|Setting:||Around the city late at night during a blizzard|
|Name||Dosage||Route of Administration|
|4-AcO-DMT||25 mg||Oral in solution|
I am alone, in a huge snowstorm, 2 in the morning. No one around but crews working to clear the snow. Feeling a bit tired but otherwise looking forward to what this may bring. I had prepared a solution of 4-AcO-DMT and dosed volumetrically from that. I pour my dose into a bottle and set off.
I get off a bus that slowly and haphazardly travels through the snowy streets. There was a man on the bus, his face was covered in blood and he was throwing up on the floor. I walk towards the art museum from city hall taking swigs of my bottle as I go. I added flavoring so it isn’t as cripplingly and nauseatingly bitter this time. I plug in headphones and begin the trudge towards the art museum. The streets are empty save for the occasional plow or police car working to keep the city from being entirely disabled the next day. I watch my solitary footprints leave a path behind me as I continue. By the time I near the museum, I can feel the come up. I can feel the energy and the warmth rising in me, relieving me of the burden of a body that must suffer in this cold. The snow rages around me, coating me, covering me, but I am still warm. I stop to tie my boot and become entranced in the drifting rainbow patterns shimmering on the fresh snow, unable to stand due to a simultaneous weightlessness yet great weight of my body.
I ascend the steps, vision quaking and warping around me, bubbles of subtle color distorting the edges of my vision. At least I reach the top of the stairs, take a deep breath, and turn around to face the city. The great skyscrapers of Philadelphia cast a ghostly glow on the atmosphere, their muted lights dragged around by the sparking snow swirling around them, shafts of light shooting up into the sky. Everything seems to bend and move inwards towards the skyline, as if it is a great gravitational force. I smoke some victory weed, the serpentine wisps of smoke swirling away, delicately entwined with the falling snow. The muffled sounds of the world around me reverberate and blend together, each one colliding and spiraling off into infinity, birthing some new hybrid noise. I wander the plaza of the museum, marveling at the architecture and the beauty of its form, so carefully crafted. I marvel at the statue outside the main entrance, the warped and distorted human form, the beautiful balance and aesthetics. I begin my descent of the stairs and look back, noticing I’ve left swirling undulating wandering and erratic footprints.
Thoughts begin to race through my head as I descend the stairs, not in any recognizable language but rather the essence of my reflections of the environment translated into some sort of symbolic phonetics. The snow masks the individual steps, making this a harrowing journey. Each step feels like a separate journey, a new eternity that I have to cross. Thoughts race through my head of what could go wrong as I descend-I could fall and injure myself, I could get trapped in a horrific loop, I could get arrested (for whatever reason), I imagine myself in the back of a cop car, extremely confused, my thoughts looping through emotions of terror and utter devastation. I would later find out that my parents had been stalking my social media without my knowledge and I had been foolish enough to brag about this experience online. They later told me they had considered coming out to get me, something that would have likely been traumatic. Thankfully I make it safely to the bottom of the steps and begin my journey back towards center city. As this unfolds I am stricken by an intense déjà vu, as vivid memories of my dreams begin to dance in my head. It becomes hard to distinguish between real memories and the subconscious memories of my dreams. While walking down the boulevard, I become more entranced by what I identify as the real ones. Every memory I can imagine, blossoming off into another by slight relevance, like clicking through Wikipedia articles, each one vividly playing out before me within this short span of time. I did not necessarily relive them in a sensory way-though images of them would flash in the darkness behind the swirling snow and in my peripheral vision-rather I vividly experienced the emotions and mindset of each memory, as if I was there experiencing the way these things all made me feel. Beautiful, tear jerking nostalgia. I am reminded of how much work I have put into this life, amassing all these experiences. All the while the ground is pulsing and rippling and twitching with lines and ghost images of every conceivable color, depth perception is completely destroyed as double images begin to overcome my vision and spaces begin to shrink and expand in unpredictable and inconceivable ways. The snow obscures the border between road and sidewalk, along with the complex textures overlaying every surface, making navigation and walking very difficult. This comes along with fear of being hit by one of the many plows busily patrolling the streets and pushing the snow aside.
I arrive at a park and realize that I am pretty exhausted. I wipe snow off a bench and sit down. Then I crumble. My body lies completely still as the snow swirls around me, consuming all of my senses. I am just an object in this world, as much a part of the earth as the snow and this bench and the ground and the icy air around me. I am a glacier, a statue, the snow coats me as I ponder that I am made of the same tiny things as everything around me, that these tiny bits could unbond and I could disperse throughout the universe. The world crumbles around me as I imagine myself in different places. Am I really on this bench right now? Am I dreaming? Am I in my room? What is “location”, could I really be anywhere I wanted to? I am glued to this bench, snow piling on me. I then realize that I should move, lest I become frozen in place forever.
I am city hall, it is huge and glorious, but it means nothing to the torrent of snow. I then realize how messed up my sense of scale is. Various buildings seem to be as large as me, I feel larger than some, others seem to be impossibly huge and grandiose. I feel like I am a walking building-I am the city, the city is me, and we are both being crushed under the onslaught of winter’s wrath. I decide two things- one is that I really need to pee, two is that I want to go see Chinatown and its perpetual display of vibrant lights. I walk in that general direction. There are more road crews around city hall working tirelessly to keep the streets clear. I stop and rest in a tunnel and realize a predicament-how the hell am I getting home? Is the bus still running even? Oops, major mistake. I watch a person across the street sheltering in the tunnel and realize how lonely and desolate this place is. I wander out to street and realize I’m going in circles. This happens so often when I trip alone in the city, I get very hopelessly lost. Space means nothing and familiar landmarks are unrecognizable as everything gets drowned out in distortions and colors. I eventually find myself in Chinatown after much wandering and tripping and falling. I am becoming intolerably cold as my layers and bundles begin to falter to the constant wind and snow. Chinatown is glowing and beautiful, each building bathed in an aura of light as it catches the drifting crystals of ice. The buildings are intricate and beautiful, with so much detail and filth packed into every corner of my vision, all of it being buried and simplified under the blankets of snow. Teenagers are enjoying the night and taking pictures and laughing and joking. I feel pretty exhausted by now. Every part of me has layers of snow on it, my hair has icicles hanging from it and is frozen into one solid mass, my eyebrows and face coated and frozen with little bits of ice. I cannot walk anymore, merely shuffling along. I must look pretty destitute.
After my aimless wandering, I decide to focus my efforts on getting home. I feel so worn, so tired… I put in headphones and listen to some music. Suddenly I am energized. My face turns into an indelible smile as I suddenly feel like I can do this. The music pulses through my being, warms my veins. I feel like I could run home through the snow, the abruptness and magnitude of this change is incredible. Everything is still breathing and covered in a nice smooth coating of pure, unfettered winter. After walking in circles around city hall trying to get my bearings I find a northbound street that will bring me home. I trudge up the unshoveled walk, the snow now up past my ankles. Its only falling harder now, leaving a thicker and more muffling blanket on every surface. Right before me, an avalanche slides off the roof of a church, a beautiful shimmering and sparking and glittering cascade, swirling to the ground and catching in the wind, the stray snowflakes being catapulted skyward and carried far away. I run into a man trying to get into the subway station. I ask if it’s running, he says it doesn’t seem like it. I continue on my way, trudging north. The man runs and catches up with me saying we could split the bill on a cab north, as he is headed there too. Interaction is hard and awkward, my own voice resounds in my skull and reverberates, consuming my entire soundspace. I agree, and we continue walking until we catch sight of a cab. We hail it and get in. The ride is bumpy and slippery and a lot of fun. The driver haphazardly weaves around snow drifts, paying no heed to lanes or anything. After all, they are completely obscured and there are no other cars on the road. I get off back at my university, and a friend invites me over to warm up and spend the night. Here, the winds are extreme. I can feel them blow me around, making it difficult to walk. They sculpt the snow into all sorts of patterns, the snow even forming dunes in one area. The dunes pulse with concentric circles.
After settling down in a nice warm house and smoking several bowls I feel the afterglow. Images still dance on blank surfaces, flashing colorful patterns and hexagons. Things still breathe and pulsate color. I am so warm and so comfortable and so euphoric. Sleeping over with my friend and cuddling with her in her warm house as the storm rages outside in the dark smoky room is absolute bliss. We listen to music and talk late into the night as the trip withers away and gives way to a comfortable fatigue. Faint patterns dance on the ceiling, politely staring down at me throughout the rest of the night. I would say the afterglow effects continued for about 2 more hours before I can sleep. The next day I am extremely exhausted but practically glowing inside.