DOSE: T+ 0:00	1 hit	oral	LSD	(blotter / tab)
T+ 3:00	1 hit	oral	LSD	(blotter / tab)
T+ 4:15	1 cig.	smoked	Cannabis	(plant material)
T+ 0:00	2 bowls	smoked	Cannabis	(plant material)

BODY WEIGHT:

130 lb

It was the week of my Spring Break during my junior year of college. Early in the week, I had stocked up on acid tabs purchased from a local bloke for $10 apiece; I had a nice one-tab experience on the Tuesday night that I bought them (despite getting comically lost in the “woods” briefly). The experience in question, though, took place the Saturday of that same week, the penultimate day of my Spring Break, at home (do mind that I had been living at home with my folks and one of my best friends/roommate when this went down). I awoke, ate breakfast, and did a few chores, then ate lunch as per usual. Around 15:00, I rather spontaneously decided to spend the rest of my day in a solo psychedelic meditation, huddled snugly in my bed with music and a pad of paper for drawing, and, as such, I took one tab of the seven or so I had left. Soon after I set the blotter in place under my tongue, my mom, having no idea I do psychedelics, let alone having just took a tab of acid, surprised me with the inescapable prospect of finally moving my roommate—whom I will refer to here as Mickey—into his own room, our guest bedroom. So, I, soon to be engulfed in the lysergic thrall, and not being able to refuse the request for assistance, accepted this challenge.

The onset was gradual, though short. Within an hour I was peaking. I recall sitting splayed-legged amidst a bedframe that was too small for the queen-sized box-spring, defeated—along with my mother, step-father, and Mickey—by this conundrum. I avoided eye-contact with each of them as my pupils were coals ousting the blue irises from my eyes—they had no idea what was going on in my head. My step-father eventually hammered out the ends of the bed frame to accommodate the box-springs. At that point, I began feeling the trip more intensely, as demonstrated by my insatiable need to stare aloof into the backyard where the colors of the foliage and bricks of other houses were saturated with the wetness of 18-hours’ worth of rain. The whole scene was brilliant; the greens were exceptionally lush and fertile-looking, and the bricks were as blood. After helping Mickey move some more boxes in, I was finally able to retire to my contemplative solitude. Or so I thought.

The trip was not as strong as I would have liked, clearly a result of the tolerance that I acquired having done in five days prior. So I took another tab. At this point—around 18:00—I became aware, rather uncomfortably, that my mom was making dinner; again, an irrefutable obligation. Dinner being imminent, I swallowed the tab, because who wants to eat with a bitter amide dispersing throughout your mouth? Plus, I was unreasonably uneasy about the blotter somehow leaping out from under my tongue and blowing my cover! Shrimp over noodles with salad was the course of the meal, and I sat down rather excitedly as the idea of experiencing food-based synesthesia. But this never happened. Instead, I drenched the salad in honey Dijon mustard dressing, and scarfed it like a noobie stoner. I suddenly lost my appetite half-way through eating my shrimp and noodles, which got me paranoid, wondering if my sudden loss of appetite was suspicious. It also didn’t help that I got terribly, childishly excited talking about politics or movies or something—I can’t recall; the point is, the talons of lysergic paranoia dug slightly deeper as I waved a big red flag around. I felt uneasy and sought the solitary silence that was I was supposed to have been basking in all this time anyway; I fled to my room.

Circa 19:00 or so, my friend—to whom I will refer as Cooper, the Acosta to my Thompson (or vice-versa, it’s impossible to say because we’re both white and crazy)—hit up my phone, asking me if I wanted to chill. Naturally, I obliged because acid makes one overly impressionable. It was around this time that I noticed how utterly beautiful the colors in my room were. My red sheets were like fresh pussy, the multi-colored fractal carpet was like a saturated military fatigue, pulsing ever so slightly, and my golden, patriotic “Don’t Tread On Me” shirt was as fiery as the sun. The second tab was rushing on, and my skin because to feel electrified as it tends to do while on psychedelics. This made me slightly uneasy for a while, but finally Cooper showed up. So we stayed in my room, smoking the dankest medical bud from California, joking to the point it was like my whole body was bleeding elation itself from every pore; I recall being sprawled out on my bed, laughing myself to tears over some jokes that fail to be recollected (I can safely presume they were leftist humor / anti-Reagan [because fuck Reagan]). In the midst of our tearful lollygagging, we decided to shoot rude music videos for out god-awful noisecore side-project. This involved me fighting a knife-wielding Cooper with my bass guitar. (We have an odd tendency to pull knives on one another, or threaten each other with general corporeal harm while on psychedelic drugs.)

The rest of the night entailed a car-ride through town in the rain, which I found high enjoyable, more pot smoking, and various personal catharses. We ended up poring over Netflix-induced screenings of 'Videodrome' (great movie) and 'Tetsuo: The Bullet Man' (avoid at all costs). In sum, the day was odd as all fuck. If you haven’t engaged in various recreational and non-recreational activities with your family in the throes of psychedelia, I do recommend it, though be sure to conceal your black hole pupils and giddy infant laughter.

Exp Year: 2012	ExpID: 95477
Gender: Male
Age at time of experience: 20
Published: Jul 10, 2017	Views: 1,440
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