Citation: nervewing. "The Avatar of the Motion in the Dark: An Experience with MPT, DMXE & Methoxpropamine (exp114982)". Erowid.org. Jan 15, 2020. erowid.org/exp/114982
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Today I attempted a trial with an oral dose of MPT fumarate, I undershot my dose and opted to do other drugs on top of it and gallivanted around town. I impulsively decided to just write out a report when I got home, it doesn't really contain any useful data and doesn't really serve functional knowledge of these substances, but I thought it would be a fun writing exercise.
T0:00- 80 mg of MPT fumarate taken orally in a gel cap. Most others who have explored this compound encountered it in freebase form, whereupon they would smoke it. I didnít feel like getting out my whole mess of odd devices dedicated to tryptamine smoking and I had the fumarate salt of the tryptamine right here before me- so I just ate my dose, exactly at noon. I have put on just a bit of makeup for the occasion, subtler and less flamboyant than I usually go, though still a tad colorful. I am lounging in the living room, pacing, anxious as I usually am for a new psychedelic. Psychedelics used to be a world I could tackle headstrong, a world that would tear me asunder and I would yield my innermost flesh to those who would loom and tear and dye and scatter it into the vibrant abyss, I would gleefully surrender myself to their designs. Time after time though, and my bodyís declining tolerance for such poisons, sees me more pensive as I approach them. Every time now itís a game of chicken with my digestive system, a battery of supplements to ensure it stays shut at one end or the other. It wasnít always like this.
Nevertheless, I have my report notes template open, my minds eye is squinted at the horizon, ever observant, ever ready to spot something to record like an eager birdwatcher.
T0:30- Don't really feel much other than some nausea and discomfort. It's twisting and annoying. Typical.
T0:52- Something is definitely here. I feel tense, but tired. I woke up too early today.
T1:00- Gentle mental buzz, I smoke a bit of cannabis. There is a strong sensation of differential pressure rising through my body, my head feels a bit more and more distant. No visuals to speak of yet.
I'm reading news online, I'm looking at all sorts of pictures, staring deep into the little details of them, it feels like whatever part of my brain glosses over incoming information for functionality's sake has taken a vacation. I am free to truly look and pick apart.
T1:12- I lie down and close my eyes, I feel like a slug, there are visuals lurking in the dark, hazy and indistinct, repeated tracer patterns dancing and waving. Movement in the shadows. This is a quiet tryptamine, or perhaps I have just undershot my dose by quite a bit.
T1:20- I almost want to lie asleep. With my eyes closed, red, green, blue lights isolated against great stepped and banded blacks and greys, trickles in the hallucinatory field. I find myself hazy and bored. Occasionally some brighter color weasels its way in, only to get snatched and wrangled back into the flow. Itís apparently lovely outside today.
T2:00- After ruminating on nothing for awhile, I call this experiment a wash, Iíll come back with a higher dose next time, whatever, Iím just going to have fun. 60 mg of DMXE straight to the dome, up the nose. Just the way I like it. I love a dissociative glitterbomb.
T2:30- I have been impatiently waiting for my dissociative to kick in, plotting my next move- I have a whole day ahead of me, no responsibilities, or at least ones that I can push to the back for now. I want visual flash, I want eye candy. It trickles in here and there, a hand trying to find its way into a glove. Thereís that distinct DMXE rush into my extremities like an eager serpent pouncing into the burrow of its glistening prey. I am warm and intact, I can move as I want and need to. What I would expect from 60 mg of DMXE is here. I think that I want to go outside- more visuals- more flash. I stack something extra.
T2:45- I measure and dose 40 mg of MXPr. This should add a spark of color. Or should add something. Not entirely sure. I have such a vast and varied toolkit at my disposal to play with here, most of these combinations are difficult to predict. I mutter around the house making sure I have all the things I intend to bring with me, a dissociative weight sets in, a looming cloud that scatters the pigeons perched at the precipice of my thoughts. They flutter away, and I too flutter from one room to the next, grabbing one object after another, placing others down, stuffing one thing into a pocket, something in a vial, looking in different rooms for another- after about 10 minutes of this tempest I am settled and geared up and ready to go. Black mask on, headphones in, I step into the world of the living.
T3:00- Whenever I step outside on a hefty dose of dissociatives, the border between ďinsideĒ and outside quickly blurs- there is this sensation of space being split cleanly between a foreground and background. The foreground, that which is immediately before me, my body, what my senses lay upon. The background is everything else, one big flat setpiece propped up to contain the world, elaborately painted wall flats, it makes no difference if they are set as the inside of my house or painted with the sky. The first step is always uncertain too- just how incapacitated am I? Is my walk cycle disjointed? Will I stumble like a drunk? I quickly fall into a rhythm and seem to be able to pass among the populace without attracting undue attention.
Itís a Saturday afternoon, the sky is overcast in one direction, the sun shining in the other. Itís a blazing grey kind of day, and with my chemical adornments that grey gets turned to flashes of iridescence, hanging clouds of labradorite, breathing colors they couldnít dare reveal to those who hadnít encoded themselves to this.
Itís such a rush to be around so many odd alien people going about their business. I wonder if I have any goal or direction in my outing here- am I just wandering aimlessly? I think back to conversations with some of my friends I had moved away from recently who have spent their whole lives deep in the rural regions of this vast continent, who have always had nights full of stars and days full of quiet lingering heat and endless seas of green, and to project how they must experience this sudden dense tangle. I want to capture pictures to show them, I want to engross others into this world I have engrossed myself in. I feel like I have a vague mission, I feel like I am in a video game, that I am being directed about this flat virtual world with little consequence. The apartments around me have been rendered in the utmost detail- the designers spared nothing in immersion, even deigning to give each house its own coherent personality through adorning the windows. This is a world created for me, a world I am free to explore, and like any game there are many locked doors and solid walls and physical laws that ensure that some of it will always be hidden from me. It feels like neon glowing panels are forming around me, my legs feel like they are full of liquid that is just barely managing to retain its form. 100gecs blazes through my headphones, inspiring a virtual irreverence for the world around me, I am resigned to being a digital body.
All of the buildings around me, the stretches of streets in every direction take on an odd quality like they are but setpieces- perhaps it is a total flattening of my depth perception, but soon there is little sense of scale, every building towers over, consumes all, and then yet gives way to something distant, larger yet smaller simultaneously. There are so many murals and colors and signs and it all turns into one monolith of information, a testament to the continued existence of man slithering the blocks like a snake made of towering walls, a patchwork of paints and glass and plastic and letters and ornate wooden moldings tracing their way along her flanks. The city creaks and leans over me, people stream under the shadows of the tottering and watchful structures of glass and brick and steel and how they must shudder so much from all the shifting and flexing and shivering they do in my vision. The weight of it is so much yet it is nothing at all. It is explosive in its energy, tremendous in is weight, and ultimately displaying a herculean ability to be perfectly still and inert as they are every day of their sober existence. People file through all of this tangle, all masked and anonymous and strange beings on strange days doing strange little things, a veil shimmers between me and them, something just barely discernible keeps my breath from intermingling with theirs in a way that could identify us both as the same species. I am an avatar, a projection, a simulacrum of myself, a machine with MPT and MXPr and MXE as the fuel lines pulsing through its veins, glazing over this world anointing me as the protagonist. As far as I know at least.
T3:24- I find myself on a bridge over the highway with some large benches and planters where I can hide away. I smoke a couple hits from my cannabis one hitter as I gaze into the clouds, the clouds now pulsing and rippling and coughing off phantom iridescent tracers that sneak away into the great blue sky. A little secret between them and me, quiet and subtle, a wink from the gossamer theatrical backdrop. I am tripping for certain now. The bricks of the building around me pulse and send off ripples of dull violets and yellows and lulling ocean blues. The grates in the fence before me twist among each other, intersect and cross and form an elaborate woven checkerboard flashing in deep red and yellow. I am so glad I am wearing a mask. What a delightful norm. I unplug my headphones and take in the ambient sounds for a bit- the sounds of the highway ripple and echo and reverberate, they shake the sky rhythmically, noisy unwanted pulses of sound that will take their time and tread through the air unabated, they find home with my auditory neurons, taking their hand in harmony and dancing and dancing and reverberating and reverberating in revelry, vibrating away into nothing.
I eventually get up and probe northwards, a sudden wind at my back, a wind of prisms and glassy polyhedrons, bounding and tumbling and tripping over each other just to nudge me forward on my way up the street, the sun catches the grass in its glassiest light, it swoons over the towers across the lawn next to me, it sits and touches fingertips with each of the bare branches of the trees and frames the bright orange and yellow and blue graffiti throwies on the wall nearby like a parent pinning their childís art to the fridge. I walk onwards and notice when I stop at a stoplight- I really stop- I melt, instantly, and vaporize, instantly, there is just a phantom waiting at the light, a breath with nothing for the air to go into, an empty hoodie. I stand so still I cannot imagine moving again. In motion again I am so taken with momentum that I cannot imagine being still. The afternoon sun casts on everything, it is glory and I am a scion to its ribbons of colored light. I meander my way back to my house, wary of my gait which I feel is becoming increasingly more askew.
I end up in the historical area of the city- the places originally stolen and settled and developed by European colonists however long ago, before the spread to the surrounding areas. Much of the sidewalk and asphalt gives way to brickwork and cobbles, an exciting challenge for my gelatinized feet. I feel like I can see down the entire length of every block, like I can see the curvature of the earth. I can see forever and I can see all the intimate details of everything right up against me, it Is so much information to take in at once, itís dizzying and adorned with additional virtual information courtesy of the chemicals raging through my receptors. I meander home without event and exasperatedly burst through the door.
T4:30- I quickly am inclined to turn the space into as comfortable a space as can possibly be, a big wide bed, a speaker with gentle bassy notes, I am in a world of pleasure, of reeling visuals and self-transforming diaphanous forms encasing me in various polyhedral, gentle and soothing but with a jolt in their veins. I devolve into thinking about memories, into piecing together memories of the last few weeks, of how odd time has become to me and how things are beginning to blend together and lose their sense of sequence and consequence. Though I originally opted to splay out on my bed and melt into whatever this experience still had to offer, I find myself making a calendar to track my drug use across the last 3 weeks, poring through pictures and conversations to build a coherent timeline of what I used when. Perhaps this will serve me well into the future? By the time Iím done, it seems the experience is done too- It was like a date, the room set up all romantic, the bed laid out ready with rose petals, my chemical lover slithering up to my side, only for me to say ďwait!Ē and grab my laptop and do this extremely pressing task, the lover rolling their eyes before packing their things and retreating into the now-afternoon darkness. Oh well. Maybe I got something useful out of this.
T7:00- I am back to normal.
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