Sights, Sounds, and Laughter Unparalleled...
Citation: J.D.. "Sights, Sounds, and Laughter Unparalleled...: An Experience with 5-MeO-AMT & Cannabis (exp23951)". Erowid.org. Feb 12, 2004. erowid.org/exp/23951
||(powder / crystals)
Last Saturday night I went with my friend B to pick up his cousin, who knew someone selling what he passed off as mescaline, but was actually 5-MeO-AMT packed into a marshmallow. We paid $10 each for four marshmallows containing 5mg of the chemical and went back to my friend S's house, where all four of us (including my friend C) dosed at 1:00 AM.
The effects hit me before they did anyone else. Well under an hour later, my pupils were already abnormally large, while B's and C's were still normal-sized. C was getting impatient and antsy that his trip wouldn't get any stronger. S had already begun isolating himself, which he did regularly throughout the evening. He spent a fair amount of the first hour or two in the bathroom, puking a couple of times. Later still, after we all agreed we were feeling 'something,' B also threw up. C and I never did.
The beginning was subtle. My first hint that something was different came before I was even fully aware of a change in feeling. Laying around in a chair and comparing notes with the others was satisfying, but I soon became impatient, especially when I first noticed visuals. They were similar to the first open-eye visuals I'd ever experienced on LSA; the finest details of any simple pattern, such as carpeting, floor tiles, or wood grain, formed intriguing patterns which moved in sync. I strongly felt an urge to explore the outdoors, and began urging our party to move to the campsite we'd made the night before.
We finally went outside. But instead of going directly to the campsite, C, B, and I went to my truck and, at my suggestion, began listening to a Sigur Ros CD. Here, perhaps two hours after dosing, things began to get intense for the first time. Everything I could see in the darkness was patterned and the patterns were moving. The music was another story entirely, utterly engrossing and absorbing in a way that I've never gotten even when at my most stoned, which is how I usually love to listen to that album. S had followed us outside but was still doing his own thing, wandering around the front yard and ending up in the back of the truck, jumping up and down and providing a strong new stimulus for the three of us inside.
After the track finally ended, we walked to the campsite. The neighborhood, with its dimly lit, winding streets, was a wonderland. I had my first revelation of absurdity when I thought about the gallon jug of water I was carrying. 'B's Water,' it said. Perhaps the only somewhat profound thought I had the entire night came from this; how, I wondered, could anybody claim ownership of water? We turned one corner and then another, somewhat confused because we couldn't see the water tower that was near the site. The route only seemed longer than normal, though, and we eventually came to the edge of the hill we scrambled up to access the vacant acres behind.
At the base of the ridiculously gigantic tower, we passed a bowl as planned, and then B and C went back to the house because C had to shit. S and I continued to the campsite, agreeing that we'd be there waiting for the others to return. S, who didn't share my desire to explore the mysterious wilderness surrounding us, announced he was staying put. For a while I remained with him. We laid back on the sandy hillside overlooking our fire pit. The position was comfortable enough, and the low, leafy groundcover scattered about brought a Southwestern desert scene strongly to mind. Yet there was so much more to discover. I had to go out on my own.
I followed whatever path I sensed was the right one to take at the time. Given the darkness, broken only by the moon which had been full two days before, and the turbulent visuals that accompanied the entire trip, I can't be at all sure if I was following paths that really existed, or ones I only thought I saw. And yet for all the brush and tree limbs I chose to walk through, my progress was never difficult. A particularly sturdy branch occasionally held me up, gently guiding me into changing direction; at the time I remember thinking that the trees would never lead me astray, that the path I was taking was the one that was right for me, and that explained the ease with which I moved through the woods.
A couple of times I stopped to ask myself if I was really tripping or just pretending to trip while wandering through a field in the dark. I didn't want to be pretending; I wanted this all to be real, because the feelings that filled me were so desirable. I felt as if every possible want of mine had been satisfied. I wasn't hungry, but knew the satisfaction of just having finished a fabulous meal; I didn't feel aroused, but sensed the enveloping, breathtaking glow that immediately follows an orgasm. And I wanted nothing more than to share these feelings of pure bliss, to touch, to hold, to experience another person. This part of the trip was much as I remember my one and only roll on MDMA.
But being on my own, I reached out to the trees, at least twice gently leaning against one to imbibe the night, its cool, shadowy air, and all that my senses tried to take in. In their embrace I knew awe and felt comfortable in its presence. My journey continued.
My mind wandered, as well, as I tried to decide where I wanted to go. At least fifty contiguous acres of vacant land was at my whim. Briefly I thought about following the paths to the end of a cul-de-sac that I knew was nearby, and going out to the main road from there, but my route seemed to plan itself, and I happily followed. Eventually, I did reach a road, an undeveloped part of a street that's only been paved for two years, and, making sure not to linger too long in back yards, I re-entered the woods. A stand of the tallest, thinnest pines waited before me. With the tower again in sight, I decided to try to find my way back to S and the campsite. Before long, C's voice was calling out my name, helping to guide me back.
The time was probably around 4:30, time to head back. Once at the house again, our bladders and bowels continued to work overtime. Strange but true: bathrooms would be important to all of us the entire time, which wasn't a problem, because the shower curtains and floor tiles were fascinating. The smell of weed made S feel sick, and he retreated inside while the rest of us smoked on the porch. Yet I was still tripping, harder than ever, in fact, and so the net effect was barely discernible.
The smoking may, however, have intensified what I feel comfortable describing as the peak of the trip. After shitting in the downstairs bathroom, I laid down at the bottom of the carpeted steps and stared up at the living room, which had become an explosion of light. Someone had turned on a strobe. B had put on a CD of Indian music, and the interplay of sight and sound was stupefying, so overwhelming that I don't remember any specific thoughts from this stage of the experience, just the intensity of the intertwined images as they swirled about all around. I do remember that expressing thoughts out loud was profoundly difficult; an awesome amount of concentration was behind every one of the few words I did speak.
S, very much in his own world, holed himself up in his bed. Against all good judgment, B drove C and me to J's house (S's father). He was asleep (understandable, since we were there a little after 6:00), and C stole a bag of tobacco so he could roll some cigs when we got back. I personally was craving real cigarettes, and tried to persuade B to drive to a 24 hour drugstore I knew would be the closest open place at dawn on a Sunday morning. B didn't feel comfortable driving the several miles, though, and we ended up returning to the house. But once there, I drove to Walgreen's on my own. Interacting with the clerk was somewhat difficult, but not disastrous. Driving wasn't bad because I was on my own. Back in the company of other trippers, though, we all began to realize that fatigue was starting to overtake the 5-MeO-AMT in terms of its mind-altering effects.
The visual part of the trip had subsided mostly. In its place came furious, uncontrollable bouts of giggling that erupted without any provocation. Now, new age Christmas music was on the CD player, which drove us all wild. B had told us to expect a twelve hour trip and we got it, and then some. When our weed turned up missing, we went back to J's, arriving shortly after 9:00 and staying about an hour and a half. J has experience with nearly any drug you can think of and knew what we were going through. He wouldn't sell or trade us weed for anything, saying it would be wasted on us in our state. While S left us once again, C, B, and I flopped down in the living room, mostly just saying out loud whatever was running through our minds. We finally left once S returned. Just before going out the door, I met his cat in the stairway, and petted her for a bit. She looked intensely confused.
Driving back this time was tougher; our minds were totally fried, and the sight of the ancient, rusted brown Beetle in front of us was dangerously distracting. We had joked ever since peaking about going to a church service, and actually passed right by one on the street leading to S's place, but S talked us out of turning in - probably a good thing. Once back, we found the weed right where we'd left it hours earlier, on the porch. This time, I know it had effect; I felt more relaxed than before, albeit just as retarded. S said that smoking up almost felt like peaking again, and I'd agree with him
Now I was hungry, and after forcing myself to make some pancakes, we smoked the last of the weed afterwards. Circumstances grew even more hilarious. Nothing wasn't funny. We would have been terrible at a funeral. Most fun was tearing people's photos out of the Wall Street Journal and using them as puppets in scenes we played out. This kept us entertained until a friend of S's called and left a message; C called her back, and passed the phone to S as soon as he could, because she was upset over a fight she'd had with her ex-boyfriend. He kept it together well enough while they talked, but afterwards admitted that hearing her tell about her problems seriously wrecked his buzz.
It was now midafternoon, and though we weren't yet fully down, we desperately wanted to be. I experienced my only discomfort of the entire experience at this point as a dull headache slowly built up behind my eyes. Around 4:00 or 5:00, we all finally managed to catch a series of fitful naps, none lasting more than an hour at a time. I woke again around 6:30, took a shower, and after that the headache began to pass. B left a couple hours after; S went to bed for the last time, and C and I watched TV for a while before I drove him home.
Despite a somewhat rough descent, we all agree that the magic marshmallows were well worth what we paid, and have plans to acquire more later this summer when another friend of ours returns from studying abroad. The long-lasting trip took pleasant aspects of other psychedelics I've enjoyed and blended them into something entirely new, unexpected, and welcome. No profound thinking came of it, but afterwards I felt as satisfied as ever. I had worried about being worn out the next day. Instead, after a decent night's sleep Sunday, Monday morning I got up and found that returning to life as normal was surprisingly easy. Only the memories, and a few stray grins accompanying them from time to time, remained.
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