Modern humans must learn how to relate to psychoactives
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working to minimize harms and maximize benefits, and
integrating use into a healthy, enjoyable, and productive life.
Clubbing in Babylon
4-AcO-DMT, 25C-NBOMe & DXM
by Tiglatpileser III
Citation:   Tiglatpileser III. "Clubbing in Babylon: An Experience with 4-AcO-DMT, 25C-NBOMe & DXM (exp92951)". Sep 26, 2011.

T+ 0:00
16 mg oral 4-AcO-DMT (liquid)
  T+ 1:14 180 mg oral DXM  
  T+ 3:00 400 ug buccal 25C-NBOMe (blotter / tab)


This is real time narrative of my first psychedelic experiment for two decades which took place three days ago.

“There's a glass in front of me containing some tap water and 16mg of psilacetin. This moment is the result of eight years of theoretical research on psychoactives. After my two experiences on LSD and one on mushrooms twenty years ago I have not ingested any intoxicants other than alcohol. And two joints of weed this summer. Which I found disappointingly pointless and boring. Psychedelics are hard to come by in my country, so I took my time researching the field before choosing a vendor of research chemicals. After careful planning I decided psilacetin and 25C-NBOMe would my starting point. After having quit drinking six months previously I feel like indulging a bit tonight as I had some sixteen hours to spend in peace. Also there is a craving for a mystical type of encounter in the periphery of my intentions. And a wish to take it carefully on this first trial.

Setting is the basement of my house. A cosy underground room with old naked concrete walls, some good sofas, soft lightening and a superb stereo set. I pray I little prayer to whatever ghost of entropy that might be listening.

T 0:0 I drink the chemical. Tastes like water. Cross my legs on the couch. All is peaceful. I feel a sting of excitement and nod mischeviously to my own reflection on the glass door to the right of me.
T 0:14 The colors start deepening on the walls. There seems to be some urgent meaning to them. Yet I am restful, tranquil. This feels like coming to a familiar, sorely missed place. I smile.
T 0:18 Heightened pulse. A bit dizzy. Time seems to speed up. There is a Babylonian ship on the wall. The wall is meandering. This moment feels like a precious stone. Feeling warm, lucid, joyful.
T 0:26 A tremendous surge of energy flows through me. Music is a form of sunlight. Clear, fresh. My heart beats. I feel excited, childlike. This is wonderful. Life is wonderful. Dark, joyous, stark. My usual irateness flows away like tar. Letters, as I write them down are all words to themselves. Green, green being an emotion as well as a color. Most pleasant. I am not feeling a bit stoned, and yet at the same time the very words with which I think this thought turn suddenly into funny little objects themselves. They are all angular on the surface, strike a logical pose, but soft on the inside like biological entities. They do things as I think them into this action of being. They are little thought machines. What a feeling of busyness there!

T0:29 Visual distortions begin. Everything is three dimensional. But isn't everything supposed to be three dimensional? My neocortex is trembling. How far to the plateau? Far out, man. Worth waiting for all these years. This is the Now. This is Egypt, Babylonia, this is the Aztecs. This is my selfish genes on the go. Outer space this is! There is so MUCH of everything. And how delicate it all is. We animals are so delicate creatures, goddamn. Now I can say with full relish: wow, the colors.
T 0:52 Plateau. This plenitude drowns me. Things sprout out of each other. Nature spawns all things. This is the East as opposed to West. West is a straight line of defense against the curved nature or East. Simplicity, pietism is an ethical choice against the endless lascivious nature of East. We have chosen deed over contemplation. Lonelyness, individuality. We have chosen. Words, the instruments of order, are islands in the endless vastness of natures ocean.

And the weirdest thing. Inside this concrete/conceptual fireworks I am suddenly hungry. Food is not an ornament like all else. All else is ornaments, trinkets, arabesques. All this becoming just cannot be dependent on me. All this entertainment can not be for me. I can see inside of cells. This is plus three. Must be. Period. Of confuuusion. White is the mother of all color. No feelings. Mind has a will to make temples and palaces of all things. Palaces with faces on every surface into which one can be submerged again and again as they look back at you as you swim alone on the sea of gems. This is melancholy. There is a great face with a puppy-like expression on and nothing behind them. The world is an experience with nothing behind it. This is melancholy. This is great responsibility. All we have is the ones we care about. This is what I am trying to say while standing in torrential downpour of gems. All books I ever read are a part of me, the letters have violet wings, and without those books there is no participating in the experience that is me. Or you. There's nothing hippy in that seen from here. This all goes as well on a battlefield as in a wedding bed. Dig?

Stoned as hell. Silk has eyes that have eyers that bleed faberge pyramids. But real. Only gold there is is in the eye of the beholder.

T 1:06 Still hungry. Still in the wedding party of the moguls. Swirls of color and wings in everything. Like an extra dimension that is always there, but usually invisible. I dance. Whatever I concentrate in becomes a fountain of beauty. This is the privilege of a kitsch paradise.

T 1:14 Dear beloved gentlemen! Have you ever come to think that water might be a form of technology? If in a jeremynarbyesque way the mysterious inactive DNA sequences are crystals...well whatever. It is good just to lie on this meadow admiring the moon. For my hunger I found some God's good salted almonds from the geometric wonderland of upstairs. And some water, miracle working tonic from the crevasses of the ice age. As you can see gentlemen, we are still standing on firm earth, on the meadow, where our senses greatly amuse us. That is all. And still the empty smile is there. Oh, we saw fit to add some 120mg of DMX to our system. And now its the time to test if there are any closed eyes visuals.

T 2:52 Back to baseline, sort of. There was not much in the way of CEV's. Strange. But all music sounded absolutely sincere. Nothing mystic though, no presences, nor humility. And now for something totally different. I need to get something from my study.

T 3:00 I insert a 400mcg blotter of 25C-NBOMe between my gum and teeth. (Here we see in close up a person who totally throws away all modesty in face of insanely strong mind altering chemicals.)

T 2:00 + 0:0
T0:17 mouth full of saliva.
T0:25 mouth even more full of saliva.
T0:27 mouth endlessly full of saliva, gums feeling numb. The objects around me start to look ridiculous. The chairs have legs. Cabaret Absurd. This route of administration really sucks.
T0:30 We have a takeoff. Boy do we have a takeoff! Profuse sweating. Everything suddenly sensuous. All vibrating. The Babylonian wall ship turns four dimensional and takes on sinister aspect.
T0:34 I finally swallow the sea of mucus. I look about me. The screen is melting and pulsating. All science is esoteric, way esoteric.

T0:43 Bit out of breath. It is hard to describe this. I have no difficulties orienting to real surroundings, but the elemental color system of visual perception apparatus becomes dubious. The spectrum turns toward turquoise. A bit nauseous. Sweaty palms. Music gives undertones to all thoughts. I need to change this lazy electronic stuff to anything else. Considering how stoned I should be I feel pretty ok. This surely is a party drug! No entheogen this. Is this really how I speak? Obviously yes. If there was someone else in here, I would love him/her. Element of ecstasy, maybe. Visual periphery tends to melt. It's hard to keep any focus. The march of thought machines takes over. There is no real subject reflecting these reflections here. All I can think is 'take some more'. Doesn't sound too productive. As if that would be the point. It feels as though this club (it really feels like a club) is filled to the brim with the grooviest people alive. All things are turquoise, but that I already said. How do these electronic music dudes do that bass thing?

+T0:55 Goddamn party drug. Everything is so bloody ice groovy. This is like a design state of mind. No nature boys here. No mysticism here. A position hard to describe unless you see it for yourself.

Water tastes bitter. Room is warm. I have no idea what 'self' means. The main ingredient of selfhood is memories. I have no memories. I have a sense of atmosphere. The chairs take faux-horny positions. Everything gets even more turquoise. There are cartoon turquoise Africans in aquamarine fake cheetah furcoats with legs so long they reach the opposite sides of the galaxy throwing vogue kisses in the air. Of course. But is there any use for any of this in the odd lumberjack cottage? Which of course turns out to be only some kind of gay fancy dress party. This stuff is all gay! Plus three again.

(T 2:00) + T1:07 Beyond the layers of reality there are for some reason an endless multitude of Aztec drawings. That's just the way it is. These woods is full of faces, and we are the woods, and it screams. What do you do with this kind of knowledge? Live it. Let it live in you.

And there it lurks. The fluorescent birdheaded one. Should that surprise me? Like the fact that the theory of evolution is not falsifiable. Oh, this room is like it was built for this stuff. This room WAS built for this stuff. Gallery of mirrors. For introspection. For birthing room. Woooo!

T1:27 Went out. To the yard, I mean. Starry skies and the moon. Partly cloudy. This place is my yard and not my yard. Took onto me some 180mg's of DXM. The moon was deep and sad and beautiful. I could not really see the stars for my myopia. How ironic is that. Now the jazz sounds like a crying animal. This is how it is under steel and sky. I feel like and old, tired hippie. This is the Untergang of meanings. I am alive and here. I listen to Shpongle, as they say. Words are just words. You can always try to speak yourself out of situations. But not now. Because the words starting with p's wear Bonanza's Hoss's brown cowboy hats. Previous sentence is an example of what trying to accomplish something in my state is like. But I have fun. As fun as a person sitting writing in his cellar head full of dangerous drugs can have.

T 2+2:02. I lie in my bed. Really relaxed and mellow. Considering I have just taken two hits of military grade drugs from an unknown supplier after twenty years abstinence. In few minutes first to second plateau worth of DXM should kick in. Is wish myself luck.”

Exp Year: 2011ExpID: 92951
Gender: Male 
Age at time of experience: 44 
Published: Sep 26, 2011Views: 9,811
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25C-NBOMe (540), 4-AcO-DMT (387), DXM (22) : Alone (16), Poetry (43), Combinations (3)

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