DOSE:	1.5 g	oral	Mushrooms
	3 hits	oral	LSD
	50 mg	insufflated	Methoxetamine	(powder / crystals)

BODY WEIGHT:

165 lb

I'm in line at the bar. It's long, packed. I am silent, smiling like a maniac. Large though the crowd is, my pupils are wide enough to fit them all. People who make eye contact with me expect me to talk to them---I can tell. This is mostly the magic mushrooms talking.

After I've moved ten feet and abut the wall of the bar the line swells. More keep squeezing and I'm not shoulder to shoulder, but curve to curve with everybody. A girl two feet shorter than me is flush with my torso, pressed against me and five others. Even a gas chamber operator would find this overcrowding hazardous. Someone starts laughing with me, or I start laughing outwardly. Everyone is garbed so strangely, but I can't recall why.

I'm soon inside. The bouncer doesn't linger on my ID. It all matches except for the pupils. The place is crowded, but the counters are still clear and I can order a drink within seconds, so the wave hasn't yet hit. I dance briefly, but can feel that the energy hasn't yet reached the floor, but is waiting in the wings. I drink a gin and tonic beside the dj, watching the crowd and soaking up the mood. Soon. Very soon.

I ascend the stairs to the upper floor bathroom, a quieter place for those who have been inside before and left with sobriety and sense enough to recall its existence. It's larger, cleaner than the basement, and hasn't anyone working in it handing out water or gum or overseeing that no one is insufflating drugs or puking them out. This is an important quality in a bathroom.

It's quiet. I take a stall, and pull out my millilitre vial of methoxetamine. The square tiles on the floor are pulsating. My hand shakes the vial too vigorously and too much powder spills onto the surface of my phone. Enough mex to get me high for the next twelve hours, or maybe even for life, albeit a short one. I scrape some gingerly back into the vial, leaving a reasonable amount. But maybe that's the shrooms talking. Reason isn't why I'm here.

It goes wrong. My second nostril bleeds profusely the instant the particulate enters. I try to inhale harder despite the blood to keep it in my nose, but know that it's useless; only half the dose is in there. Plus I'm spilling everywhere. I grab wads of toilet paper and sit down. Soon I can't recall why I'm wherever I am. Paranoia grips me, as I worry about how much visible blood is on my face, or if the bouncers will be summoned for the suspiciously occupied stall. Stories from beyond the door drift in, and my predicament melds with them. Snippets catch, are enjoyable, and I am sharing a moment somehow with these figments. Shortly I hear insufflation from the stall beside me: a comforting sound. I am not alone. The blood subsides eventually, but I can't recall why I'm here. Am I nauseous? It doesn't appear so. Then I recall the blood and start wiping around my nostrils with saliva to remove the traces before I emerge and make for the sink.

Outside the bathroom, the energy has augmented. I'm on the top floor, looking down to the dance floor and the ledges above. Over a hundred multicolored creatures flailing in the lights greet me. I gasp, rapt, and return to the bar. I order a glass of water, and stand at the bar briefly. I am deeply connected to everyone here. As they pass me, their faces are all familiar, and I recognize them all from past nights, dreams, and lives. The water is blessed, and I am blessed, but at this point, that could be the mex talking.

I join the chaos on the floor, which is now impossible to see through the tangles of bodies. Several lines of people are slowing pushing their way through the crowd, and I join these with manic eyes and weave in and out of arms and legs. I feel myself to emanate love, that the contact with the bodies around me is transferring the energy we all feel, and that a collective cloud is around us, all of us. The sonic waves in the air are palpable to the entire body. Vibrations share the feeling, and everyone is joyous. There is hardly room to dance, but weaving and bumping around is all I want. Mankind gets me off.

Soon or hours later I return for more water at the bar. This is the second glass. But the bartenders understand. Everyone knows, and I know that I am emanating heat and energy. My head is constantly nodding. My eyes are wide and all-seeing and I am all-knowing. I know so much that complex things decompose; I can't understand what alcohol is, or what the words mean, but I know that every creature here is here to share love; they are unified, are one.

Back on the floor there is room and the vibrations in the air move my body for me. I am the sound turned into visible light and movable space. I bend, twist, turn, and step with mania. Beside girls, beside guys, I see and feel only a body---male and female have decomposed as well, and I know only that they are energy and love, and that love takes so many shapes and sizes and colours. Everyone here is imperfect if they are to be measured, but they are perfect if they are to be loved, because love is free, untethered, and ubiquitous. A girl asks me if I am high---the word and its intent reaches me as if through water and across ages of peaceful sleep without any thought of words at all. I cannot recall what high is, how high and alcohol are related.

More words follow. Infused with the music and heat is the powerful smell of sweat. Sweat drifts slowly through the water as well---I recall it as a liquid, like alcohol. But sweat is made when the bodies move, when the bodies are powerful and are full of energy. Sweat and sex are intertwined, and sex is the transfer of energy. Sweat is the by-product of energy. And love is the result of this energy.

A group of girls grabs me as I drink water at the bar. I dance; they make eager sounds, and we are happy. They are beautiful; everyone who is happy is beautiful: I can see their joy in their faces, and the joy spreads to my face. And when my joy spreads to theirs, I can see it and I am made even more joyous to know that my energy has been shared. I look up into the air filled with sweat and heat and sound, see the people on the pulpits to the side, smiling and throbbing to the music. I cry out that our species is beautiful---no one needs to hear, they already know if they can merely see the air.

I dance with another group, who accept me and smile as we move together. The crowd shifts, more people push their way across the floor and I dance with another group. Constantly moving. Constantly moving. People see my energy; I see theirs; we touch our hands together and utter sounds lost in the haze, but our eyes say it all: fantastic---we are agreed.

Suddenly I look around, wondering what the hell is happening? Everyone here is dressed so strangely, and I can't understand why. The mood is great and everyone is happy, but I begin to understand I'm in a bar somewhere with a bunch of cross-dressers. I go looking for my sweater, which I never find. I wonder what time it is, and realize what alcohol is, and that everyone around me is marinaded in it. This is now mostly the acid talking.

On the street the strange creatures don't make any more sense than inside the bar. I don't understand what everyone is doing; slowly the word Halloween starts to filter towards me. This is difficult to process, as things still look odd and I can't place them all. The costumes unnerve me---I hope they're mostly costumes, and not the acid screaming.

I begin to walk up and down the block, crossing the street, asking people what they are, and then trying to remember what those things are. One is dressed as a piece of corn; I cannot recall what corn is, but have a sudden powerful recollection of childhood, playing piece of corn with my mother, a game in which I was buttered and peppered and salted and would run away once I was to be eaten. I decide against mentioning this game.

I'm walking bizarrely. Not a wayward drunk, but a hopping and sliding hippie peering at objects and balancing my dancing motions with tight-rope walking arms. Someone is asking me for molly, and I try to explain that our species is one collective consciousness---and that meant that someone somewhere on mdma was just as good as him here on mdma. I think he tells me to fuck off. That's the kind of thanks you get for enlightening your fellow man.

On the way home I call Lyon, hoping to catch him doing much the same on the way home from the bar. He's asleep however. The suburbs are back to their slow, slumbering self. He's asking how I am and I hear myself incoherently mention something to the effect of drugs, our species, and collective consciousness. This is mostly me talking.

Halloween makes no sense on a headful of acid. You feel yourself to be the only sane one, and that the world is comically tearing itself apart as its transvestites celebrate clothing of any sort. Fucking weirdos.

Exp Year: 2012	ExpID: 98237
Gender: Male
Age at time of experience: 21
Published: Oct 31, 2017	Views: 1,392
[ View PDF (to print) ] [ View LaTeX (for geeks) ] [ Swap Dark/Light ]
Mushrooms (39), LSD (2), Methoxetamine (527) : Club / Bar (25), Combinations (3)