Trippin’ God’s Balls, a Retrospective.

January 16, 2017

Hot neighbor came by late one night. I had been waiting on the porch to see if I could catch him after work. I saw him disappear into the house across the alley, waited a bit longer and he came out and called up looking for Visine. He had a mote in his eye. Poor darling.

Washed it out with colloidal silver for him.

It’s only fair, he had been tending to my wounds for over a month back then.

I fix everyone and he was the one who fixed me.

Rubbed his back, fed him and proceeded to fuck the shit out of each other.

It’d been a long time coming.

We spoke of DMT, we spoke of lots of things, but that was really important.

I think it’s time for me.

I want to try this thing.

I need a hard reboot.

DMT is the chemical released by our brains when we die.

The ‘spirit molecule’.

Historically, it has been consumed by indigenous Amazonian Indian cultures in the form of ayahuasca for divinatory and healing purposes. (Source Wikipedia)

Some days I cannot wait to die. Not in a bad way, like suicidal. Like when I was a kid and I couldn’t wait to grow up, to get to the next thing.

I have never been overly eager to end my life. Not even in the depths of depression. Don’t get me wrong, I wanted to, and did hurt myself so I could feel something. I needed pain on the outside to match my insides.

I have also always carried that child-like wonder and hope. Another reason I never considered shuffling myself loose the mortal coil. That fascination with what comes next.

There is that post that goes around asking what two words we would tell our younger selves if we could. Mine have staunchly been BE BRAVE.

Drugs scare me a bit, especially the ones that make me lose control.

I like my life and being aware of what is happening in it.

I had thought about asking Drogo to be with me when I tried DMT.
You see dear reader once upon a date with Drogo, we drove for a few hours to a spot we like, our little getaway from the city and chaos, and landed in more chaos.

We had a wee adventure wherein I ate half a pot cookie and fell into a 3 hour coma of sorts and astral projected/tripped God’s balls/solved the energy crisis and figured out world peace/visited a parallel John Carter-esque universe. Sufficed to say, he kept me safe and I thought him a good choice for my DMT awakening/death.

I haven’t smoked pot professionally or recreationally in 20 years, gave it up when I got pregnant with my son, tried to pick it back up a few times and never enjoyed it the same. I am wondering if I ever did.

The time before this when I smoked yielded had similar results. Not sure why I ate the damned cookie.

I get in these amnesia states wherein I forget I hate that feeling. The second I start to trip I wanna go home and back to normal. Instead, I have committed myself to a 6 hour flight with turbulence.

The time before? I am afraid I was having a typical stripper moment. Tried a new club with my favorite girl. Got a little too drunk a little too fast in an attempt to calm my nerves and ended up doing a few lines to try and straighten out.

Which made my nerves worse, thereby negating any attempts at anything ever.

Forced us into taking a cab 4 towns away home and of course my jaw was feverishly chewing that gum that didn’t exist. My head hurt my body was done and I just wanted to sleep.

My girl smokes pot. I had her gimme some in an attempt to knock me out. Amnesia rears her forgetful head again, and I forgot that has never worked in the history of ever.

She smokes all day every day and let me tell you something. Marijuana has become this many splendored sophisticated complex thing in the 20 years since I did it.

Fuck me.

So potent.

I experienced lucid dreaming via sleep paralysis and a sketchy drug induced back door to some other realm. Left my body for a while.

I talked to a dear friend who does this often (without chemicals) and he comforted me by saying ‘it doesn’t matter how you get there as long as you get there.’

I still feel like my body was too dirty to properly experience what happened.

But in the land of lucid dreaming and astral projection who is to say what is proper.

DMT seems cleaner somehow.

Drogo, because of the pot cookie experience and the whole thing where he kept me safe and on the mortal coil seemed like a logical choice for a traveling partner. Add to that the quantum physics and philosophical conversations we have…ya him.

But we rarely see each other anymore. And Hot Neighbor has done it before.

But I rarely see him now either.

I used to smoke pot every day and do acid on occasion. 7 times in my teenage years. Every other trip sucked and I chose to stop after a good one.

I just choked on my coffee a bit, I called it a good trip, but I almost died. It was one of those freakishly warm days in February and a bunch of us were down at the beach. The ice was covered in mist, someone left their car running for music and the headlights made these rainbow tunnels, that I thought at the time led to heaven. Theoretically I was right. I may well have gone to the pearly gates shortly after plunging 30 feet to a frozen watery death. Me and Leo coulda chilled in Davey Jones’ locker.

I am always afraid when doing mind altering drugs that I can’t come back to being the same after. Like I will get stuck in my high, and sometimes, like the pot cookie, that was a terrifying thing.

I used to enjoy a good warm cozy opiate check out from time to time because I still felt like myself. My brain was intact and my body just turned to liquid or clouds.

Now it makes me puke.

I have heard DMT is like talking to god. It has been used to cure the most desperate of addicts because they come out on the other side of the trip with a glimpse at some meaning to life, something bigger than us.

I already know it’s there, I just want to see it.




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