping? Jesus Christ, how will I get food then? I think of stories about people not understanding money when they're tripping. I've never had a problem understanding the function of things when altered, but take a twenty out of my packaging-tape wallet and put it in my front pocket just in case. 'If you don't understand the concept of money,' I tell myself with all seriousness, 'just hand him the bill in your pocket. He will handle the rest.'
I'm in the sun for about forty-five minutes before I reach the shade; another ten there before I place my order. I get a veggie burrito with tofu and an ice-cold bottle of Coke. I wouldn't normally drink caffeine this late in the day as it keeps me up, but that's the point here. And the carbonated, sugary, energizing, stomach-settling deliciousness that is it.
I walk to a grassy hillock a ways from the stage and watch an artist work on a painting. It's a biomech piece, or at least it seems so to me, and I enjoy watching him work on it. I wish I could be an artist of some sort, but I don't have the brilliant creative spark. I love art of all types, though, and find him fascinating to watch.
And I finally put two and two together and realize that a Gogi burrito is essentially an Asian rice dish in a tortilla, which is not at all what I want. I'd hoped for something simple: rice, beans, cheese, veggies. Which this has, but in an Asian-style, which means an Asian-flavor. I do love Asian food, but it is far too flavorful for me. Or just the wrong flavor to mix with the cold iciness.
I paid eight bucks for the thing, need food, and do not want to stand in another line. Titus Andronicus is playing, and they're entertaining, but I want to check out other bands. I'm not moving without eating, however, and slowly chew half of the burrito, not really tasting it and not really wanting to taste it. After a while, I just pick at the tortilla.
I end up in a port-o-potty, chewing a half tab of ecstasy at the far end of the park at around 5:45 PM. I take it with some water, hold both in my mouth for a while, wondering if that would help with absorbtion. The terrible taste gets to me and I quickly swallow it before I have to spit it out.
I decide to go back to the spot I watched Warpaint at so I can smoke some more. It seems like an out-of-the-way place for it. I see people who are smoking openly get approached by State Park officials, so I figure it's best to not make a show. Or more likely not to do at all, but I'm tired of feeling nauseous, and I'm still uncertain of tripping (what with having taken both recently), and I just want to feel good and see some things, so I decide to see if cannabis can kickstart.
Local Natives is playing bouncy, poppy, acoustic guitar anthems, and I love it. The sun lowers in the sky, the day cools off, the wind picks up. I feel psychedelia come on stronger, but we seem to still be eyeing each other from a distance, gauging what could be to come. I feel good, though. The music lifts me up and everyone around me seems to be into it together. I feel a stronger sense of connection to the moment as it unfolds around me. If this is all I get from the mescaline, I'll take it. I have trouble feeling connected to anything, so this is always a pleasant change, and a reason I turn to psychedelics as often as I do.
Their set ends. I can't tell if I have to pee or not, but assume that I must after drinking that bottle of Coke. I walk back to the port-o-potties, pee a very small amount, and leave. Upon leaving, I still feel like I might have to pee. I have that certain tickle all night long.
I sit in the dirt and watch Ariel Pink for a while. And suddenly, oh my God, I'm beginning to see everything around me separate into 2D planes glowing with slight halos, which means I am beginning to have a visual trip! Thank you, Jesus! Took about an hour after swallowing the ecstasy, but it was finally happening. As far as the ecstasy goes, I find I'm rocking to the beat from my seated position. Feeling a little better, but I still just want to sit here.
That set ends and I am verily tripping. I don't like the feeling my body has, though. I really just want to lay this one out, to find a quiet place to recline and passively observe until the unpleasantness goes away. On the other hand, whenever I lie down, I can't stop moving. My foot taps the beat, or my head nods involuntarily. It's exhaustion with the jitters; it's that feeling you get when you're too tired to sleep and just can't get comfortable. And it's coldness, inside and out. The sun lowers and I put my sweatshirt on, and my warm cap. Anorexic girls are running around in sun dresses and I am all bundled up for a November night (in early September).
Things are beginning to look beautiful. I walk past the Redwood, but stay within its hearing range. It's the only stage with a band playing right now, and anyway, the view I have from this hill is one of the most amazing views I've ever seen. The sun is setting and the sky is going from dirty yellow to orange and pink. The hills in the background that I found earlier so dry and dead looking now have a softness to them, and they're grooving about is a most beautiful way. Lights begin to the come on: streetlights, headlights, the lights from the homes on the hill and the lights lining Dodger Stadium's parking lot above us. They're alll so soft, so shimmering and sparkling. So gentle in their swaying motions.
I lie down next to the chain link fence, losing my thought to the beauty in everything around me. Dead Man's Bones has a whole choir on stage, I think it's comprised of children but can't really tell from this vantage point. I like this festival, like the vibes and the bands. Everything seems very easy-going and positive. The colorful lights on stage shine so brightly and the sun's almost gone now, the sky almost dark.
Music from the Sequoia Stage is drifting over to me, and it's music that I want to hear better. My burrito and I head over, it getting carried along purposelessly while I move my head, shoulder, torso as I get closer to the stage. Blue, red, orange light is shining off of everything, and everything looks so radiantly beautiful as a result. The world is soft, glowing, shining, moving. I am nothing, no one. No one knows me or gives a fuck, and I feel likewise. We're all on our own trips right now. We're all on our own trips always, but sometimes I get anxious when I think I'm a part of someone else's. I can get depressed just thinking that other people are thinking about me. Psychedelics shut up that bit of worthless neuroses. It doesn't matter, and things are ok. Psychedelics are a baby blanket for my mind.
I maneuver through the crowd, hoping to find a dark corner where I can be out of the way while I watch the world grooove to the wonderful music I'm hearing. The band's Washed Out, an electronic dance group with a heavy 80s synth sound, and I like it a lot. More importantly, the trees like it a lot, and they are moving in a most astonishing way as a result.
A group of festival goers sits by me and asks if they're bothering me. I say not at all. Not a thing in the world can bother me right now. They pass a blunt around and I think about how I have absolutely no desire for marijuana at present, a rare occasion in my life of late. Where I'm at right now is perfect. I lie down next to the fence and stare ceaselessly at the leaves of the trees, which are geometric, fractalized, swirling, shining shades of green.
Of mescaline and psilocybin, alone and combined with ecstasy, mescaline plus MDMA produces the most astonishing visuals, in my experience. They are more beautiful than anything I ever thought I was capable of imagining. I'm flabbergasted that my brain can conceive of anything so breathtaking, and both times I have taken this combination, I have entered trance states of visual bliss.
I like taking these psychedelics partly because they open me up to the vast mystery of what my brain is capable of. I realize that there's so much more, but knowing that I can produce even this party trick is such a boost to my personal sense of ability. I know there's all sorts of folks this whole world wide, but I'm beginning to believe that if consciousness is what makes us human and separates us from the beasts, then expanding consciousness and experimenting with the mind is what stratifies humans. But I guess everyone's on his/her own trip.
It's now six and a half hours since I swallowed the capsules and two since I ate the pill, and I am having one of my best visual trips so far ('only' dozens to this point). The music provides the perfect soundtrack for the swirling trees, and I contentedly lie in the grass and watch their dance for not only that entire performance and the break that follows (during which I continue to lying-down dance to the songs they play over the PA system), but also for the next band's entire performance.
Cold Cave is that band, and they are also excellent: a darker, electro-dance outfit (like a good She Wants Revenge). I can't see them play a single note from my spot on the ground, but it doesn't matter. I watch the trees through their set, too, making total time spent watching trees dance to wonderful music approximately one hour, twenty minutes. And it's worth every single moment of that. I know time is going by, but I wish it isn't. I want to lie here, in this environment, watching those leaves, hearing these songs, for as long as I can.
When Cold Cave ends, I decide to get up. I love the trees still, but there are other things to see and other bands to hear. I walk to the far end and sit on the hillock while Mountain Goats play. I force myself to eat more of the burrito, but I can't manage much of it. I watch stuff grooving around me, finding any light and color (and especially brightly-colored light) especially nice to look at.
When Mountain Goats leave, Sleep comes on. I find the intro to their set too aggressively droning and leave to get a better view of the colorful lights of downtown LA's skyscrapers. Tired of lugging the thing around and finally admitting defeat, I ditch the burrito. I don't feel great, but I feel okay. Moving isn't too much of a pain, though I'd much rather just be in a spot, lying down. I go back to the Sequoia area and sit on a hill at the near side of the stage and watch the trees once more as School of Seven Bells provides a lovely soundtrack. They're a bit poppy with shimmering vocals, which fits perfectly, but I think anything would at this point. Nothing's wrong with anything and everything's so beautiful. Okay, I'm a bit cold, very tired, and feel icky, but still...the world seems beautiful.
The set ends and I decide to try to pee one last time. Still don't know if I have to or not, but all evening I've felt like I've kinda sorta had to. Going into a dark port-o-potty while tripping is a bit of an adventure. The whole thing looks so crazy, swirling light and shadows everywhere. Opening the door to the outside world is like opening a door to a whole new realm.
I walk from one end to the other for the last time of the festival, going past !!! as I go along without stopping. No offense to them, but it's nearing that time. I amble back to the same spot I'd been to several times before on that hillock, where the graphic artist is now working on a new project involving paint on a TV screen (which is, of course, showing trippy imagery). I watch him, fascinated by how he builds his pieces, a line here, a few dots there. He seems so sure of his strokes when he makes them. Again, I wish it's a talent I possess.
I lie down in the grass again and take out my lighter. I flick it on, but I can't keep it lit long enough to focus on the flame well. The wind hasn't died down, either. A girl next to me asks if she can borrow it, and I hand it to her. She offers a hit off of her joint, but I decline with thanks. I'm very content without it. The visuals go as strongly as ever, five hours since they started.
Sleep leaves the stage and I stand up. I don't feel like standing up, but I intend on watching Panda Bear from a spot near the stage. Which means standing within the crowd, another thing I don't usually enjoy doing. The fan of the musician insists on it, while all along the fan of the psychedelic experience is saying that it would probably be better if I were lying down away from the stage, enjoying the trip and music together rather than the performance (seeing as it won't be much to see, what with it being a guy pressing buttons).
Just standing there for the twenty-or-so minutes it takes to set up the equipment is difficult. I feel cramped internally, and this causes to grow a claustrophobic feeling from being within the crowd. I'm so tired; just staying awake is a chore. Closing my eyes helps me to calm down some, but it gives fuel to my desire to sleep.
The show starts with a rumble, then a screech. This back-and-forth continues for some time, and I now wish I wasn't in front of a wall of speakers (or had at least procured earplugs). The way the sound waves are repercussing in my body feels not at all pleasant. The stage lights are all so bright, and I don't know what I should look at. The trippy images on the screen behind him are fun, but I'm here to see the man himself.
I put on my sunglasses as the music bends and folds around me. There's never a break in either sound or visual, so at times it feels a bit overwhelming. It's just him, a soundboard, and a guitar, but the music is so layered and swirling, psychedelic in and of itself. Familiar phrases are heard in unfamiliar places, and only briefly. Intros are extended into seemingly-endless teases of build-up before the recognized song begins. I like it, but the unfamiliarity of songs known by heart doesn't help me settle into a comfortable place.
I can tell time is passing, but I can't tell how much. It's an expected surprise when the performance ends and the lights come up. I can't wait to get back to my car so that I can sit down.
I still have visual changes, though things don't move around like they did earlier in the day. It's midnight now, and the colorful lights have a wonderful glow. I furiously chew on the same two pieces of Juicy Fruit gum I've had in my mouth for the past six hours. I hear music coming from the center stage: The Rapture is still playing. I know they'll be ending any minute now, so I just sit down in the grass and watch the city until it's over. In another minute, it is.
I walk to the car, finding it easily despite the confusion of the lot. I'd left myself post-festival food and drink, but don't want either. I know I should be very, very hungry and try to eat a chocolate-chip and peanut cookie (which I'd normally devour before you had time to describe what sort of cookie it was). It's like I can taste the ingredients, but not the final product. It just tastes like flour and sugar to me, and I eat one small bite before setting it aside for good.
It takes a while to get out of the lot and do the driving [Erowid Note:
Driving while intoxicated, tripping, or extremely sleep deprived is dangerous and irresponsible because it endangers other people. Don't do it!]
(I'd prefer not to, but I'm coming down and feeling in no way impaired or beyond the capabilities of performing the task), and I don't get home until around 1 AM. Maybe a little bit before.
I go through all of the usual routine tasks of getting ready for bed (and preparing to be up again early for work) without much thought or attention. When everything's been taken care of, I turn off the ceiling light, turn on a lamp, and start smoking marijuana. I don't care if I have to work in six hours; I am going to take full advantage of this astonishing (and rare, to my experience) combination.
Soon after taking that first hit, the visuals are coming back. And now they're coming back stronger than before. Every plane of vision is fractalized into diamond light, each edge sparkling with a fluid rainbow: prisms, prisms everywhere. The objects in the room move in a way unlike the typical groove; they are swirling and shimmying, as if being seen through heat waves. Ghostly shadows remain behind. I wave my hand before my eyes and see tracers following behind. Focusing on this for a while only strengthens the visual experience. The fan blades elongate and shorten, the ceiling lifts slowly and falls softly. If I watch long enough and relax my eyes certain ways, I can get everything to devolve into formless, swirling colors of pixilated rainbow light, far more astounding than any psychedelic art one could ever imagine. It exhausts me and tires out my eyes, however. I'm nearly nodding off, but everything's so beautiful that I don't want to stop looking. Shimmering, shining, glowing, swirling prisms and rainbows and fractals and colors. Everything so radiant, so breathtaking, so full of wonderment.
My vision occasionally shakes from the nystagmus. I didn't notice it on mushrooms and ecstasy, but I've noticed it both times with mescaline. I can feel my eyes shuddering, can see the world tremble. So tired, so physically uncomfortable. Want to keep on looking, but it's almost 3 AM and I have to turn off the light and close my eyes.
I wake up at 6:30 AM. My alarm didn't go off. In fact, my alarm wasn't on. This has happened a few times recently, and I wonder if I turned it off without realizing or if the phone's just glitching. Strange that I woke up at just the right time without it, especially since I need so much more sleep than I got.
I feel rather terrible. Not nauseous, but achy and vague. My mind is not yet in its sober state. I can go about business soberly, but my thoughts aren't quite normal. I grab my usual banana and egg, and also bring along a Coke. I don't imagine I'll ever want the food, but I need quick, cheap energy and bubbliness.
Moving is quite the task. It's something I'd much rather not be doing under any circumstances, but I figured that I'd be fine working right now, so I didn't bother trying to switch my shifts with anyone, or take the morning off entirely. I have a stupidly strong work ethic, one that goes above-and-beyond rationality. Otherwise I consider myself to be a logical person. At any rate, I perform my tasks hunched-over, and lean against objects to support my weight whenever possible. I feel very hungover, but it's different from an alcohol hangover. The song lyrics 'I had too much to dream last night' go through my head as I work my way through the morning shift.
My vision is a bit on the fuzzy side, too. I don't need to wear corrective lenses and normally have sharp vision. I can read print fine, but the focus just isn't as sharp. Colors aren't glowing, but I can see that they have the potential to. I'm convinced that if I were at home smoking pot (oh were that I was), I would be having a visual trip right now. Instead, I'm just struggling though the morning (which is, of course, busier than usual due to the holiday).
I feel like a zombie and just want the shift to end. I sip the Coke, and when it comes time for me to take my breakfast break, I can just eat the egg, and then only very slowly. It's bland enough. The first three hours are the worst. Eventually the strange psychedelic hangover feeling and the nausea and head cloudiness start to lift around 10:00 AM. The feelings I have from the lack of sleep stick around, of course. I usually stay after the shift ends for an hour or so to do a bit more work for some extra money, but I am out of there at 1:00 exactly.
I spend the afternoon smoking pot, lying in bed, and listening to Sigur Ros. I just want to sleep, but I can't. The marijuana makes me hungry, and I eat a simple lunch around 2:00. Then I lie in bed some more, just thinking. Thinking about the music and the psychedelia and the two of them together. I believe it's one of life's perfect combinations.
I have to get ready to go back to work around 5:00 PM. I eat a decent amount for dinner before leaving and feel much better after it. I'm congested and my throat's a bit scratchy, and I can tell I'm getting sick, but I don't feel sick at all. I have the symptoms without any ill feeling. I guess that the drug combination must be preventing my body from sensing sickness. I almost feel up to going back to work after a hot shower.
At least I get to sleep on this shift. Though exhausted, I find it difficult to fall asleep. Sleep's as decent as work sleep can be, but I still don't feel like doing much when I wake up in the morning. It's now my weekend. I spend it doing nothing, except coming down with a cold.
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Experience Reports are the writings and opinions of the individual authors who submit them.
Some of the activities described are dangerous and/or illegal and none are recommended by Erowid Center.