inhale inhale you're the victim

I’ve only told a few people about this time in my life. A brief segue between smoking weed and
graduating to hard drugs in high school found me sitting in a basement with a few friends, fellow
burnouts, stoners...what had appeared in the dimness to be a paper bag assumed to contain strong
drink made its way around the rotation but when it was handed to me it felt empty. I peered inside
and the intense smell of gasoline assaulted my face, fumes rising from a soaked wad of paper towels
at the bottom.

“Uhhh…”

“Just put your face in and breathe in and out really deeply dude, you’ll get pretty wasted.”

A lot of harder drug users will sort of sink to whatever level is available to them in terms of intoxicants
in order to keep normality at bay, and I was to prove no different. Our main weed guy was busted
several days earlier and we were as dry as a bone. Being 15 with no income does not make it
easy to acquire alcohol. We had yet to become aware of the thriving crystal meth scene lurking
behind every curtain in our town (though that would come hard and fast later). A group of older kids a
year earlier had taught my friends how to huff paint from a breadbag, and they reveled in the ease
with which they could get profoundly stoned using things commonly found in any garage. I looked
at the bag for a second and in retrospect it is my experience that at that moment of truth for anyone
that goes with such a chemical approach there is an extremely short list of thoughts that go through
one’s mind, and they’re all terrible, empty, lonely, lost thoughts. One hit from the bag is enough to
diagnose someone with depression, anxiety, trauma.

Anyway.

What kind of story would this be if I’d said no thanks and that was that? Of course I was eager
to feel anything that was not my normal feelings or to feel nothing, to feel literally any deviation
at all. Breathe deep, molecules begin to buzz, time ceases to exist. Who knows how much was
actually inhaled that night, considering the trip lasts around 10 minutes but we were tripping all
night and into the next day without sleep. Blink once and it is 8 pm, blink again and it is 6:45 pm,
blink again and it’s noon the next day, erratically time travelling. Full blown apocalyptic end-times
hallucinations, gods, angels, and speaking in tongues. Multiple high speed oscillations between
life and death that I wouldn’t recognize as “ego death” until psychedelics years later. Elves, aliens,
insects, alien elvish insects. Ghosts and demons. Ultradimensional conversations with mutating
starling-swarms of disembodied voices. Complete dissociation while my body was still active and
interacting with the world. Extremely negative interactions.

One of the friends dragged us outside at some point, and told us a story about finding a
crate of actual dynamite near an abandoned railroad line that was a half mile from the
house when he was like 9. In my fried state I believed he’d told us he had the dynamite
right then and was going to blow up the house, me, the school, I was growing more and more
paranoid and frantic that it would be up to me to prevent a terrorist attack. It was later related
to me that out of nowhere I began attacking one of the others and yelling disconnected
gibberish, fought my way upstairs where the parents were sleeping while yelling about a bomb,
let both dogs out of the house into the woods and tried to start the adults’ car (it was a manual
transmission so luckily I couldn’t)....somehow none of this woke anyone, and around 2 that
morning a friend brough us some weed and I calmed down a little, though everything was
mostly blur and glitch. The next morning we left (driving, with milk jug full of gas to huff in the
car) and it had snowed a little. We took a curve too fast and swerved into the other lane badly
and then fishtailed almost off the road, right as a cop car went by….it had its lights flashing,
was going very fast the other way and did not stop for us….another mile up the road and the
driver blew through a stop sign and nearly hit a small child, screeching to a halt so close to him
that we couldn’t see him over the hood. The kid was sitting with his legs a foot underneath the
car, eyeballs an inch from the bumper. Driver tells the kid to never speak a word of this or we’ll
run him over for real next time and picks him up and plants him on the sidewalk and we drove off…..

Of course this did not put me off further experiences with inhalants, and the experiences got far
weirder and more stressful. Was probably huffing gas, paint, or ether once or twice a week for
maybe 6 months, and continued to occasionally use computer duster for another 6 months as we’d
convinced ourselves it was cleaner, whether or not that is the case...I began to think about how to
express some of the stranger chemical experiences recently after a discussion about putting
together a book about bad trips. I’ve had more than my fair share, and a lot of them involve
drugs that aren’t anywhere near psychedelics, unknown research chems, chems that are typically
incredible harmful to humans and not intended to be anywhere near our insides...I guess I feel it
necessary to record these experiences and experiments for several as-yet-unknown reasons.

Posterity? :D

Thought what better place to store these particular ramblings than here, where no one reads?

second stage:mother/mary

Lean back on the couch, overwhelmed by tightness in the chest. Attempt to lie but down can't move effectively, end up stretched out, poor angle. Twisted :sigh: dismiss burgeoning thoughts of discomfort. Straighten after much effort. Relax.

Look out the window and breathe deep. Clouds grey twisting and swirling. Sweat pours out, hot flash lie back down. Clouds obscure sun, windows go dark.

Vision:
My face
not my face
every face
my face again
seen from across a room, seen from right beside my face
head cradled in hands of
a woman
a mother
a nun
mary
a nameless nun
a faceless nameless mother/nun

she poured blood in my mouth
my blood
then not my blood
then her blood
then my blood

then the blood poured up out of my mouth into the cup
then the blood became a red silk scarf sliding smooth across my face
not my face
my face
blood
not blood
scarf
not my face
my scarf
my blood
her face
nun
not my face
mary
my face
her blood
not my mother
my bloody scarf
my nun
my
face
my blood
blood
blood
blood
blood
blood
i heard my heart stop beating
cradled in my hands mary died
cradled in mother's hands I died
a scarf was used to stop the blood
from pouring out of my mouth
i began to cry
thunder clapped
and the clouds broke
and i could hear the plants screaming in exultant fury for the rain.
my heart started up again
thunder clapped

mainlining the secret truth of the universe:high intensity psychedelics and truth detection (part 1 of

[This world is a veil, and your face is not your own] 

As my vision filled with with small, green, spiral-inscribed stones, my mouth filled with the sensation of foam - though somewhere deep, I knew my mouth was empty. The sensation of foaming at the mouth triggered a set of symbols, a pattern of memory, and a werewolf leapt from my body, snarling. My mind stayed behind, then suddenly snapped forward in space, joining the wolf. In slow-motion, a sensation of my body releasing my mind, opening up and metamorphosing into a wolf pelt which cloaked my mind as this unit conjoined and was absorbed into the image of the werewolf. A blink and my perspective changed. I felt like ripping out of myself, my vision was red and razor sharp. I was soft and warm. I felt like fresh blood grown a luxurious fur coat. I breathed deeply and smelled an old, old thing.

 I blinked, and the vision was gone, my attention flew elsewhere.

__________________________________________

For days, I found myself growling at annoyances. Not bathing. Clawing at skin -hot to the touch- that felt too-tight on my body. Smells were so strong they overwhelmed, my hearing so sharp the mass of new noise gave me incapacitating headaches. My dog avoided me. I avoided mushrooms for some time afterward.

__________________________________________

True Detective e:]]] : Crossing the bridge was a crossing into the First Layer of Truth. The last moments in which multiple spatiotemporal perspectives are easily definable, the last moments before the lines between perspectives become blurred, begin to shift. The image of the Real comes into focus, and the Truth is no longer what we are told. As we experience a breaking between what we are told, and what we feel [what we know], the Truth grows restless, a white-hot guttural behinding underlaying the ice-cold rage of Marty's execution of Reggie Ledoux, splitting the already-split narrative into further pieces as Ego demands the Truth be protected from that which can't understand its Necessity due to its Brutality - and paradoxically demands its own protection from Truth. 

This process has a corollary in psychedelics, as often sub-destructive entheogens are perceived in a negative light by those that cannot or will not withstand the necessary Truth in and of themselves, leading to an incomplete fracturing of Self into less-than-coherent component parts in a drive to compartmentalize un-rationalizable knowledges apart from each other [thereby retaining the original irrational claim AND the new, undeniable but oppositional Truth] in order to protect the Self from the annihilative Truth of its own non-existence. Cognitive dissonance, felt and perceived during the psychedelic experience is intimately sensed as a negative, drawing the other elements of perception down in convergence on this negative space resulting in nausea, vertigo, fear reactions, and paranoia - as the split perspectives are viewed as two entitities, one rationally correct but frightening in its stillness, its emptiness; and the other overflowing and active but deformed and ugly, watching for an opportunity to attempt the regaining of the "stabilized" control it craves [but can never attain] after this collision with Truth, but "Enlightenment ultimately humiliates even this demonic state" [Timothy Morton, Glossator 7]

[Yet to this rot you shall be like,
To this horrid corruption,
Star of my eyes, sun of desire,
You, my angel and my passion]

What the ()hole-y HELL was then? That. I meant that. Then.

5:20 2 hits
5:40 1 more(comma) to be sure :)
(Editors note: sometime around 10pm one more for good (the best) measure)

I pictured two old rednecks battling a cyclone to get the rabbit ears up to get five minutes of entertainment for the ungrateful fucking kids on their respective trailers and across a whole bunch of trailer park we just locked eyes and realised we are doing the exact same thing at the exact second. And it is the knowledge that that could be a physical occurrence in real life that could in fact lead someone down their own rabbit hole of meaning and beyondingness whatever .... That process of signification is beautiful. Perfectly lossless. Perfect objective subjectification.
Diagonal, and isomorphic
Simulcast

Mandalas are amazing telemetry tools for tracking time within no space. Get your bearings quick, lads and get going no time to spare with the chit chat, you only had eternity to check the map and that's gone and wasted eh? WHAT DO WE DO NOW, DEAR GOD, we are out of control with this power.

------Thinking-----
-about-
the infinite eternal

 balances us in time.

Thinking about time allows us to orient ourselves within time.

Wherever our subjectives polar-temporometrically oppose our objective....shit you can't help but helplessly and haphazardly spray all this garbage off into the void if you even once try and contain this thing. All manner of vile shite inside :) pandoras box a literal place you can hop inside, take for a spin like the fucking police box, always bigger inside than out.
The police box is a metaphor for balancing space within time.
Time within space.
The eternal balancing.

You don't even need to activist! when you figure out nature has got US ON LOCK, I could walk out in to traffic but nature says no let's think about death for a while you won't want to go ANYwhere. I could eat a baby pig but some deep down nature says NO and I live that animals death as long as it's meat is inside me.
Nature isn't the stuff outside but the stuff inside. And its(TIME) WAVE is cross-contaminating and Ebola viralling COLLAPSING YOUR SPACE PARTICLE.

All life is a desperate grab at any of this power that evaporates eternally down the drain. BEFORE IT GETS THERE, WHICH IS DUMB EVEN TO SAY!! BECAUSE IT WAS
ALWAYS
ALREADY
EVERYWHERE


Pressing the ART button gives immediate results in the form of a possibly quantifiable feedback(happiness+love?=reason?=logos?=gnosis=hypersygnimbyosis trying to smash ALL THE WORDS
ALL THE SIGNIFIERS INTO
1
0
I can (can I?) keep this going until my body dies and beyond. If I'm not aware of death I can't orient myself with regards to its spatiotemporality. Death is the inability to rationalise
We are not rational.
We are rationalising
Death is the inability to rationalise
this experience within the signified OR signifier's framework.

The haptic void is that which will totalise all noise into experience
The burst beat is a time synchronized marker to orient yourself in space. Who's space? Fuck if I know.

Mine and yours together, guess we did know after all.

Drugs flew by banging on my cosmic antenna until I figured out there was a problem, found out drugs aren't the problem: it is where I put that antenna, that it is getting in the way of all the drugs flying by. Move antenna x^4 degrees counterlatitudinally six steps from front door(any front door), west facing under the light of the 3rd waning moon, attempt. If same results sans drugs, repeat most expediently repeatable experiment.


Resounding success. Despite the fireworks and grumbling.



Note to self: EVERY SINGLE TIME YOU LAUGH AND CRY AT THE SAME TIME YOU ARE LIVING THIS FOUNDATIONAL DIALOGUE THAT PERMEATES BEING as such, or as nonesuch. Whatever your preferred flavour.

Oscar's obsession with the overturning wordplay vis a vis thingamajig doohickey thingamabob flibbertigibbet et al.  I'm only just now 32 years old and realising he is repeating the same TYPE of thing as a mantra over and over in every context and capacity, filling every signifier with his own and all of our signifieds all at once, in order, to auto-orient himself in time space. Without the need for teaching, hence unschooling. Without a teacher. Autodidactic.
Gaussian Diagonal post-acceleration says lay there and embrace the curve. For it knows from whence it is going. By the time he is my age he will be 32 squared years further advanced than we are at his age.

Blue does not represent peace but sterility. Red does not represent violence but righteous action
All things signified are emptied of signification. Into death put a period on that motherfucker and stick it in the mailbox, return to sender. Thanks DICK I mean dad I mean god I mean uh I mean uh...

Ya know what would be a motherfucker of a head trip for the cops? If every last one of us went out in the streets together and committed mass suicide and left them all alone in this scary shit.

You bet your ass they'd be scrambling for the togetherness and meaning and significance of unity when they are out herding nothing into nowhere for nobody, rapture-in-reverse style. And suddenly realising it.

We are gonna solve this fucking case if it kills us.

One could never know. Or always know, I haven't figured out all the knobs on this thing yet but IT DOES SOME REAL RAD TRICKS DOOD. There is some research going on at hellish levels
(AKA IT IS NOT JUST US WHATEVER THIS IS
THIS THING IS REAL)
and I will hip you all as soon as I can remember where I spaced my time-brain.
People trying to use our subjective frequency-myth-generator to empirically mark out a pattern beyond time, map and key and compass combined so that all of us can get there. -All- the patterns are real, blablabla hippie shit x Just breathe, the universe, believe it or not, has intentions.....you probably thought I was going somewhere clever there but that's it. Pffft.

"Evolution did not end with us growing opposable thumbs. You do know that, right?"

It was like a donut, but in an exploded-diagram form, bisected crossed sliced and separated, hovering glowing, maybe 4 feet tall and on its side upright like a wheel, smaller cuts taken from all sides/insides. Strange geometric patterns and forms (maybe 20 or 30 though this number often changed) excised cleanly and glowing a few inches out from their respective holes. Actually, scratch the donut reference. Maybe it was overly simplistic to think of that because of the ease with which one could slice a donut…..

 It resembled more of a circular fluorescent tube-style light bulb. So bright you can't see where it begins or ends, unless you glance at it directly and then look away and close your eyes fast enough to see the edge in razor-relief within the afterimage before it fades. This pre-afterimage (similar in color, even) hung here before me, autopsied and open. Labeled with I Do Not Know. Not that it wasn't labelled, or that it was No language, or a Strange one...but it seemed to be hyper labelled. Every point to an atomic level (and probably beyond, I imagine) had sets upon enfolded and superimposed and entangled sets of labels. It was a conundrum, until I touched it and it immediately lit up and began responding to my presence by each piece rotating or spinning or zooming in or out, and several unnatural motions, [involution, evolution, wrapping and undulating, all and none of these things], [some extremely difficult to focus on as if the gaze was being bent away] seemingly at both thought and touch simultaneously. I couldn't calibrate any motion to a particular response, as if it were also taking commands from my emotional state or subconscious [though it seemed, or I had a intuition, that I was directly responsible for all included motion]? Bears further research.

 It did not feel threatening, but I can't seem to recall if anyone showed me how to use it or beckoned me closer, or if I simply couldn't resist touching. I got a distinct feeling of un-alone-ness, but no other figures were visible.

I began haphazardly slopping through various labels and segments of the inside of the wheel, searching for...for anything that felt right. Every tagged and labelled point sparked feeling and my brain heated up, and I, almost as if in a dream, briefly had a -subjective- experience of a scene from something else's point of view. Some living, some plant, some so alien it made me nauseous and I couldn't understand, but all moments contained coordinates that allowed them to be placed into a constantly fluxing space-time flow-map (or rather…their coordinates were Marked somehow within this map) and afterward I could see their glows when looking up and knew instinctively that I'd be able to find any mindspace experienced in this fashion again forever.

The points with no labels drove me into ecstatic states with extreme psychophysical hallucination. I judged these to be new experiences. Everything had happened, will happen, is happening. But whatever my Self is of has a map of all possible experience and is systematically covering all experiential ground.

The wheel had a flexibility, a...it stuck to your fingers and would sometimes seem to flex and bounce. Any motion was accompanied by a swipe through several dozens or hundreds of points and you didn't have to be focused to be plugged in for that fleeting less than moment that it spun through the labelled and non labelled.

At a certain point I realised the pieces that came out could be molded and refit elsewhere and that this technique dramatically shifted reality and caused distortion and a fresh wave of visual effects. These were too great to overcome and I lost myself and the wheel.

"You ever notice that people who believe in creationism look really unevolved?

 Eyes real close together, big furry hands and feet. "I believe God created me

 in one day." Yeah, looks like he rushed it."  -Bill Hicks

the unconscious now of eternity

/6 grams of mushrooms/

Face of my girlfriend solidified into a mountain, sun and moon cartoonishly sped around and seasons changed several times, leaving snowdrifts and piles of dead leaves upon her face before I rooted down into wet soil and became a plant. When I plugged into nearby roots it opened access to a world-network.

I dug down into the saturated earth. My words, which had already gone to gibberish, began devolving into spluttering and spurting. My mouth overflowed with mud and I realised I was a large frog, vomiting the mud.

Frog became dog, then coyote, then wolf, then several other animals and several other people, eventually it all whirled together, noisily melting into a staticked blur. Blur resolved into three spinning balls, the primary colours. They spun more rapidly and began to merge. When they became one spinning white orb, it coalesced into the tv screen in the bedroom. She was up changing movies, and asked what I wanted to watch. I said whatever, and she asked again. I repeated myself. This happened several times before I realised I was seeing successive nights of the same thing. Every time she asked, I smiled and said whatever. Hundreds of nights passed and I dissolved into the bed. I just faded out. It didn't hurt, it didn't feel wrong. I held on to her and disappeared.

I lied inside a jet engine.
I pried a little as to why, but it was too nice inside to leave. Volcanic projection, I slept inside a magma flow. Open wound of a celestial secret, blazing righteous like a white hot star. Several people and things had been subsumed into me, or I them. I asked them questions but I answered for them. They answered through me. After purification I was shown inside my mind.

All experiences /everywhere and everywhen and everyhow/ organized in a virtual infinite library. The prize for dying a final death was access to it, access to every experience. I danced through my living room as a young Persian girl, I listened to George Carlin narrate my demise. I stared out the window as the sun rose but I felt transparent, and I watched several weeks of post-mortem life in the apartment unfold, the way they reacted to my death.