Citation: Transcendence. "Twist Myself Into a Pretzel and Turn to Meet a New Sun: An Experience with 2C-T-7, 2C-E & 2C-C (exp94033)". Erowid.org. Sep 18, 2019. erowid.org/exp/94033
The dose described in this report is very high, potentially beyond Erowid's 'heavy' range, and could pose serious health risks or result in unwanted, extreme effects. Sometimes extremely high doses reported are errors rather than actual doses used.]
| T+ 1:00
||(powder / crystals)
| T+ 1:00
||(powder / crystals)
| T+ 2:00
Get Along Kid Charlemagne
This is an experience that happened over two years ago during the summer I ordered 5g of various 2Cs and summarily decided to abuse the shit out of them (while living with my parents).
A muggy August evening. Shark Week. 30mg of 2C-T-7 dissolved in 1cc of water in a needless syringe. Up the bum. Within 20 minutes a yellowish haze envelopes the room. The black text on my laptop screen develops the sheen of gasoline rainbows. They lift themselves from the browser and hang in the air. Each word I read sticks in the back of my neck and condenses to a pleasurable buzz that wraps around my spinal cord like a tumor. A bug-eyed fly lands on my shoulder and begins to wash its hands. It looks up at me and I can see my face reflected in its compound eyes. The fly seems to writhe in ecstasy. I feel some small amount of pity for this animal and so I kill it. Relief washes over me in an awesome wave.
2C-Ts have a uniquely dirty body load, and this becomes more prominent at about +1h. I have the urge to piss badly, but my bladder is decidedly empty.
I have the urge to piss badly, but my bladder is decidedly empty.
This sensation greatly annoys me. The room is stuffy and the air seems saturated with moisture. I find it difficult to breathe, though I am asthmatic so I'm used to the sensation. I recall that the kids who've died from T7 were speculated to have died from pulmonary edema and I am momentarily concerned. I decide that if I'm going to die I might as well not pussyfoot around the issue so I bomb 20mg of 2CE and 60mg of 2CC while fingering a rosary.
An hour later and all three Cs are pulling me in different directions. The emotionally tempestuous T7 refuses to yield to the grey logic of 2C-E, while 2C-C contents itself with bathing my organs in a dreamy liquid valium soup. I brushed the floating crystals out of my field of vision and somehow managed to warm up my vaporizer. I drew three or four lungfulls and stood.
At this point I've entered what I can only describe as unmitigated delusions of grandeur. I think to myself that it should be illegal to get this high. I have visions of becoming the next Socrates.
unmitigated delusions of grandeur. I think to myself that it should be illegal to get this high. I have visions of becoming the next Socrates.
I have visions of a praying mantis eating itself. I am strapped to a hospital bed and my parents are looking down at me, shaking their heads. I cannot describe the sheer level of intoxication. It cannot be measured in visuals or euphoria. I just feel...dangerously high. Like all my other drug experiences have been on the ground and now I'm breaching the atmosphere. My brain is overclocked. I pat myself on the back.
A voice asks 'Do you know how fucking insane you are?' and I am brought to my knees with laughter. Clearly I do. Every thought from this point on fills me with existential horror that I grip like the bar on a roller coaster. The adrenaline feels nice. I never thought it was possible to actually enjoy chemical fright. Interesting.
I never thought it was possible to actually enjoy chemical fright. Interesting.
I'm watching Kim Deal smoking a cigarette on stage in Boston and decide that if this broken down cheerleader junkie can play bass in the Pixies then so can I. I pop in The Beatles Anthology and watch a froggy John Lennon stand bow-legged on stage with an acoustic guitar. His gaze penetrates the TV screen and he winks. The knowing sparkle in his eye at once infuriates and sexually excites me. I shut it off and place [I]The Royal Scam[/I] by Steely Dan on my turntable. Kid Charlemagne crackles to life at half-speed.
[I]Clean this mess up else we'll all end up in jail
Those test tubes and the scales, just get it all out of here
Is there gas in the car ?
Yes there's gas in the car
I think the people down the hall know who you are
Careful what you carry
Cause the man is wise
You are still an outlaw in their eyes
Get along, Get along Kid Charlemagne.
Get along Kid Charlemagne.[/I]
Huddled in the far corner of my room, I gape at my turntable in wide-eyed horror. I am Kid Charlemagne. The seedy people with which I've associated and the crack houses I've visited over the last few weeks flash before my eyes. These people are obviously being watched, the houses are tapped, and loose lips sink ships. Fuck. I've been careless. I open my drawer and eye my scale and the color-coded vials with the sparkling powders. I dump a gram of 2C-T-7 down the sink as I hear my parents get up to start their day. I twist myself into a pretzel and turn to meet a new sun rising.
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