Citation: Psychedelicious. "The Spicy Saga of Psychedelicious: An Experience with DMT & Heroin (exp68549)". Erowid.org. Sep 26, 2008. erowid.org/exp/68549
Twas last May (of the year two-thousand-seven) that psychedelicious found himself laying around with a nearly one kilogram of each M. hostilis primo micronized root bark and B. caapi shredded vine. The eager lad invited C over in hopes of brewing a couple cups of sweet, sweet ayahuasca. The vine was brewed and the root was brewed and the people vomited as their stomachs felt the power of the sacraments...
However, the experience was underwhelming and only served to further psychedelicious' interest in n,n-dimethyltryptamine... As time floated on by, his elfthusiasm grew and grew until he could contain it no more - twas time for extraction!
After a long couple of hours, or perhaps a couple of long hours, our mystagonist decided upon a quick extraction of M. hostilis utilizing H2O, NaOH, naptha, two large spoons, a postal scale, a salsa bottle, empty milk jug, funnel, and stove. These materials were acquired 1) at a local hardware store and 2) downstairs in the kitchen.
Note: I suggest eating the salsa before using the bottle it came in. It is delicious and contributes significantly to the extraction process.
Things were mixed, chopped, sliced, diced, rocked and rolled. After the materials were strategically combined, a yellowish, sticky, substance made its appearance: the viscous fluid was scraped into a pile as well as one can scrape a viscous fluid into a pile. Smoking-sized bits of mullein leaf were dipped into the liquid and ejected into a coke-can pipe (psychedelicious is DIY-as-fuck [read: poor]).
I press the pipe to my lips (are my lungs empty?) and flick the lighter. I slowly inhale the (this tastes weird, kinda like burning plastic. or old people) vapor-phase chemical. I feel it seep into my mental pores - I feel it effuse (good vibrations) out of blood vessels, giving my neurotransmitters an unfamiliar shove, (this is like shrooms, but way more juicy and electric) taking and shaking my mind, (this is beautiful. this is frightening. this is psychedelic. this is very, very powerful) laying my senses to waste. (will I come out of this ok?) Patterns manifest where there (it's too much... how long will this last?) was previously nothing but noise or flatness; Everything is brighter... getting brighter still... being elevated... (oh, I understand now.)
The drug is dissolving physical boundaries, allowing the world to flow freely. The distinctions we make in everyday life are arbitrary. Separation is a wholly subjective concept. Is autonomy impossible or necessary? This is where pantheism and panentheism get tangled up. Clarity of thought is not reflected in clarity of sight - colors flash, shapes ooze and breathe, geometry fails.
Fractals play across my mind's eye as my optical sensors roll up and backwards, ignoring the other worlds. Mandalas of infinite complexity and beauty flash about, living and dying. The visions swirl about with heavenly precision and I open my eyes to find my dogs hovering about my feet. I give them each a good scratch as their forms undulate, giving off an otherworldly vibration. I let Ringo and Daisy know that I love them very much, and they respond with love-slobber.
I am seeing the world through God's eyes.
As the visions waft away, melting into plainness, I am left with an overwhelming feeling of connection with all things - what can a man do but be terribly in love with this perfect existence? I jump up, put away my pipe, matches, and the chemical messiah. The day is new as I dive in.
I fill my lungs and brain and blood and heart with the sacred material and put on some tunes. Shugo Tokumaru's wonderfully psychedelic sounds emanate from the speakers. The walls of the room are more blue than before - richer, brighter, more opaque. My surroundings shake as a ringing builds deep in the sweet candy center of my brain. The tones of the music manifest themselves as richly colored waves of color, fluttering through air... my electric-catfish skin can barely contain my body. Warmth rolls through my core, leaving me content to close my eyes.
I see a rotating assemblage consisting of bright reds, greens, and yellows, angling about, flashing colors and polygonal glyphs. It seems to be in the general shape of a human heart, though instead of a piece of muscle, it is the convergence of millions of beams of light and planes and patterns unlike any I have ever seen.
Orbs open and the outside world pours in - the animals on my quilt rise and move about, silently communicating, living their entire lives on a knit blanket. The quilt (hung over a window to keep early morning light out of my eyes) waves and rolls and licks the gases about it. The sky blue walls deepen into seas, waves crashing orthogonally into the ceiling and floor. My broken cello, once propped against the wall, now stretches and squeezes and turns inside-out, assuming the form of a centuries-old wooden ship. It floats along the oceans of my room, and I close my eyes to again welcome the technicolor kaleidoscopic visions.
T and his girlfriend, J, are outside. They have come over to smoke some buds and have me pop their DMT cherries (ah, nothing like tossing a couple virgins up to God so he can deal with them personally =D). T gives me his pipe with a nug plug upon which I sprinkle a decent helping of elf spice. I explain the mechanics of vaporizing the drug with a huge grin across my head. T ignites and inhales, soon breaking into laughter as he passes the pipe back to me. He stops laughing soon.
'Wow, man, this is way intense. This is like, too intense. When is this gonna stop?'
'Give it five minutes and you'll be back.'
'I'm gonna throw up, dude.'
I rush to the bathroom for a trash can and give T some water. He doesn't puke, but remains afraid. His fear stems from not returning to sobriety. This world is very alien and confusing at first. Shugo Tokumaru is on again, coincidentally, and T asks me to 'turn off the fucking music'. He is in a vulnerable place. Visions hit him hard and he closes his eyes, head between knees, groaning. About five minutes after inhalation, T is coming back down, awed and humbled. T is partial to LSD, disliking psilocybes as they make T anxious. Similarities between psychedelic mushrooms and DMT, I believe, contributed to T's unpleasant experience, giving way to anxiety.
J picks up the pipe to taste DMT for the first time, and I hold the lighter for her. She inhales and starts giggling - J doesn't smoke enough to trip very much, but does enjoy the body high and loved up headspace.
The three of us walk outside to smoke some bud, enjoying the crisp, cool air. We are all in the same great mood, very much enjoying the afterglow of DMT. T and I take J home and T calls S, looking for some opioids. I have been having a difficult time managing my opiates in the past year, but was confident in my ability to control my use at this time. T purchases a quarter gram of powder heroin, which we IV. T only finishes half his shot, saying he needs to vomit again. His skin is pale and I am worried. He tells me he is having white-outs, but is able to keep himself awake after puking. After T's OD symptoms fade, I take my shot (about twice as much as T took), getting a nice (but not overwhelming) high. I realize how high my tolerance is - T has been a daily opiate user for nearly a year and had an OD shooting half as much drug as I.
We return to T's house and smoke some more weed. We sprinkle some DMT on top of the herb for another trip, vaping it a few minutes later. About 3 minutes after inhaling, each of us is experiencing some very psychedelic nausea. T vomits and I sit at the commode for a good fifteen minutes until we regain our stomachs. The lesson learned today is that DMT does not go well with IV heroin.
R picks me up from my college, and we smoke a cigarette on the way to my house. We put a Fugazi tape in the deck and rock out for a while. Once in my room, I show R the DMT. Ray has only tripped once, having a frightening Salvia experience, but he is eager trip again. I load up the pipe and hold the lighter for R as he inhales. He mentions that it tastes like how burning plastic and nag champa smell. He says he feels a good body high after a few minutes of talking about our friends and lives. I hand him the pyrex DMT dish, and let him load as much as he wants. R and I pass the pipe back and forth, smoking for about an hour straight. I never take more than a couple small hits, in case R has a freakout and I need to come to the rescue. Despite my small doses leaving me nicely psychedelicized, R isn't feeling more than the body high and empathic mindset.
R and I leave for his house, and end up having quite an adventurous night. We found ourselves with a dead alternator and battery some 30 minutes away from home, on a dark, 34* F and wet stretch of highway. We had to jump his car thrice to get back home, losing the battery for the final time about 50 feet from my house. Luckily, we had the green herb to keep us warm and in good spirits throughout this taxing excursion.
Driving while intoxicated, tripping, or extremely sleep deprived is dangerous and irresponsible because it endangers other people. Don't do it!]
Back inside, we get a snack and start to smoke DMT again. I don't hold back on the doses I take this time around. R lays on the bed and I on my little couch. The pipe passes back and forth as I wait for R to let me know he's dosed high enough to trip. R loads a large bowl of elfspice, takes a hit, and passes it along.
I start to take a hit, and immediately sense that this time is going to be a little different. I set the pipe down as the room starts to vibrate, violently shaking the usually solid construction of the room into a flowing palette of extraordinarily vivid colors. My vision is in van-Goh mode as my ego dissolves into the ether...
Many-dimensional starflake prisms collide and explode in color and beauty! I feel no sense of self, only LOVE! Soaring beyond the beyond, experiencing without prejudices the raw world! There are no more senses to process, only the direct perception of the world. Without a body, self-awareness or external world to compare to, it was impossible to judge the passage of time, only knowing that each instant is different from the next.
As my consciousness was pieced back together, the room began to take shape, and I was able to remember that I had a body. The room was only barely recognizable, vibrating and emanating and breathing. Colors flying around, lights bumping into each other, pixie dust going supernova ... a truly mystical experience!
The echo of the trip lingered in my mind for a few more minutes as normalcy returned. The visuals at this stage were particularly awe-inspiring (though still wholly incomparable to the breakthrough visuals, which I feel are, as I wrote a couple paragraphs up, not based upon our senses but a mental mirror of sorts). The visions were all very, very stylized. The effect is similar to the distinct styles of Asiatic, Native American (North, Central, South), and African traditional art. Each style is recognizable - any two works in the same style, despite their subject matter, are easily seen to be in the same cultural and stylistic vein. The DMT style, however, is far more complex and immersive than these traditional styles; It has movement and involves more than just sight. Odors and tastes are less emphasized here, but the alterations of the kinesthetic and vestibular senses (which create the body high) are characteristic as well as are the auditory and visual changes.
Every object had ornaments and auras, and each was a smaller division of a larger pattern. The world becomes a fractal at its most fundamental level, each iteration rippling through to the next, making itself known to be a part of a greater whole. My love is a reflection of OUR love.
I remembered that R was still here as the visions began to lessen in intensity...
'Dude, R, that was the best thing that ever happened to me.'
'Did you already take a hit?'
'I just got back, man!'
COPYRIGHTS: All reports are copyright Erowid and you agree not to download or analyze the report data without contacting Erowid Center and receiving permission first.
Experience Reports are the writings and opinions of the individual authors who submit them.
Some of the activities described are dangerous and/or illegal and none are recommended by Erowid Center.