momma take these dreams from my head Who are you?: momma take these dreams from my head
By Past nate on Thursday, May 14, 1998 - 12:39 am:
    Iím lonely here. They canít give you everything, and the more you take the less they give. Thatís what Iíve found to be true. There are some days that pass without the tiniest of noises from my mate. Quiet days. Gray cloud days.

    This is one of those days. A guest or two, nothing more. The clear sky broke early with rain; clouds rolled and covered the dome from vista point to vista point. Craggy mountains outlining the valley like teeth. That puts us in the mouth somewhere. A relatively small stone lozenge on this great earthen tongue. Wishing to be spit.

    I inhaled smoke rather late in the day. So much sobriety to prelude this mellow melancholy. So much, I mean, sarcastically. I canít break this chain, seems too thick. I vow to try, though. Almost daily I vow to try. Mostly in the mornings, before the day has taken its turn with the whip on my back.

    Then I come to now, and the smoke is much too enticing. Fill my lungs, pull away my cares. Bring me back to normalcy. Bring me back to my standard state. My off duty state. My back kick and my hair down. Bring me back to take me out.

    Today involved my weekday wander. Itís a Monday. Crossed the demon trail, the pits of steam. Made it safe again to the chambers, where they drone and fart. Slicked back grease hair and ill fitting pants.

By Days after acids nate on Thursday, May 14, 1998 - 12:41 am:
    I was stuck down to the floor. Inches seemed to pass, then not; it was incredibly difficult, you know. The conversation pegged me to where I sat. Little side noises infected my head, locked me into a viscous infinite loop. My leg fell asleep. They touched me then.

    The fog had cleared suddenly. The lock on my body let up slightly, then tightened until it was so cold it was hot. Then I was immobile and indifferent; I couldnít move nor did I realize that at one time I could. It was far over and far from over. I was in, but what in was had been totally redefined.

    They fish for smelt, you know, but also they fish for me. Tight assed fishermen in yellow slickers. Long lines with rusty barbed hooks tied securely to the dolphin meat. Rusty barbed hooks tearing the veins from the fins, tail and soul. They knew everything about me, everything about anything. They knew I knew. Unfortunately I didnít know what knowing would get me.

    Trouble, they once exclaimed. Trouble is the worst enemy of law, of order, of silence, of boredom. We live in the chaos of a troubled universe. If there was no trouble, there would be nothing. All matter would lie in a single frozen pile. Or degrade further, for all that we know. Return. It would return to the starting point, the base of all existence.
    God, then. That is what we all are. God is the sum of everything. God in perfect peace is lying prone beneath the infinity tree, the Godmind resting in perfect harmony with the cambium activity. In perfect empty.

    But we know this to be wrong, somehow. God is too dimensional to exist even slightly congruent to this perfect peace. This isnít even a god known vision of perfect peace, it is a reflection of the Godmind distorted by our quadradimensionality. It is the ceiling of our perfection and the foundation of the God. Our box has a lid that cannot be removed; we can only see the underside of the lid, God can only see the top.

    God shakes the box and can hear the movements within. God can estimate our existence quite well, by these (audio?) examinations. The rumble we make when energy is added to our reality. That is when God knows we are here. All other time is marked by the unknowing God, and that which is not in the Godmind is Not.

    Which is not to say does not exist, but rather, in this reality and in Godmind there is no cause for existence, nor any applicable effect. Only that which is in the Godmind has any bearing on this reality, as this reality is a construct of the Godmind. A wild reflection that bears striking resemblance though no substantial similarity to the Godmind. A mirror reflects light but not matter, this reality reflects certain aspects but not others. We are the limited Godmind on the other side of the reality. We are the reflection on the other side of the glass.

    And then there is Not. Not is all that is not known to the Godmind. It is the rest when the Godmind is attentive to this reality, it is this reality when the Godmind is attentive to the rest. In the confines of time, however, there is no difference (in so far as when) between the two attentive behaviors. These are not translatable to concepts of just four dimensions, they exist purely in what is perpendicular to all of time and space. The best that can be understood is that there are two separate, essentially autonomous existences in this reality: that which is the reflection of the Godmind which is known to the Godmind through the actions and attentiveness of God, and that which is the reflection of the Godmind which is unobserved due to lack of actions or attentions by God and therefore not known to the Godmind.

    This is not easy to realize, I understand. I certainly understood then, when this sudden awareness pegged me to the floor and forced me to notice the Not. Not on the other side of the reality mirror, as opposed to Not on our side of reality. Not on the other side is where God is, but is outside of the knowledge of the Godmind.

    I pictured four basic existences in our perspective: two on either side of a construct known as the reality mirror. Envisioning the reality mirror that reflects like a glass mirror is relatively easy, envisioning what is reflected is not. What is reflected is not light, but rather an analog to energy in dimensions greater than our four. Energy is the force of movement of physical objects (three dimensions) over a period of time (fourth dimension.) What is reflected in the reality mirror is the force of movement of time-space (four dimensions) over a period of creation (fifth dimension.)

    Being gripped by the details of the mechanics of the reality mirror is like driving straight desert roads; one can drive for hours without a definite landmark to tell that distance has passed, yet enjoy every minute of the experience. But at this point I was not gripped, but rather I understood the most basic point of the reality mirror: that it reflected, and that what it reflected defined the Godmind with sufficient detail.

    So here we are, in an existence we call our own. This is the existence we anthropocentrically call Reality. It is the first existence and the easiest to comprehend. It is the reflection of the Godmind as known by the Godmind. It is Godís conscious thought about the Godself. It is Godís greatest love. It is Godís ego.

    The second existence is the existence we are taught to believe in. It is inherent to our existence because it is so intimately linked with what the Godmind is. If Reality is the conscious thought about the Godself, the second existence is the unconscious mind of God. It is the true Godmind, not just the reflection of it. It is the strength of God, the power of God. It is all that we are plus all that which does not reflect. It is the sum totality of all Godís perception, conception and ingestion. It is the Godself.

    Third is the Not. Paradoxically, the Godself is not all of God, God is everything, and yet God is only parts of God. This is what the Not is, it is the parts of God on the Godself side of the reality mirror that is not known to the Godmind. It is the parts of God on the Godself side of the reality mirror that are not perceived at all by the Godself. Not is parts of God not known in any way to God. If God lived in a house, and kept the reality mirror in one room, the Not would be all of the other rooms in the house. If God was looking in the reality mirror God would be oblivious to all that occurred in the other rooms (even though the whole house is actually God.) Ignore the parenthetical note if it confuses you, it was not important in my realizations.

    The final existence is the Not Reality. That which is reflected of the Godself yet not known to the Godmind. Furthering the analogy of rooms, the Not Reality is that which occurs when God is not in the room with the reality mirror. Or when God is in the room but not perceiving what is being reflected. It is the existence on our side of the reality mirror that is devoid of the attention of the Godmind. The presence of this final existence is all at once deathly scary and enormously enlightening. This is an existence that is aligned perfectly in our time and space. It is here all around us, we just canít perceive it because it is not known.

    Mind blown, frozen and drooling. Strapped into a place foreign to my physical self I was being bombarded by the creation of thought. Being brought to the mountain peaks and shown the world as a map. Then the questions came. The questions that came from the subconscious of the Godmind to tempt and tease my mortal mind. Is this the only reality mirror? Does that matter to me? Simple, philosophical questions. Simple in that they didnít scare me so much as stretch me.

    But that ended quickly when one question sparked a memory from the subconscious Godmind to filter up to reflect: What would happen if something else was reflected in the reality mirror? The Not is populated by more than just I.

    Polytheism? No, I wrestled with that one. I rolled it into little balls in my mind and flicked it towards the back of my skull. There is no room for the polytheistic in modern society. Just look at the Catholic Church. The last bastion of civilization-wide polytheism crumbling in its own stagnation.

    And then it occurred to me that regardless of how many entities gaze into the reality mirror, we would only ever know this reality. We would only ever know the reality created by the reflection of our God, and thus our God is the only God that exists for us. In this universe, this Reality, it is impossible for any god other than our God to be known to the Godmind as this reflection of this Godself.

    And then I wasnít sure.

    And then I think I passed out.

By Choosing to beat depression with a solo eighth of mushrooms instead of prozac nate on Thursday, May 14, 1998 - 12:45 am:
    There is too much flash in this screen to even look at what Iím writing. It is n odd feeling to touch these keys. I get lost in the screen. I canít look up there.


    when I write I put myself into some other mind. Thatís where I write from, some other mind. Iím tired of being in this mind. Trying to put myself in this depressive state. I can choose to be outside of this. And everything is happy?

    I think so. Fractals are dancing in the screen. Amazing patterns everywhere I am not writing. I love this and at the same time it is keeping me from writing. I am so clumsy where I am writing. I donít even think it is connected.

    I am writing in another part of this I am paying attention only to the screen. To the colors. To the music. If I pay attention to what I am writing I think I want to cry. If I pay attention to how badly I am spelling or the typos or the problems than this seems to be a burden. The song is over, it really seems like the world changes dependant on what is behind us in music.

    New song.

    This is incredibly insane, these writings. I donít think they actually say anything. I should stop thinking about myself reading this all later.

    I am wresting with being crazy. I am not sure I want to be crazy, I am not sure if I am or not. Am I just lying to myselF? these hands are not my own.

    this is not real.

    I canít decide on black or white
    day or night
    everything reverbs in my brain
    ignore them ignore them
    they are not what is going on
    they are not what is going on
    who am I afraid might read this?

    I should be writing. Forget the audience. Forget

    it doesnít matter how much Iím writing. It doesnít matter that Ií[m writing. Leave.

    Nate leave.

    Concentrate elsewhere.

    Iím doing this now nate LEAVE


    Iím not sure I can type without paying attention to what Iím doing. I think that this is almost as if I am not doing it anyway, though. God.

    lyrics are just forgetting about the I ams and I cans and just writing whatís going on. I forgot about that somewhere.

    I have to stop trying so hard.

    I have to stop writing for audeinces. Iím not going to read this later. No one is going to read this later. I am writing to write. This is just the way it goes.

    I think that my only thinking is going on right now on the screen. I am reading this all for the first time? Funny that I would have to tell myself this?

    I guess I am not, I guess I am still writing to a

    writing with an audience in mind. I canít believe that the spelling is still working. Jesus, itís hard enough to believe Iím still typing. There is so much going on right now, so much on top of the typing. So much noise, so deep.

    The screen is falling through. I think that maybe later I will want to know what the screen looked like? Maybe itís not that big of a deal. It is right now.

    It is my world. Do I spend too much time in front of the computer? Iíve never thought about that, really. I think maybe I have. Itís a good escape. I should be making music.

    Nobody laughs anymore?

    my eyes are burning. Too much to watch all this going on. Iím finally crying.

    Thank god.

    itís been awhile.

    Its a lot this thatís going on. Enough that I havenít been sure about handling it. I think I can do it, though. I think that my body is a bit confused right now.

    Crying a lot.

    It feels good. It feels good to be on a new page, too.

    Its hard to write whatís going on in the head. I want to edit, I want to censor. I should stop censoring whatís in my mind.

    I need to stop being afraid of whoís going to come in.

    Iím a fucking wreck. Do I need to get over this?

    I donít know whoís even writing these words anymore. somewhere else I am typing. Somwhere else I am being logical.

    Soewhere else I am

    not thinking about whatísgoing on right now?

    Stop thinking about the typing. The typing is just whatís in my head, but I think somwhere else I am writing this all down.


    Does this makesense?

    To whom? To me? am I trying to make this all clear? Am I writing to myself? am I writing to someone else? B--? I--? M---?

    Where am I?

    I love you A---. I love you more than anything and I wish you were here I wish you were in my mind with me. forever with me in my mind. Always someone to talk to. Someone who cares about me. I know you care about me

    that makes me feel good. Yes. Iím thinking about people reading this now, and I need to stop.

    A---. I canít put how I feel down. I keep trying to write the words you want to hear. I keep trying to feel the way you want me to.

    I need to get away from that. I think maybe that isnít totally the way things are, but it has a ring of truth. In our lives,

    I have to pee.

    Is this a thought or is this for an audience? It seems to have an audience. At the very least, the audience is ME, right now. And I need to stop paying attention. Iím getting lost. Iím getting afraid that I canít think outside of the typewriting device? Maybe? Maybe this is all of me. no reality. No conversating. Canítthinkthatfast. But boy can that kid write?

    Fuck that
    or maybe not

    I donít know. I want to write

    I want to I want to b



By Drunk as fuck nate on Thursday, May 14, 1998 - 12:47 am:
    Drunk as hell I am I am
    Motherfucker do gooder motherfucker you
    Drunk as Hell I am I am
    Eat my fucking ass you mother fucker you

    shit. I think Iím the motherfucker alan ginsberg of the whiteblooded drunkass world. Connection connection my motherfucking connection.

    Lick my ass you cock eyed scum. Drink the blood of my ass you cum bubble son of a whore cootie shit fucker.

    Itís hard to force myself to write when I am drunk. Goddamn. Whatís the magic signal? Whatís the fucking magic signal?

    Oh, that magic signal.

    No, it was something different.

    I am eastern tides
    looking alive on the rest of my life
    the world is sneaking by
    looking alive on the rest of my time
    I am full of this
    the soul is aching
    the world is baking
    I am sneaking by
    the thousand eys
    I am crying
    each to other skies
    Iíve found wisdom
    hardly given.

By Excerpt from a letter post-psychedelic insanity nate on Thursday, May 14, 1998 - 12:52 am:
    Maybe you would want to read about whatís going on for me spiritually? I feel pretty lost, except for some guiding points. I do believe in god, some god. Probably not the Christian god, or any real organized religion god. Iím not sure exactly what it is, but I know that it created us. It might not even be a conscious entity, it might just be a mass of subconsciousness, mapped and reflected by each conscious person living.

    Iíve been thinking a lot about thought-control. Mental suggestion. Iíve had many "coincidences" recently which make me believe that I might be able to influence peopleís thoughts. Nothing big, mostly numbers. One time we were playing with a deck of cards. Ernie was picking cards and Sarah was trying to guess them. He picked a three of spades, which I saw but thought it was a five of spades. So, when I saw it, I thought in my head "Hmm, five of spades," or something to that effect. Turns out Sarah guesses five of spades. It was rather bizarre.

    Just today I was in class. The teacher was talking about binary search trees, and, without going into too much detail, was trying to come up with some random numbers to demonstrate how these trees work. I already know how to use binary search trees, so when he began the example, I came up with some numbers and began working out the example in my head (something I just do when I am in class.) The odd thing is that I was thinking the first number should be 15, and thatís the number he picked. The emphasis is the should, I think. It was almost as if it was important in my mind that the number be 15 (though what the number was made no difference, it just had to be larger than the numbers picked after it.) I tried to influence other number picks after that, but none of them worked. I think it was because I was trying to put numbers in his head, instead of thinking that the number should be something. I donít know. Iím still working on this.

    Same thing with the cards. I kept trying to put the cards into Sarahís head, instead of just thinking what the cards were. Didnít work after the first time.

    A lot of what I consider magic is like this. It usually works by accident, and when I go back and try something it rarely does anything.

    The exception is when I was on mushrooms. Everything seemed rather easy then. Thatís one of the reasons why I think I still have things to learn from psychedelics.

    I hope Iím not sounding crazy.

By Too in love to care nate on Thursday, May 14, 1998 - 12:54 am:
    There is this molten moment
    when everything is one
    and the sun
    the sun is in your eyes
    casting rays in endless pools of amber
    anything I would do for this love

    And a breeze stirs the sand
    whispers toward the ocean
    a secret
    crazy bond between
    the seabirds strike the sea again
    anything I would do for this love

    Falling through tender times
    grasping at anyone we can
    in our hand
    our hand bleeds comfort
    bringing the world to perfect completion
    anything I would do for this love

By Apologetic nate feels sorry if anyone was tricked into reading all that on Thursday, May 14, 1998 - 01:02 am:
    i apologize fully to anyone who was tricked into reading all that. I guess I just took "Who are you" to be a challenge.

By Chordata on Thursday, May 14, 1998 - 02:30 am:
    Holy shit. Now that's a quality Wednesday night.

By R.C. on Thursday, May 14, 1998 - 02:52 am:
    The N.E.A. shd be giving people like you pounds & pounds of 'shrooms/to support your art, Nate. And here I was thinking you were 13 & newly in love!

    Thanks for the buzz. Sleep well.

By A fan on Thursday, May 14, 1998 - 05:15 pm:
    some of this was REAL

By THE FALCON on Tuesday, May 26, 1998 - 08:33 pm:
    This topic sounds like an OZZY OZBOURNE song :)

By Voluptuous Violet on Tuesday, June 2, 1998 - 02:01 am:
    Hey Nate, this is Voluptuous Violet. I'm on the level... you know how it is to be exactly on the same level with someone you're baking (and not cookies) with? Well that's where I'm at... or where I was or whatever. It's so wierd and each time I did it (about 12 times) I loved it. Until I overdosed on Liquid L in East L.A.. I had utter brain meltdown. It was a God trip and I was so stuck in my head and everything made so much fucking sense that my mind was blown and I understood nothing. Total schizophrenia. I ended up in the hospital and almost the psychiatric ward and almost dead because my heart rate was so high (they say) it almost-like, blew up or something to that extent. I still- at 18 and after rehab and a baby- think that if I would have been anywhere but East LA, especially up in the hills, I would have been FINE. But Nooooooo, I got stuck in East LA....
    Well, Bye
    (also, if you've visited my "Terrifying Sleep Episodes" thing in the other board which I think you have, don't you think that all that frying and other anonymous partying could possibly have something to do with my absolute freak out periods of being posessed by what the hell ever in my sleep?)
    Bye for real now. *Violet*

By Nate on Tuesday, June 2, 1998 - 03:08 am:
    my arms go numb. i break into a sweat. my vision is clouded by tiny bursts of light like television static. afterimages. the air is an ocean. i am drowning. drowning.

    bring it on god. BRING IT ON GOD.

    waves are crashing into me. something breathes behind my eyes. pressure comes like dry heaves. each burst throwing me deeper into the sea of static. clouds that pulse into existence, pulse out of existence. pulse. pulse. pulse. my pulse/idon'tknow.

    ride it? or i can concentrate it into my hands. my legs. i can make the body numb. i can make. the world shivers. my palms on the desktop shake the desk. i vibrate inside outside. it vibrates inside outside me. i rise but i'm not moving. i can't see often. i can't concentrate often. i can't motivate often. i wonder if i will sleep tonight. i wonder what will come for me.

    FUCK YOU. i can beat it tonight. i can tear these walls out i can fucking take it ON. BRING IT ON GOD. don't send no petty vision don't send no avatar don't send the heavydreams or the smoke and fires. come. tell me my damage. let me fight it. let me out. let me out of thisand back into the world again. fuck preception. fuck your preception fuck my preception fuck the way this is fuck the way i am fuck this

    i am i can be. ofuck.

    david on my wall he looks around and he closes his eyes and then they are empty skull holes and you know he is sad.

    and it goes. and i can think for a minute. i can breathe. and then it grips me and i suck in and all the muscles tense. it's not pain it's confusion. it's something else in me something that makes my skin tingle. especially the finger tips feel like static electricity is layered thickly.

    and the eyes water. the pressure forms behind them. they want to escape my head. i close my eyes and pictures come. not real pictures, but clouds of static forming objects. shapes. eyes. heads. pressure. i am underwater. i am afraid. pressure.

    everything is inside now. i can see an object. an obelisk of some sort, i think . i don't know. my mind tries to put meaning to the things i see. pencil. rocket. obelisk. who the fuck knows. who the fuck cares. light dark light dark. television static. my head is full of static.

    tiny ripples shoot through my torso. shiver. shiver. i amquivering . iam alone. no one can reach me in here because i have built these walls too high too much too fucking much.

    here it comes again. like waves of nausea but not nausea. fooof. everything tenses. tears. eyes bulge. pushing pushing.... trying to get out. i am trying to push it out.

    i try to put myself on the beach. i think god was there with me that night. on the beach. silver moon. waves rolling in on top of each other. six seven out white lines into the ocean. grey ocean. silver moon. grey sand. everything grey and blue and silver and right then i went from atheist to undeniable believer in creation and ther was god. but conscious? i don't know. but god. something. out there. bigger than i. a creater.

    i try to take myself there because i was overwhelmed with love from the universe. sounds cheesey. fuck. i can't explain these things. i am empty compared to what i felt that night on the beach. empty. alone.

    shiver. i can feel breath on my body. tiny breezes. i can see faces in the air. i can see i can feel something someone here. i am really freaking out. i am really afraid.

    my shoulders are so tense and my back. i can't shift in the chair. i can't relax. i want to look around but i can't. i can't see outside the glow of the screen. i don't want to see. iwanttobefreeofthis. i

    nothing can get me. nothing is in here. i tell myself that i am safe. i wish i could lie better.

    thoughts echo in empty head i am i am.

    i've been pressing so hard against the corner of the desk that deep purple lines cross my palms. sweaty.

    i can feel the weight of an odd energy about me. it's just shy of tangible. just outsideinside of perception.

    it goes it comes it goes. i think it is waning now.

    i need to sleep. if tomorrow starts like today, i am not getting out of bed.

By Nate on Tuesday, June 2, 1998 - 12:51 pm:
    i was in the middle of what i believe was my worst flashback ever when i wrote that. which, by the way, was going on last night between about 11:15 and 12:00 (west coast time.)

    things have been sliding away from reality lately. i think it is a product of lack of sleep and stress. at least, in the past year and a half since i last tripped i think i've been considerably stressed when the haze has been at it's worst. what i call flashbacks are pretty rare, and much more extreme than the haze.

    to clarify: heavydreams is what i've been calling these dreams i have. they are super clear, super real dreams with exceptions of the physics of things. time,space,etc don't exist in them the way they exist in reality. they are really trippy dreams that i actually enjoy a lot, except that i always wake up from them in a deep haze that usually takes about an hour to wear off. the other things i talk about ('avatar', 'smoke and fire',) i think refer to night visions i have. i've had a lot of hallucinations where i'm in a relaxed but awake state and i see, plain as i see anything, something that cannot be there. the one that repeats the most are three people who i call the council (i don't know why, it just seems to be a name that fits.) two men and a woman who almost always tell me something. last time they wanted to take me somewhere, but i didn't want to make the effort so i told them i wasn't ready.

    i don't know. i don't want to talk about these right now.

    I don't recall ever having a bad trip. I was there for friends who got themselves into trouble, but i don't remember ever having one myself. maybe i should ask someone, though.

    i can't remember how many times i tripped. sometimes i come up with a number, but later i usually remember things i hadn't taken into account and realize that the number i came up with was a low estimate. i did it all in a three or four month period, though. i can't put things together in that period of my history. i remember major events, but not the order they occured in.

    i hate acid. i hate shrooms. they fucked me over. at the same time i feel like i wouldn't take back any trip i had. if i had to, i would do it all again.

By Blindswine on Tuesday, June 2, 1998 - 06:08 pm:
    the hippie contingency seems to believe that long-term acid use is perfectly safe and has no ill side-effects. the alarmist contingency will tell you that the hallucinogen will do everything from burn lesions into your brain to send you on vicious manson-like kill-thrill sprees. in his book LSD, the originator will tell you that the brain is a finely-tuned machine with certain settings that control perception-- the drug enters your system and wildly adjusts these perceptional controls causing the tracing and geometric progression effects, as well as the psychological/emotional anomalies. Hoffman tells us that LSD-25 is only active within the system for about twenty minutes-it generally takes average the brain 8 to 12 hours to reset itself depending on dosage (micrograms ingested). If Hoffman is correct, this reveals why certain people "trip and can't come down"-they are wired such that their brains cannot "reset" to its "normal" perceptional settings.
    I took acid for the first time in an upscale-suburban community in northeastern pennsylvania that was still in the process of being built. Sprawling houses in various states of completion stretched across the landscape like a living dali paintingÖ it was pretty fucking surreal. I remember seeing neon fish floating in and out ofÖ well, everything. That was sometime in the summer of '87 or '88Ö
    I took acid for the last time on New Year's Eve, 1992 in Goa. Goa sits on the western coast of the indian subcontinent overlooking the arabian sea. Back in the '60s, Goa was a hangout for hippies and driftersÖ in the early '90's, the hippies had been replaced (or rather updated) with techno/trance-revelersÖ and the drifters (me included) were still in force. Some german production company hosted parties on the plateau of this mountain overlooking the beach; techno boomed across the hillsides all night long and well past 10:00amÖ by then I was seeing computer chips in the sky and would've killed for a little p-funk or hendrix or zeppelin; anything but the mindless repetition of techno/trance beats. But all in all, after living with a brahmin family for four months and then traveling along the coast from madras, to madurai, to kovalom, and up to goa-tripping my face off with a bunch of european vacationers and goan locals was wildly surrealÖ (almost as surreal as getting off the plane at JFK and being spewed into the lunacy of manhattan after 10 months in the subcontinentÖ)
    In between the 1987/88 and 1992 I probably ingested the "syd" somewhere between 70-200 timesÖ sometimes taking as many as five or six tabs a trip. I stopped because the trips became predictable and being fried for 12 hours at a time became tedious. I don't know what kind of chromosomal/neurological/emotional/psychological damage I inflicted on myself through partaking in such activities, but I do know that I had a hell of a lot of fun on a lot of those trips. I know that on many of them I would have been far better off staying home with a clear head and a good book. I also know that (according to the latest "studies") I display "classic" symptoms of acid use: cyclical mild depression, moodiness, general feelings of detachment, etc, etc... but I've felt these feelings for as long as I can remember-ever since I was a kid. Is it live or is it memorex? Is it just me or the acid? It's impossible to tell. It's also impossible to tell what long-term effects I'll experienceÖ I've experienced the kind of strange perception shifts that nate writes about, but never with the intensity he conveys. The only experience I could classify as a full-blown "flashback" was in my freshman dorm room back in '89; I was lying on the floor talking to my roommate and smoking a joint when I looked up and saw this bizarre alien creature standing above me swinging a club at my headÖ it was as if it were rendered on 3-D celluloid-like a film missing frames. The closer the club came to my head, the farther apart the frames were, and then it was gone. But it was the clearest, most vivid thing I've ever seen that wasn't really there.
    Everybody that's ever tripped has heard of the guy who never came down. I know three of those guys. Well, one actually-the other two eventually found there shit after thoroughly losing it. Miguel for a few weeks, Jeff for a whole summer. I can't remember the other guy's name because I didn't know him personally, I just knew him by sight. I remember seeing him for the last time at this shitty frat party. He was wandering around, randomly stopping people and asking them a barrage of questions as if he were hoping that doing so would help him sew his reality back togetherÖ this wasn't my perception at the time; when he was talking to the group of people next to me I thought he was just trying to be amusing or something. Unfortunately, this wasn't the case. The next day he was found by security wandering around campus in a state of severe disorientation. Apparently he was on the sixth day of an acid trip that possibly would never end. I haven't really spoken to anyone from college since '94, but his friends told me that he was still fucked up then after 3 years; I imagine he could very well be just as lost today. I wonder if he listens to much Syd BarrettÖ
    The closest I ever came to fully losing my mind was the end of freshman year '89Ö it was morning and I had just come back to my dorm room after running around all night long on a head full of acid. I was lying down on my bed when everything just went blank. I was completely disoriented; I didn't know where I was, why I was, who I was-nothing. I started to get scared. There was a knock on my door and someone was telling me that my mother was on the payphone and to get off my ass and go talk to her. I'd lived on that hall all year, but in the state I was in I had to ask him for directions. The more I talked to my mom, the more it all came back and eventually everything was cool again.
    My mom never noticed.

    Would I do as much acid as I have if I could live my life over? I would hope not. I have a bad habit of pushing things to the extreme-during a three month period betweem '89 and '90 I was popping tabs like most people drink coffee. I think I wouldn't have as many synaptic misfires if I hadn't been so damned adamant about sticking my head in the psychedelic blender. My vocabulary has certainly suffered; sometimes I can't bring my memory to retrieve the most basic words when trying to communicate a concept. But it's all water under the bridge, now.

    I think acid is like anything else in this life-- the more you fuck with it, the greater chance there is of it fucking you right back.

    It's not always fun to get fucked. Especially when the damage is permanent, and to an irreplaceable resource.

    Like they say,

    A mind is a terrible thing.


    To waste.

By Jim aka PajamaBoy on Tuesday, June 2, 1998 - 08:42 pm:
    Wow. Quite simply, Wow.

By Chordata on Wednesday, June 3, 1998 - 01:28 am:
    I, too, had a flashback yesterday. I occasionally have trippy sensations when I get stoned, but last night was off the register. I was horribly tired and stressed, and smoked just a tiny bit of KB with a friend.. and I started on the hallucinogenic highway. It wasn't nearly as profound as Nate's experience. The memory is actually quite hazy.

    I recall thinking for a few minutes that I was dying, and I was going to hell. I lifted my head to see my housemate's glasses reflecting light in such a way that he appeared to have bright red eyes. His head seemed infinitely large and looming closer. For that moment, I knew I was looking straight at Satan. After a few moments of horror, I stared at the apparition and started to laugh. I said, "Come and get me, bastard." and the illusion faded.

    I decided it was time for bed after that.

By J-GURL on Tuesday, July 21, 1998 - 08:01 pm:
    All I have to say is how come I just found this website today! I can totally relate to everyone on this page god-trips, flash backs everything!! It is so great to read others philosophy's/flash backs! Just the other day I was smoking with my friends and we were driving back from our favourite place, coincidently called 'the highlands', and we became lost. We have done this little 'trip' many times yet this time we had the craziest time getting back into town! It is wild what the mind can do !! After reading some of the postings on this board I now realize that perhaps heavy chemical drug use goes in three month periods. The reason why I say this is that I like Blindswine went on a three month binge. I can't even put a number to the amount of times that I did hits or shrooms or pills. However, it did take me three months to get off the drug scene, not to say that I don't smoke or do shrooms the on occasion, but I haven't enjoyed a pill thrill or an acid trip for about 3 years now! I find that the occasion buzz from shrooms is much more healthier. I have been on the receiving end of some pretty serious flashbacks though. A couple of years ago I was driving outside of my town near an indian reserve. It was night time so I was naturally looking for wildlife and suddenly I saw an indian in the middle of the road so I slammed on the brakes and looked up and he was gone. wHoa!!! That was the scariest flashback I've ever had. However, lately I've been having this reoccurring dreams that I am climbing this huge hill to meet someone that isn't there and I can't get up the hill. Does anyone have any suggestions I've been contemplating this dream for days! Well I don't really have to much else to share except that I can relate to the shortness of memory and umm, I don't know. Stay natural it's better for you! J-gurl

By Lucy Phurre on Friday, December 11, 1998 - 08:55 pm:

    I am at work, cold sober, and enjoying the hell out of this thread.
    I don't do psychedelics. Never have.
    It's not that I think that they're bad, it's that I know I'm nuts.
    There was about a nine-month period there when I could have, but the shithole of a town (Never live in B-More, whatever you do) that I was living in was bone-dry for the whole year.
    That was the only time in my life when I was that stable.

    There are other things I'd like to say, but I can't get them out untoasted (The other reason I don't trip is that I hallucinate very heavily from pot anyway. Fucked up body chemistry, ritalin from the age of 6 and all that)

By Nate on Thursday, September 9, 1999 - 09:58 pm:

    i'll always return to my ego.

    i think this was my first post:

    By Nate on Wednesday, February 11, 1998 - 10:23 pm:
    I squeal.
    This is like masturbation for smart people.
    Well, no, I assume masturbation is like masturbation for
    smart people.


    Decrepitatus, crescendo, lyceum, TRINITROTOULENE,
    blizzity-blaugh, pickle, mandingo-dongo, antelope.

    I must return here discombobulated.

    (note - allen wrenches are good for cleaning your ears. and
    when your sigO says 'what the HELL are you doing?' you can
    say 'Winding up my brain.' and then you get that -look-.)

    and hey, what the hell happend to spiiiiiine?

By Gee on Friday, September 10, 1999 - 03:28 am:

    Gosh, Nate. Some of those notes were very lovely. I'm not being sarcastic.

By Jinafishes on Friday, September 10, 1999 - 11:53 am:

    Slightly sounds like something along the lines of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, but with a lot more tenacity.

By Waffles on Friday, September 10, 1999 - 12:15 pm:

    hey Gee, does this qualify in your your realm of "fascination with nate"

    just checkin of course

By Gee on Saturday, September 11, 1999 - 01:58 am:

    I just thought some of those notes were kind of pretty.

    How many times do I have to remind you people who I'm Really fascinated with??

By Rhiannon on Saturday, September 11, 1999 - 09:24 am:

    Um, 3? Do you mean Callum Keith Rennie? Because if you're not, I am, just for his name.

By Nate on Saturday, September 11, 1999 - 05:18 pm:

    it's swine, it's swine.

    every woman here secretly wants to mount the swine.

By Gee on Sunday, September 12, 1999 - 02:19 am:

    I don't want to mount him, I just want to watch him. You're confusing Your fantasies with Mine.

    Rhi - Here's my favorite picture of Callum Keith Rennie. I love that evil little smile. And I would have to say I'm more Obsessed than anything else, when it comes to my dearest Callum.

By Waffles on Sunday, September 12, 1999 - 09:23 pm:

    i just want to watch HER mount him........i think.....

By Jim aka PajamaBoy on Monday, September 13, 1999 - 08:17 am:


By J on Tuesday, September 14, 1999 - 12:21 pm:

    I just hope sombody films it!

By Waffles on Tuesday, September 14, 1999 - 01:55 pm:

    do you have any "home movies" J?

By J on Tuesday, September 14, 1999 - 02:29 pm:

    Waffles,you never miss a chance do you?I have a friend named Tony who now owns a titty bar,he use to make wierd little films Brussle Sprout Productions,he made a short film of me wearing my Superman shirt and real short cutoffs(he wanted me to wear those certain things)I was washing windows downtown,every time I would bend down(his brother)would come give me a quarter,eveytime I raised my arm up,he,d walk by and give me a quarter,this went on awhile then he just does a closeup of me winking.He played it in some of the clubs and people would come up and call me Supergirl.

By Waffles on Tuesday, September 14, 1999 - 03:11 pm:

    thats all??? wow I am shocked

By J on Tuesday, September 14, 1999 - 04:44 pm:

    Are you kidding around this pop stand?Ryan is a thief,I never smoked pot in front of my kids,except Amee after she turned 21.My husband talked me into this cleaning business when Ryan was 11,they were supposed to help me,he wouldn,t.So he was at home sometimes alone cause my husband worked a rotating shift.It started seeming like my weed was missing of course my s/o said it was in my head,turned out I was right.To make a long story short Heather moved out last year cause of it.I had dead bolt locks put on both the doors off my bedroom,you need a key to get in.Had to get a fucking safe and have it bolted on my closet,and that still wasn,t enough!!I have sliding glass windows and he was jacking them and still getting in.Had to get locks put on the windows that you need a key for.I really do want him out of my house,is it any wonder that I,m depressed?

By J on Wednesday, September 15, 1999 - 11:50 am:

    He need his pussy little ass kicked.

By Jinafishes on Wednesday, September 15, 1999 - 03:45 pm:

    I bet you're just the woman to do that. Go get him tiger!

By J on Wednesday, September 15, 1999 - 04:28 pm:

    Oh,hon,I can,t do that anymore,you can go to jail for that,maybe I could pay some kid to kick his ass though.

By Jinafishes on Wednesday, September 15, 1999 - 04:47 pm:

    Yeah.. good point.. why would a guy be in such desperation as to steal someone's stash tho? In Matlock Washington, it grows almost wild, lot of crops, and the town doesn't want any cops, in fact they complain when they go through. I think it was named #1 in High Times, and I think I've said this before already. Anyhow it's not -that- expensive. Maybe send him to Matlock.

By Trustworthy on Thursday, December 13, 2001 - 08:53 am:

    I lived in Matlock, Washington for several years. I wouldn't sent your stash-thieving,Ryan, there.
    A friend of mine, Cecil, he used to live in Matlock. That was right before they sent him away for 13 and 1\2 years. Cecil's crop was stolen. Cecil got caught 'cuz the car got stuck when he was trying to get rid of the body. It doesn't grow wild there. Everybody grows, but you "mind your own" if ya know what's good for ya.
    Then there's the helicopters flying over every season. Fly too close. One day was hollering rather loudly at the kid couldn't hear myself. He was so close. Now that really pissed me off turned around flipped him off for all the good it did.
    Another time they were back behind the property. It was hot; I decided to give 'em a tit shot. They liked that. FBI's probably got a copy of my tits on file.

By dave. on Thursday, December 13, 2001 - 09:28 am:

    no way is there enough sun in matlock for any decent weed crop.

By patrick on Thursday, December 13, 2001 - 11:55 am:

    its piped in dave. shit man, everyone knows that.

    this provided some insight into the insanity of a demon exercised from this site (especially the part about ritalin since 6):

    "There are other things I'd like to say, but I can't get them out untoasted (The other reason I don't trip is that I hallucinate very heavily from pot anyway. Fucked up body chemistry, ritalin from the age of 6 and all that)"

By Czarina on Friday, December 14, 2001 - 11:01 am:

    We grew our own in Oregon.Everyone minded their own business there,too.

    Oh,except the meter reader prick man.

    He turned in my best friends.They had 37 acres.not all of pot.just a few plants,for themselves,here and there.Cost them a small fucking fortune.Plus a little jail time.Plus,they almost lost their business.

    They called and warned any friends who had similiar enterprises,and we had a very short growing season,that year.

    People don't mind their own business,when they can be minding yours.

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