Citation: Bunny. "Another Planet: An Experience with 2C-E (exp99998)". Erowid.org. Sep 2, 2017. erowid.org/exp/99998
||(powder / crystals)
Peaked after two hours
Came down 5am
It all started with an unignorable flicking. Every light pulsing and sending a dense pattern of tiny replicas to the foreground. I turned off all the lights, even my mood lights, and closed all the shades. It was already dark outside but even nearby LED was enough to blind me. With everything dark, and Pete unfamiliar with my space, hilarity ensues. He canít find anything I am asking him for in the dark, and why am I asking anyway? We take off our clothes. I continue to silently marvel at the growing intensity of my hallucinations. (The sex is super hot ok?)
Patterns come to life on every surface including Peteís face and start changing color. I feel like I am in the highest point of my brain, and I canít fly up anymore. By contrast Pete is pretty sober. Two caps donít even touch him, and Iím zooming out of control. Letting go is the only option, a breath I canít hold onto, and a pain I donít want.
I tell Pete he can go for a cigarette on the upstairs deck even though scary faces are appearing to me on the ceiling and twisting around to make circular reaching claw arms. The patterns repeat, and I see itís all the same thing, but the colors inspire the fractals to take familiar shapes. The fear creeps in, and I hold it back with the knowledge that itís not real. As I accept that I am the scary things, something releases like a tight muscle in a long stretch. I let my mind wander and find delight in whatever appears. The threatening shapes smoothly lighten and cause me to giggle just as Pete returns from his smoke break.
My vision is slowly taken over until I see a mosaic of stained glass like patterns of color over his face and everything else. Heís sleepy, and asking me what Iíd like to do. Our funny mundane conversation spins me as I struggle to find meaning in the words.
Our funny mundane conversation spins me as I struggle to find meaning in the words.
I want to say wait, hold on something is happening. Except I canít figure out how to produce anything or halt the spin.
I am waking up from a seconds-long blackout with frustrating repetition only long enough to wish I could hold a thought. Repeat, the colors get brighter. Repeat, the patterns more intense. Repeat, until I find the bottom of nothingness. Repeat, until Iím able to start to build from these fragments. Repeat, itís not what Iím building. No, itís realizing what Iíve lost. Repeat, this place is so blank I struggle for any clues. Who is this person next to me? Repeat. I know his name but who is he really. Where am I? Repeat. My room doesnít feel like mine, or even a part of me at all. The photograph on the wall must be someone elseís. Repeat. I manage to say, ďIím having trouble with reality.Ē What I really mean is Iím completely confused and embarrassed to be so without myself. Repeat. Pete and I have a circular conversation where I try to establish the day of the week, the time, that I am a living being, that there is such a thing as biology, that I have to pee...
Do I have to pee? Can I move towards the bathroom if I no longer exist? This is what people mean when they say their mind is blown. I struggle, not to let go, but now come back into myself and feel whole. I ask for reassurance from Pete, and yet I have no idea what I am asking. ďIs there still such a thing as biology?Ē He replies and is perhaps now clued in to my state. I remind myself that I have to communicate my confusion and not be embarrassed or else he will fall asleep, and I will be left alone with this tremendous experience.
I start by telling him what I see. Sparkly Celtic knotwork in southwestern colors. He starts talking about math, clearly more comfortable staying present for now. I ask him if there is still time. Am I repeating myself? ďWill it ever be daylight again?Ē I am lost in a timeless void, and try to decide that the world hasnít changed despite my desperate inability to remember how I fit into it. Or even what itís about. This is real deconstructivism. I marvel at the complete unraveling. Still not being able to get up and go to the bathroom. ďThis is what Jim meant by not being able to get off the couch to pee on MXE. Except I think mine is way more fun. I have no idea about anything at all,Ē and give way to paranoid silence.
The lights must be off. I compulsively check the time. Pete assures me everything is fine. Or right, I did just ask him that. I snuggle into his neck in a vulnerable gesture, and he purrs as I whimper. Sparkly pink castles, ponies, and gems appear around him. This is the shit. Now he is the lizard prince holding a tea tray to the side of his long and lean reptile body. Carousels of toy like pine tree branches live on their rotating metal poles. Everything is green and peacefully following the motion.
Pete tries to entertain himself with his laptop as I have gone nonverbal again. I hide under the blanket and giggle at the most complete visuals I have ever had. He dims his screen and I start to tell him about everything and made him type it all out in an email to me. My excitement flies up and comes back low. Lucky Charms cereal and nausea drop like stale marshmallow shapes into our conversation. He eyes me warily, and I still canít fully remember my life. A fascinating feeling of sweet yucky comes out as ďSplort!Ē
Through a series of silent questions to myself the pieces are less elusive and not yet fitting together. ďCan you put a message through to the other side for me?Ē I wish I could document my own experience without using embarrassing voice recordings. Pete is the appointed ambassador to the rest of the universe, broadcasting from my black hole.
Pete is the appointed ambassador to the rest of the universe, broadcasting from my black hole.
He is also still coding. I tease him that he has sooo many jobs because thatís how important he is.
Surprisingly naked and cold out of bed and trying to get to the bathroom. I shriek at my complete lack of achievement plan. I am a fit of giggles under the shapeless softness of Peteís brown robe. Where are my jammies. How can I find them in the dark. I jump back and forth on the chapped lip of indecision. Pete laughing at my giggling makes me feel like I can tell him just how bananas this is. There are no words. Native bathroom patterns flicker and flow like an ocean tide on fast-forward. The peaceful moment and my urine have passed on. I run shrieking into a bed full of circus wonders...and Pete.
Pearly pastel pink bubble bamboo dragonfly warrior princesses with red eyes take me by surprise. Pastel animal illustrations from the dark ages run past carrying Victorian clocks. No, they are living clocks frolicking in a field. I observe many more style mash-ups from the floor of the hallway and spare room. Pete finds me in the dark and asks what room we are in. ďThe darkest one,Ē I reply. Antique honey bees have a sewing circle around the ceiling light in wisps of white smoke. In fact everything appears to be steaming with regularity.
I finally have the hang of it. Or so I think. In the next moment I am sitting in the chaos of a hedonistic mess wondering why I have slippers on, and a shirt, but no pants. I cry out about this, not complaining, but laughing and begging a confused Pete to help me. He has never been in this house before, I remind myself, and Iíve made him turn off all the lights.
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