Citation: PippUK. "Non-Critical Mass: experience with Banisteriopsis caapi (extract), DMT & Cannabis (ID 95087)". Erowid.org. Mar 23, 2012. erowid.org/exp/95087
Today is the last day of my holiday. Well, actually my holiday finished on Monday, but the brothers are on strike, so it is, as such, a day off. I had not been able to find anything to smoke for most of my week off, which had been my original intention. I was going to use the week off to try out some trips that I had in mind. I was going to have one where I would use a hefty dose of either 4-HO-DMT or 4-AcO-DMT as a platform from which to launch forays into DMT space with my vapouriser. I had had some spectacular results in this fashion, and wanted to push it further, with a higher dose of the 4sub and some bigger hits. I also had bought some yellow Caapi extract 10:1 which I hoped to use to potentiate a dose of DMT orally.
Plans never work out how you expect them to, and the weed was not forthcoming until Thurday night, by which time it was too late. My Mrs finishes work early on a Friday, so I wouldn't be able to accommodate a big adventure in the time before she returned. During the week, I had vapourised a couple of times, and found my headspace clearer than usual, which I had put down to the lack of THC floating around my system. I had prayed during and imediatley after my hits that I might have strength to deal with my excessive weed smoking. Here's a secret that may be the ramblings of a hyperchondriac, or a grudging acknowledgement of a tragic folly. My lungs are really bad. I get attacks at night where my chest is tight and I can only just get enough air to breathe with considerable effort. With calmness and resignation I wait for it to pass. After, I am aware of the fact that they did not use to be like that, and that perhaps they are damaged now. I am fit in general. I am slim, muscular, and get regular exercise as part of my postmans day at work. I am generally a happy man, with a loving Mrs and family. Sometimes everything seems great with the only stain being my selfish and self destructive weed habit. This week I was going to have one last heavy smoking session, alongside some deep trips, to work on my perceptions and relationship with weed. It was the occasion of my birthday during the week and I was intending to have some deep thoughts about plans for the future with my loved one.
On the last day of my holiday at 9am I simmered 3grams of the Caapi extract over the gas hob in a ceramic pan. After an hour, I sat with the strained liquid and sipped it gently while typing up this preamble. I am was not sure how much synth DMT to go for then. The dynamics of the game were varied amongst the reports I had read, so that if only a weak MAOI inhibition is achieved, this cannot be countered simply by blitzing with the DMT. I also could not afford to overdo the Caapi, on account of the fact that a) I had only previously experienced use of Syrian Rue for MAOI purposes, and b) that I wanted to be able to sit down and enjoy a nice salad with P. this evening when she got back from work. I was, it seemed, fumbling a bit.
I swallowed 70mgs of DMT [freebase] in a cigarette paper and went for a joint to relax me a bit. The effects of the Caapi alone were not noticeable, except for a slight but undefinable jitteriness which might have been placebo. I could feel my empty stomach admitting the previously swallowed parcel. But twenty minutes later and I couldn't feel any major change going on. Perhaps a slight buzz, but I had just partaken of some weed, so it was accounted for. I had Steve Roach playing which was particularly soothing, although I had not properly listened to the album, so that might have explained its seemingly profound nature. I had read that the Caapi extracts are often not quite as potent as the 10:1 ration suggests and there was the question of intention too. I approached this trip with caution, owing to time constraints and, of course, fear. If I hadn't been expecting my Mrs back home at 4.30pm, and didn't have to be up next morning on the dot, I would have brewed perhaps more Caapi, and swallowed all the dregs as well, followed by 100mg DMT, maybe more. But because of these constraints, my caution probably put me on the wrong side of the sweet spot. Perhaps I was not even intending to go into this properly and so it was doomed to fail. I am still open minded. I know these things can sneak up and thoroughly wallop you when you least expect it.
My first Ayahuasca analogue caught me in just such a way. I had used Rue and Jurema bark to brew, about 5 years back. It was before I had heard of 'research chemicals', Pihkal or Machine Elves. I really only knew of it as a sacred Amazonian brew, and it seemed the next stage up from mushrooms, which were then freely sold in UK headshops. That first time, all those years ago, I had drunk the brew as instructed, and held it in place for a good hour or more. Unfortunately I could not resist as a flood of nausea forced me to give up the goods quite violently. I was disappointed on account of the efforts I had gone to in order to obtain, brew and prepare for the experience. I equate the vomiting with the loss of the active ingredients, and therefor the end of the experience. I rolled a longish joint and sat on the backdoor step of my victorian terrace watching rain run down the guttering in the yard. As I smoked I became weary, and finishing the joint, I tumbled upstairs to bed with Miles' Live Evil album running through my mind. I fell asleep easily enough, but at some later point, all hell broke loose. My being found itself propelled somewhere completely different and unexpected. It was visually stunning and alive with movement of mechanical and fluid origin. There was architectural opulence in many blended cultural styles, with overhead walkways and bridges, corridors and passages, all filled with strange beings wearing carnivalesque masks. The expression borne by the masks was a kind of grimace which reflected my own sense of a kind of pressure I was feeling physically, which would surge up from time to time. These surges were accompanied by a busying of the visual field. I could feel a sense of panic rise in me as this took place. I couldn't, for the life of me remember what had led me to be in this situation, which was frightening. It begged other questions, like had things always been like this? Would they remain this way always? Why was there, for all the strangeness, a sense of familiarity to all this?
These questions became less once I had remembered to open my eyes. Oh yes, I thought, that's it. I recalled the prequel to this story that moment. One of my own efforts, this. I looked at the digital alarm clock in an attempt to ground myself a bit more. Helpfully, it read 88:88, and I was left none the wiser. I could see the funny side of things, but I was a little alarmed by the strong physical sensations over which I had little control. I was very cold and shivering violently. The physiological surges I spoke of were connected to this cold, and I was experiencing what I would now consider a body load. Nausea had passed, but I was still uncomfortable. Inconveniently, I needed to visit the toilet, and had to negotiate the stairs to the bathroom. I was shivering so much that the ascent to the bathroom was challenging. On top of that, on arrival at the bowl, the violent shivers made it very difficult to successfully aim my projectile. I had to try and grip my member and maintain its position while compensating for the strange oscillations the rest of my shivering frame performed. After that I had a joint while lying on my bed, breaking our 'no smoking' policy in the house. This time I allowed myself the pleasure, seeing that I had just witnessed the most bizarre experience of my life. Building a joint proved difficult owing to my visual status. Great clots of hallucinated matter were forming and falling off all the planes of the bedroom, seemingly of organic or plant like origin, while the wall were festooned with rapidly animated hieroglyphs and typesets of bizarre characters, along with tapestry-like scenes and patterns. I was strongly aware of rich red and purple tones, as well as yellows.
As I looked at my fingers rolling the joint, I saw letters and what appeared to be transfers peeling from my hands and from my joint. I also had difficulty differentiating between the tobacco and marijuana, both seeming to be alive like some teeming mass. Subsequently the joint may have been more heavily loaded than my usual habit. The actual roll and glue operation was perfect, perhaps a reflection of how ingrained the neural pathways of this act had become. Back in bed, I sparked up, drawing deep in the belief that whatever is happening, a joint always mellows me. Under these circumstances this was not necessarily the case.
Back in bed, I sparked up, drawing deep in the belief that whatever is happening, a joint always mellows me. Under these circumstances this was not necessarily the case.
The smoke was soothing and familiar to me, but at the same time seemed to wind the experience up as well. The eyes closed visuals had subsided into swirling and twisting geometrical patterns by this point, but the smoke pushed a plume of dynamic fluctuation into them which swarmed and engulfed my being. There were meshing gears, made of stone, and twisting vines all in this maelstrom, and by smoking, I was finding it hard to feel separated from this. I felt my consciousness being bent and squeezed into geometrically impossible knots and mathematically unviable shapes. I felt no control over where these experiences would lead. All I could do was choose to puff on my joint, if I felt like it. The process began to ease off, around about which time I stopped feeling quite so cold. I started to feel a little hungry, believe it or not, but I thought I should wait. I really fancied a cup of tea as well. I was steadier on my feet thankfully, and took a shower. My visual field was still a bit sparkly still, but just in a hyper-real sense rather than hallucinatory. I had another smoke, and found that a film of Elvis in Las Vegas '68 was on tv, which suited me perfectly right there and then.
Well, it took me a good hour to type my notes and impressions, and I felt sober, happy and a bit hungry. What a terrible waste of 70mgs of spice [DMT]. However, I really vapourise too often, because it plays havoc with my lungs, aside their usual punishment from weed. After typing I went for a cuppa and a danish pastry from the bakers round the corner. I hoped Mother Ayahuasca would not decide to clobber me in the pieshop. Peace and Love - PippUK
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