DOSE:

oral

LSD

BODY WEIGHT:

130 lb

My journey with LSD began at the tender age of 13. I had smoked weed, indulged in inhalents, alcohol, and mushrooms by that time, but I had no idea what I was in for. I had (and have) never loved or been as fascinated with a drug as I was with Lady LSD. From the very first time she flowed through my veins I was in love. That piece of me that had always been missing was filled.

The first that I went sailing down the tunnel was in December of 1999. I don't remember the experience very well, but as my friends bathroom span around in circles heading towards the bottom, I went with it. During that acid trip I did not open any doors or hit the bottom of a tunnel that is similar to a castles tower. But as always I popped up near the end, with only vague memories of what had happened. Vague memories of everything spinning and an upstairs room. This was on 16 hits of paper.
During the summer of 2000 I was almost invincible to acid. I knew what the fuck I was doing. I knew the hallways almost too well. I knew which doors to open and I knew the secret to controlling acid. And that is: NEVER FORGET THAT YOU ARE JUST ON ACID! It is simply chemicals reacting in your brain. One of my mottos is never to forget. A person can go very far into the buroughs of their minds with this information. Not to mention it is a very handy skill to have in social situations as well as realationships.

It was a weekend that I will never forget. I was on at least 30 hits of acid. A combination of two different papers and a vial of Lavender acid. The night before had been a pill of E, opium, and seven hits of acid. My friend who had just suffered a traumatizing E experience had run away from home and was looking for the answers to everything. He was absolutely convinced that the only way to find answers was to take more acid. This led to his demise. I realized this as we stood on the shores of the Pacific Ocean at five am. Later that day he claimed he was god and began crying without his knowledge.

A few days later he was in a mental institution. He was released and is looking forward to doing acid again. But this experience did not hinder my acid usage. Neither did watching a guy who could not remember his own name because he had taken twelve hits of some amazing liquid and one in the eye. I helped him out of a tunnel. According to him I had been sent from god.
Regardless to all of this happening in a two week streach, I did a washout two weeks after my friend was admitted into a mental hospital. A washout is an empty vial filled 3/4 of the way with whiskey, preferably vodka. Shake it for a minute, drink it, then cut the vial in half, suck on the pieces, and the cap. Wahla. It will take you beyond, around the bend, and maybe back. It all depends on what you do with your crispy creams (your mind).

This was my second adventure down the tunnel. I fell down it. As I fell I laughed at myself. 'Ha ha ha ha ha. You did this to yourself.' I was suddenly a book and had closed. I had been locked closed like a diary that can be purchesed at Save-On. I knew I had gone to the end of the tunnel. But what was in the middle of it? 'How did I get to this upstairs room in my mind?' I pondered. The house is dark and Victorian with a tower. The upstairs room is painted blue. The transportation around the house is by row boat. There is a room where I am a wall and I play ping-pong with my psycologist, who incedently also is a wall. There is a room with gears. This room is very frightening. It is how I imagine hell to be. I can feel gears moving. My organs spinning around my body. I can feel my blood pumping through my veins. I can feel my heart slipping out from in between my lungs. In my mind the words, 'It'll be okay, it't just acid' plays over and over and over again. I refused to forget the cannel where the boats stop and rest. I jump into another boat and go to another room. As I went to sleep I thought, 'I cannot forget this, because this is acid.'
But when I woke up the next morning, I could not get back so easily. 'This is unfair,' I thought. For some twisted reason, I wanted to live there.

For the next six months I took part in dropping acid every week for three days at a time. My other drug use had worn down to nothing, but lots of alchol, acid and the ocasional meth, weed, and E. And I am the person who shocked a group of people shitless because I had not tried a certain drug. I can no longer remember which drug it was. By that time if someone had drained the LSD from my system they would have gotten atlest a very potent vial or two. And I was ontop of the world. I was the conducter of singing flowers.

Febuary 2001. 1 pill of E and 18 hits of acid in approximately 24 hours. I was wondering around a rave listening to a girl who was talking about her father. He just so happened to be a pedaphile. All I was thinking was, 'God don't allow me to explode.' 12 hours later I somehow found myself bird watching, drinking Scoresby, and playing in the snow. How I got there is a story all of it's own.

It was the night of my wedding to my wife, Candy Flipper. We had shared a washout of our vial and then shared the washout of friends vial. If there is nothing else that I have learned during my time with acid is that it is not good to mix different kinds together and no matter what anyone says, I promise there is a peak. The evening began with our wedding in her bathroom and then dancing to the Beatles in my parents home. We later joined eight friends who were also under the influence of LSD. My wife and I being the acidheads of this collection of people. None of these individuals had ever been able to keep up with our acid sprees. They often shook their heads, some how knowing where they would be if they ever dared to attempt that much lysergic acid diethylamide.

There were two people getting into a fistfight. One had the looks of a Polish boxer from the 1920's. The other had the looks of an angry Mexican clown taken from a sticker sold at Del Taco. He then warped into a Russian man. We're at the Garden and it's 1927. The Russian man turns into a black man named Boris from 1860's New Orleans. There is a tree, it is 40 feet tall. 'Do not fall on me Mr. Tree,' I say. 'You'd have to run really far to not get his,' my friend says. I move away from this saveage beast for fear of being crushed alive. We decide to go to visit the Sahara. On the way we pet animals that are made from shrubbery. We get chased by cops, and find balloons in trees. My friend goes blind, but with the help of milk his sight is saved. Always use milk when there is too much chlorine in your eyes. The went blind but returned friend then almost gets eaten by a gaint bush with the help of snow and mud.

Throughout this experience I was sacred shitlesss that I was going to loose my mind, but where would I loose it? My wife had called it earlier. 'We're going to go insane tonight,' she had said. We returned to my friend's garage only to find what I call the center of the earth where the Indian died. I then came up with an elaborate story about how it can only be opened by a Sea World backpack that was sitting on the sofa. I somehow got into a discussion of how this man bought an island and could not pay for it. He was forced to ride his bicycle in a closet because he could not power the island.

I then took a trip to the center of the earth. I went through the little divot in the concrete and down a segment of tunnels. They looked as the pipes on Mario Party for Nintendo 64. I saw the Indian who had died there and had made it holy. I found where dinosaur bones had been buried by China men, but this was nothing. At the center of the earth is a metal core, the nucleus of a giant cell. Inside is a man riding a bike who is powering all of earth. Allowing her to go round. He was wearing a red Adidas jogging suit and had a 19 foot long beard that he had wrapped around his baldhead. I popped out of this place only to realize that I had opened the door and that I was in Wonderland. And I had also led my wife to the center of the earth. I had documented my journey out loud. Ten minutes later as I listend to a song over and over the most amazing thing occured to me. I had always been there, in Wonderland; I just had refused to see it. This was the last time I did acid.

It has now been almost three months. Since then I have fallen down the tunnel while sober and had a very distinct voice living in my mind pop out once. She said, 'You're insane.' The tunnel caved in on me once and I went to Wonderland where green pterodactyls fly. I saw it snow in my bedroom and thought that my bed was covered in ants. They were not ants, they were little men rowing in brown boats with blue oars. I also sometimes feel as though I am moving. Sometimes I wonder if everything that I see might fall away and that I will fall into a white box. I always see transparent things flying in the sky and there a green and pink wallpaper behind everything. These flashbacks ussually show up while I'm sober, but escalate to high altitudes while under the influence of certain drugs.

After all of this, one might ask if I wish I'd never gone so far or dared to drop at all. I don't regret any of it. I love acid, but it is time for me to put it into a drawer and trip off of what is has left me. I did almost everything imaginable under the influence fo this drug. Got married, raved, jumped on trampolines, went to Disney Land, watched wallpaper, watched a shower floor, climbed trees, went to museums, done cartwheels on the edges of three story buildings, learned to drive stickshift, went to school, swam for eight hours straight, read, and climbed moutains, some of which I fell down.

Acid is one of the most beautiful drugs ever disocovered. It was not meant for harm, only to help people. It is not a drug that will turn a person into a junky. It may send a person mad and jumping out of windows seeing white rabbits all over the place, but when you look back, if you're anything like me, you will have found the answer to what ever you were looking for. Whether you knew you were looking or not.

It will most likely not be in the shape or form that you expected to find it. It may be in the shape of a metaphoric house in your mind or in a lampshade that protects you fromt he werewolves that jump out of mirrors. On acid reality is very difficult to run from. If you try, it will chase after you. Biting at your ankles like wild geesse convinced that you are a loaf of bread.

Exp Year: 2001	ExpID: 6828
Gender: Not Specified
Age at time of experience: Not Given
Published: May 9, 2002	Views: 8,481
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LSD (2) : Not Applicable (38), Retrospective / Summary (11)