Citation: Birdseye. "Anything Becomes Possible: An Experience with DPT (exp4925)". Erowid.org. Jan 30, 2001. erowid.org/exp/4925
I'm not sure I should attempt to put this into words. This experience I am going to attempt to describe is one that is absolutely indescribable unless you have done DPT freebase oil. No matter how eloquently I make my words dance upon paper, I cannot come close to remotely describing my experience. Describing DPT with words frustrates and disappoints me greatly.
On the night of January 28th, 2001, I was heading down south to return to school for the weekend (I attend college in Silicon Valley). I was excited by my new discman...finally I had great music pulsating through my malnourished radio shack car speakers. Earlier in the day I got a lot of things done. I took care of several payment issues with my website, and finally completed my mom's birthday present (which was cleaning out my own mess of 10 or so old school binders). While cleaning out the old binders I was forced to constantly reminisce about the past. Scribbles on my 6th grade binder denoted my blindless appreciation for band members I did not know. Lyrics of entire songs that meant nothing filled the back of my old red cardboard binder. I tried peering deeply back into my past, back to when I went along with pointless sensationalism towards celebrities. Why? The only reason I could muster was that liking much of the stuff I did like was for acceptance. The music was aesthetically pleasing to listen to at the time, sure, but the music truly meant nothing.
I found several old school newspapers filled with garbage. I quickly spotted the pattern of popular children pointlessly and pathetically permeating the pages. There was no logical discernable reason for these kids to have status. Then again, status in high school has never been and never will be logical.
I dreamt about how I would teach high school classes. How I wished to open the eyes of students, to make them question the rationalizations and values that they have arbitrarily accepted via the thrusting of society. I quickly became frustrated with those in power and how they have purposely portrayed so many things that simply are not true.
Even earlier than the binder sifting, but after my internet work, I had the fortune of wandering the Berkeley Hills close to the time of sunset. I drifted deftly around the long half circles that compose Grizzly Peak. Finally, I stopped off the road. I walked and ran up part of a hill, a thick firebreak path that was deeply muddied. I then curved around the hill while going downhill until I reached an excellent sunset viewing spot off trail. I enjoyed it in silence, with oranges and red-pinks etched into the sky, water, and city like computer art. Unreal. Too amazing to be real; and yet it was, and is. Nature.
So I was in the correct mindset all day for the DPT trip, but I had not planned to do DPT. I was driving for about 15 minutes when I got the idea to visit my friend Grey. I laughed amongst the engine noise about him trying to get me to try DPT. I knew he would try. I just had no clue just as to why it was urgent until after my experience. At the time, I had no way of knowing if he was home.
I pulled up to his house. Yeah! His van was in the driveway. I knocked; no answer. No problem, the door is always unlocked. The town Grey lives in is very safe to the point where the level of safety is slightly eerie. I glanced into the living room, kitchen, and Armi's room yelling 'Hello?' and looking for occupants, namely Grey.
I found him on his computer in his room. He was 100% surprised I arrived. Besides us, the house was empty. He immediately began trying to convince me to dose DPT. I declined, rationalizing that only 6 days earlier I had done a high dose of 2-ct-7 coupled with one hit LSD. I did not need to do a psychedelic then because I was still feeling a positive afterglow from the previous psychedelic Monday.
Grey and I chatted about what we had both done recently for a while. I told him the only way I'd consider trying DPT was an empty house besides him and myself. He agreed, and called his housemates on his cell to tell them not to come home for at least one hour. It was about 10pm at this point.
I sat on Grey's bed trying to mentally prepare for something that I would later find to be unpreparable. I put on my new noise-canceling headphones and threw Koxbox?s Forever After CD into my discman. I selected track 4 for the pre-dosing stage to set my mood. Track 5 would be played when I began inhaling the smoke. I closed my eyes, feeling the shifting ambient wave of a synth crashing melodically from one ear to another. I cleared my head. I thought I was ready to go.
There is no ready with DPT. I first tried smoking parsley only out of the bong. Almost too easy. This gave me confidence that I could easily clear the entire DPT oil hit. Grey then placed the bowl of parsley and 42MG DPT into the bong, which was being cooled with ice. He prepared the room to be totally dark for my experience.
Track 5 started. The torch lighter clicked on, torching the parsley, igniting it and burning it completely in a matter of seconds. The thick DPT oil smoke began to burn and billow up into the chamber. I inhaled slowly. I pulled back from the bong momentarily while covering it to see if I could hold more in my lungs without coughing. I could, and cleared the chamber.
While I held the smoke in, the most intense sensory change of my life began immediately, all while the music churned and groaned. Before Grey could exit the room and turn off the light, all my senses backfired, turned, twisted, and reverberated in a chaotic mess of sinister proportions. I caught a glimpse of thick green before the room became dark completely. The dark room instantly began swirling with the most intense visuals that I have ever seen or ever will see unless I attempt to top my experience (which even mentioning the idea seems impossible). The visuals were thick bands of swirling color, absolutely three-dimensional structures of red and blue, some strands stretching out miles away, some close, touching me. Mostly reds and vivid blues, my entire visual field was encompassed with colors. Darkness became a visual minority.
The body high hit me like a wrecking ball just like 5-meo-DMT, an added emotion and feeling that is indescribable, which I fully expected...but it is such terror, that even after coming down off the drug, I can't truly remember the feeling. My mind blocks out the horror. As the peak of the drug wore on (and I do mean wore on, it was DIFFICULT) the wave seized my body. Every cell cried out. I felt as if each cell in my body were truly dying, that they had gone past their limits and began to destruct. I felt my body grind and separate into infinite pieces, all while thousands of bands of thick illustrious, breathtakingly beautiful colors enveloped my entire visual field. The dichotomy was sick; true beauty and wonderment coupled with mortal terror and anguish. At this point in the dark room anything could happen. All possibilities existed. Nothing was impossible, except lowering the intensity of the drug. Pure potential. The energy in my body, the ripping, tearing, and my mental anguish of my mind melting and scattering became too much. I needed an indicator that reality existed. Something that could help me hold on. I was wandering in an alternate universe of spiritual mindfuck terror. I called out Grey's name.
At this point it had been about 4 minutes (so I was told later by Grey) since I had exhaled the DPT smoke.
'I'm here,' answered Grey.
I said nothing. Talking took extreme mental effort. My highest levels of attention were focused on the thousands of sensory overloads and shifts that DPT forced upon my body. It was not pleasant at all. I wondered how much longer it could last. I knew I had ingested a drug and that it would end and that I would be ok, but that was only when I was able to concentrate and shift my focus from my cells exploding, my visual field shattering into colorful waves, and my consciousness being suppressed.
I called Grey's name again.
'I'm here' he said to reassure me. He was still standing outside the door.
'Come in... sit on the bed with me.'
I squeezed his hand very hard, so hard it had to have been painful for him. It was as if I was trying to channel my mental anguish into him, anything to offset or diminish my profound mental crunch. Feeling his hand let me know that reality did exist, that my other life really was there. I would be ok. But a long period of difficulty lay ahead still. I threw off my headphones, and realized how dramatically the pumping goa trance had shaped my trip. It had heightened to an insane gooey level, and taking them off mad things a bit easier. Goa trance poteniated my insanity. Listening to that track even now I get chills just listening to it. I can remember watching the world change, grip, groan, shudder.
When I turned my head in the dark room the cosmic colors shifted and twisted like liquids mixing in a gigantic bowl. Unpredictable patterns. Nothing I could possibly have thought of. My conscious brain was not doing this. My brain cried out, sizzling over butter on a hot griddle. My body mutilated by a meat grinder. My only comfort was that I would eventually return to my body, to be myself again. My dream at that moment was to walk. To smile. To feel fresh cool air blow softly against my cheek. I desired the positive pleasant feelings of life.
I conversed with Grey about the drug effects, but it was unimportant. My highest levels of attention remained fixed upon my cells dying, my brain collapsing and the world dissipating into colorful RGB fractals. I felt as if DPT were a sinister, sinister being that was laughing at me. Humans are so weak. DPT destroys you.
I began trying to overcome the drug. Previously when psychedelic journeys proved extremely intense, I was able to easily rationalize that I was just on a drug and that it would eventually pass, and that I should enjoy it. I am used to seizing control from the drug, and manipulating it. I thought at that moment that I should try to wrestle control, I could feel my mind rising up, taking the lead in perceptary consciousness. I tried. My mind battled, and I tried to focus all my attention on controlling the drug, making the feelings and visuals submissive to my will.
I never had a chance. The DPT energy laughed at me. The sinister energy filled my blood vessels, senses fired that I did not know existed. Music I could feel because it shifted my body energy. My consciousness reluctantly backed off and allowed the drug to take full control again. Any other way was too much of an exercise for my mind. It was as if controlling the DPT would be so taxing that I would permanently lose my cognitive function if I attempted to win my hallucinatory war.
'Can I turn on the light?'
'No. darkness needed.'
Time passes. S l o w l y . . . But sped up. No time. Sensory blender.
Grey's housemates returned home too early. Grey encountered them, and the light went on. WOW! No drug has ever been this intense in all aspects, including lighted open eye visuals. The flesh on faces breathed deeply and contorted, churning and groaning. The world was filled with patterns. It still is.
There is no longer any reason to try to attain visuals for me. DPT visuals are what I have imagined hundreds of hits of acid might be like. My previous psychedelic experiences paled in comparison. Visuals on any other drug are absolutely laughable (excluding DMT, which I have yet to do).
Over time the experienced lessened, to the point where I finally was not confined to Grey's bed. About half an hour after ingestion, I took a long walk outside with Grey and Armi. I put on The White Arcades by Harold Budd. The music was beautiful, swift piano comforting me from me previous journey. As we walked, I related my experience to them. But my main focus was on being alive again, being able to walk! It was a cold night, but I was glad to feel anything real. I ran, jumped, and zigzagged across the road.
The DPT sinister energy world where anything is possible is a land I dare never to touch again. Nothing will top it, the ultimate irony being that the best fantasy world with unlimited possibilities is so frightening, so terrifying, that as soon as it is tasted, I desire it to cease. The mind running completely free is terrifying. The peak was not enjoyable. The plane of anguish and visuals I experienced blew away all drugs that I have tried. The typical psychedelic drugs, such as LSD and shrooms, are frankly laughable in comparison.
After coming out of DPT, I found reality to be perfect. I have never been so happy to be alive. I have never been so afraid of death. The experience was difficult, but profoundly positive.
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