INFaMaS
15-06-2005, 18:40
Me and almost 20 people from my school and around where I live carpooled down to Bonnaroo at about 4 pm on Wednesday (we live in New Jersey). When we arrived there at noon on Thursday, the sun was blazing and we were all psyched to see the amazing music about to take place.
The first thing I noticed when walking around was that drug dealers were everywhere. I was unfortunately taken in by it and me and my friends each paid 10 dollars for a hit of acid. We placed it under our tongues and sat around waiting for what was to come. I anticipated a true explosion of feelings I have never felt before. No feelings ever came...
An hour and a half after we dropped the 'acid,' a dealer came to our campsite and offered us some mushrooms. Mushrooms are indeed very rare where I come from, and the opportunity seemed unavoidable. My friends and I all bought an eighth of mushrooms, and they devoured theirs in a matter of minutes. I, however, well aware of my novice status with mushrooms, only wanted to take a half of one. One of my friends, B, had no problem eating half of my eighth, and I ate the remaining 1.75g, (luckily, one of my friends was smart enough to bring his scale along).
The come up of this trip was much quicker than my previous
one (http://www.bluelight.ru/vb/showthread.php?s=&threadid=190131) which took about two hours. This was due to the fact I had very little in my stomach at the time.
While my friend B was drumming away on my bongos and singing silly songs, I sat there and had a listen. B did what he calls his 'bad trip' face, where he distorts his face and makes loud, percussive hits on the bongos. We all had a good laugh, and I sat there with my right foot resting on my left knee. I looked at my shoe and all of the sudden I got the beginning of mushroom visuals. The ripples in my Adidas where starting to cave into one another, and I knew my exciting trip was about to start. I looked at the grass and it seemed to mesh and interlace together more and more.
B's bongo playing was starting to come at me full force, and I let my friends know what was happening to me. My mind soon began rushing and I sat back and enjoyed the trip.
We all started getting nice visual patterns, and I then had a look at the sky. The clouds were parting like the Red Sea and Mandelbrot Set fractals bloomed out of them as I experienced elation of immeasurable proportions. I stared at the sky for many minutes as I enjoyed this mental light show. My other friends were getting bored, but I was having the time of my life.
B and C, who were also tripping, decided to walk around the campgrounds, while I reached for my ipod and selected LA Women, the album involved in my previous experience with mushrooms. I put on the headphones, sat down in a camping chair, and melted away. I wanted the same closed-eye experiences as last time so I pulled the bill of my hat over my eyes and enjoyed the ride.
The feeling of the last trip was there, with plenty of visuals as well. I did notice the intensity was not nearly as high as last time, but it was extremely pleasurable nonetheless. Jim Morrison's voice blended with a wide array of visuals. The only one that I can really remember now was a stern looking women with a blackjack in her hand (a blackjack is a stick with a leather strap used for scolding little boys and self-defense). The woman was entirely pinkish red, and Mandelbrot fractals soon surrounded her before the visuals changed again. The colors went through a cycle, and never missed a single part of the spectrum.
I soon arose from my catatonic state and noticed everyone but H and L had left. I wanted to talk to them and they couldn't take me seriously at all. I made them laugh a lot by telling them the only thing you need in life is a eighth of mushrooms and an ipod. I then began talking to H about the bum acid we had just purchased, and this is where my trip took a turn for the worst.
As I was talking to H, I started remembering what a lot of bluelighters had said about Bonnaroo. I remembered all the negative things, some of which were comments about people buying fake acid, the importance of the character of the person selling it, and the fact that Bonnaroo was getting way too commercial. My paranoid ways, intelligence that was drastically boosted, and incredulousness about the whole ordeal was a recipe for disaster.
I told H that acid is so easy to fake. All you need to do is go to Wal-Mart and buy a pack of blank index cards. You then cut them into tiny strips, and that is it. He was taken by what I said and so was I. My racing mind began thinking up the most ridiculous scenario possible. I convinced myself Bonnaroo was nothing but a scam to take our money.
I started by noticing all the fake drugs, and the people that were selling us them. I was very close-minded about the whole thing, and was convinced all of them were southerners that lived in Manchester. I then pieced together what I thought was the complete truth: the only reason Bonnaroo is allowed to take place is because the locals make so much money off of selling us drugs that weren't real and mushrooms.
At this point I sat there thinking hard about the whole thing and kept digging myself deeper and deeper into this conspiracy theory. I believed the entire farm Bonnaroo takes place on was cultivated for mushroom growing and that the locals picked them all and walked around the place selling them to us for a big profit. I thought the helicopters that flew around were just pointing and laughing at us saying "suckers." It seemed as though Bonnaroo was the local joke about how every year they get a bunch of very nice people who expect kindness and honesty and steal their money with poor-quality t-shirts and bum drugs. I believed that everyone from the south who could get a hold of mushrooms from pastures and fields nearby was there to make money off of us.
Many of my friends were now back at the campsite, and just amazed at how insane and fanatical I had become. Another friend, D, who was also tripping got involved in a conversation with me. I told him about how this very field was being used to exploit us and that the helicopters were just pointing and laughing. This unfortunate series of events led him to also have a bad trip. He was so convinced of the conspiracy he actually bit off his Bonnaroo bracelet and had to tape it on later.
The next few hours consisted of me looking at the ground with a look of complete despair. I kept looking at the helicopters flying by and felt so betrayed. I kept saying "I just ruined Bonnaroo for myself;" while my sober friend M said "It hasn't even started yet." I then responded with "Don't worry, I'll tell you when I'm sober because you won't take me seriously now."
It went on like this for a while as my mind was racing further and further down into the deep fissures of hell. I was so certain I was right and knew everything that I couldn't believe what anybody else told me.
This paranoia extended for a very long period of time. I never got the courage to buy acid again during the festival, and did get the courage to buy a pill of molly, which was bunk and didn't help my situation. I did find people who had obtained real acid, but was so fanatical about my criteria for the person selling it that I never even tried again. I became so paranoid that I was convinced even the weed was fake and every time I smelt real pot, it seemed like fake herbal shit to me. I kept digging deeper and deeper as I felt sorry for people that were getting ripped off and hating the people selling bum drugs more and more. My friend purchased a tie-dye shirt from an unlicensed vendor that bled in the rain, and this also accentuated my paranoia. I also couldn't trust anyone there for awhile. This trust eventually built back up, but the process was very slow.
This experience, though terrible during and for a while after the trip, was absolutely needed. It prevented me from getting ripped off for the rest of the time I was there (which was definitely a double-edged sword, the only thing I came back with was a half-oz of mushrooms and a nice piece of glass). I also never bought a single morsel of food from a vendor while I was down there, which was also a good thing (I was so insane I wouldn't even try the food people offered me that they purchased from vendors). I thought that a $192 ticket was enough to give the capitalist fatcats, and that even something strange like alligator meat was not worth $12 for a wrap, especially because I wouldn't even be able to tell if it was alligator at all. The fact of the matter is that there was a lot of truth in my fanatical paranoia. It’s true that a lot of people were there just to cash in on individuals who expected nicer vendors. It’s true that the drugs you buy should be tested before you pay the guy. It’s true that food was way over-priced. Getting my grip on reality was slow and painstaking, but well worth it in the end.
As for how I feel about the whole thing now, I think it was essential to my growth as a person. I realized a lot about myself during those couple hours of psilocin-induced schizophrenia:
- I really need to relax. I am very anxious and paranoid and that really needs to stop, or it will be the end of me and I will end up in a mental institution.
- My regular use of marijuana needs to stop. Not only is it severely debilitating my proper brain function and memory, but it is making me a nervous wreck as stated above. It also has made me not care about anything that doesn't involve instant gratification and that just isn't right.
- I need to take people's feelings into account. I know I’m really a nice person inside, but I am so easily swayed by people laughing at the mean things I say to others that I have been ignoring it my whole life.
- I need to spend time exercising my incredible mind. The human mind is not something to be squandered and I know my gifted one in particular must be respected and treated properly. No more video games, stand up comedy, and television. I want to read more and buy a bass guitar. I used to play bass and lost interest because pot clouded my judgment of this extremely exquisite art form.
- I also want to get back into footbag (hacky-sack), because it encouraged me to exercise and stay healthy, while being very challenging and entertaining.
- Friends are more important than anything, and I was well on my way to become a complete social outcast if it wasn't for this trip.
- I need to stop worrying about money so much. My paranoia had a lot to do with this, along with regular pot use, and I lost sight of what really matters in life.
- I need to become an optimist, not a pessimist. I always look on the shitty aspects of life, which must come to an end. A lot of this comes from my father, who is also very paranoid, and only views the dark side of life. Another contributing factor to this was my obsession with political punk rock a couple years ago. Punk just complains about everything that is wrong with the world, and never talks about what makes life a beautiful thing. The music I heard at Bonnaroo (which I in no way could complain about, it was absolutely fantastic. It’s a shame I didn't get to enjoy it as much as I could have while it was going on because of my recovery from the bad trip) made me feel good to be alive.
-Judging and classifying everything shouldn’t be. People say they don’t want to listen to music of a certain genre because their “not into it.” Stop following others and listen to whatever makes you happy. I realized that I am also very judgemental and that nice people everywhere are nice, especially in the south (Every single person from the south I met at Bonnaroo was extremely kind).
So, all in all, this trip was groundbreaking. It helped my development as a person like you wouldn't believe. The bad trip was a complete exaggeration of every negative aspect of my personality I need to fix, and I’m doing a great job at fixing them as we speak. I have noticed an increase in my motivation, relaxation, driving skills (anxiety is brutal on driving), and lust for life. Thank you mushrooms again for showing me what is important in life and not letting petty things get in the way.
substancecode_mushrooms
The first thing I noticed when walking around was that drug dealers were everywhere. I was unfortunately taken in by it and me and my friends each paid 10 dollars for a hit of acid. We placed it under our tongues and sat around waiting for what was to come. I anticipated a true explosion of feelings I have never felt before. No feelings ever came...
An hour and a half after we dropped the 'acid,' a dealer came to our campsite and offered us some mushrooms. Mushrooms are indeed very rare where I come from, and the opportunity seemed unavoidable. My friends and I all bought an eighth of mushrooms, and they devoured theirs in a matter of minutes. I, however, well aware of my novice status with mushrooms, only wanted to take a half of one. One of my friends, B, had no problem eating half of my eighth, and I ate the remaining 1.75g, (luckily, one of my friends was smart enough to bring his scale along).
The come up of this trip was much quicker than my previous
one (http://www.bluelight.ru/vb/showthread.php?s=&threadid=190131) which took about two hours. This was due to the fact I had very little in my stomach at the time.
While my friend B was drumming away on my bongos and singing silly songs, I sat there and had a listen. B did what he calls his 'bad trip' face, where he distorts his face and makes loud, percussive hits on the bongos. We all had a good laugh, and I sat there with my right foot resting on my left knee. I looked at my shoe and all of the sudden I got the beginning of mushroom visuals. The ripples in my Adidas where starting to cave into one another, and I knew my exciting trip was about to start. I looked at the grass and it seemed to mesh and interlace together more and more.
B's bongo playing was starting to come at me full force, and I let my friends know what was happening to me. My mind soon began rushing and I sat back and enjoyed the trip.
We all started getting nice visual patterns, and I then had a look at the sky. The clouds were parting like the Red Sea and Mandelbrot Set fractals bloomed out of them as I experienced elation of immeasurable proportions. I stared at the sky for many minutes as I enjoyed this mental light show. My other friends were getting bored, but I was having the time of my life.
B and C, who were also tripping, decided to walk around the campgrounds, while I reached for my ipod and selected LA Women, the album involved in my previous experience with mushrooms. I put on the headphones, sat down in a camping chair, and melted away. I wanted the same closed-eye experiences as last time so I pulled the bill of my hat over my eyes and enjoyed the ride.
The feeling of the last trip was there, with plenty of visuals as well. I did notice the intensity was not nearly as high as last time, but it was extremely pleasurable nonetheless. Jim Morrison's voice blended with a wide array of visuals. The only one that I can really remember now was a stern looking women with a blackjack in her hand (a blackjack is a stick with a leather strap used for scolding little boys and self-defense). The woman was entirely pinkish red, and Mandelbrot fractals soon surrounded her before the visuals changed again. The colors went through a cycle, and never missed a single part of the spectrum.
I soon arose from my catatonic state and noticed everyone but H and L had left. I wanted to talk to them and they couldn't take me seriously at all. I made them laugh a lot by telling them the only thing you need in life is a eighth of mushrooms and an ipod. I then began talking to H about the bum acid we had just purchased, and this is where my trip took a turn for the worst.
As I was talking to H, I started remembering what a lot of bluelighters had said about Bonnaroo. I remembered all the negative things, some of which were comments about people buying fake acid, the importance of the character of the person selling it, and the fact that Bonnaroo was getting way too commercial. My paranoid ways, intelligence that was drastically boosted, and incredulousness about the whole ordeal was a recipe for disaster.
I told H that acid is so easy to fake. All you need to do is go to Wal-Mart and buy a pack of blank index cards. You then cut them into tiny strips, and that is it. He was taken by what I said and so was I. My racing mind began thinking up the most ridiculous scenario possible. I convinced myself Bonnaroo was nothing but a scam to take our money.
I started by noticing all the fake drugs, and the people that were selling us them. I was very close-minded about the whole thing, and was convinced all of them were southerners that lived in Manchester. I then pieced together what I thought was the complete truth: the only reason Bonnaroo is allowed to take place is because the locals make so much money off of selling us drugs that weren't real and mushrooms.
At this point I sat there thinking hard about the whole thing and kept digging myself deeper and deeper into this conspiracy theory. I believed the entire farm Bonnaroo takes place on was cultivated for mushroom growing and that the locals picked them all and walked around the place selling them to us for a big profit. I thought the helicopters that flew around were just pointing and laughing at us saying "suckers." It seemed as though Bonnaroo was the local joke about how every year they get a bunch of very nice people who expect kindness and honesty and steal their money with poor-quality t-shirts and bum drugs. I believed that everyone from the south who could get a hold of mushrooms from pastures and fields nearby was there to make money off of us.
Many of my friends were now back at the campsite, and just amazed at how insane and fanatical I had become. Another friend, D, who was also tripping got involved in a conversation with me. I told him about how this very field was being used to exploit us and that the helicopters were just pointing and laughing. This unfortunate series of events led him to also have a bad trip. He was so convinced of the conspiracy he actually bit off his Bonnaroo bracelet and had to tape it on later.
The next few hours consisted of me looking at the ground with a look of complete despair. I kept looking at the helicopters flying by and felt so betrayed. I kept saying "I just ruined Bonnaroo for myself;" while my sober friend M said "It hasn't even started yet." I then responded with "Don't worry, I'll tell you when I'm sober because you won't take me seriously now."
It went on like this for a while as my mind was racing further and further down into the deep fissures of hell. I was so certain I was right and knew everything that I couldn't believe what anybody else told me.
This paranoia extended for a very long period of time. I never got the courage to buy acid again during the festival, and did get the courage to buy a pill of molly, which was bunk and didn't help my situation. I did find people who had obtained real acid, but was so fanatical about my criteria for the person selling it that I never even tried again. I became so paranoid that I was convinced even the weed was fake and every time I smelt real pot, it seemed like fake herbal shit to me. I kept digging deeper and deeper as I felt sorry for people that were getting ripped off and hating the people selling bum drugs more and more. My friend purchased a tie-dye shirt from an unlicensed vendor that bled in the rain, and this also accentuated my paranoia. I also couldn't trust anyone there for awhile. This trust eventually built back up, but the process was very slow.
This experience, though terrible during and for a while after the trip, was absolutely needed. It prevented me from getting ripped off for the rest of the time I was there (which was definitely a double-edged sword, the only thing I came back with was a half-oz of mushrooms and a nice piece of glass). I also never bought a single morsel of food from a vendor while I was down there, which was also a good thing (I was so insane I wouldn't even try the food people offered me that they purchased from vendors). I thought that a $192 ticket was enough to give the capitalist fatcats, and that even something strange like alligator meat was not worth $12 for a wrap, especially because I wouldn't even be able to tell if it was alligator at all. The fact of the matter is that there was a lot of truth in my fanatical paranoia. It’s true that a lot of people were there just to cash in on individuals who expected nicer vendors. It’s true that the drugs you buy should be tested before you pay the guy. It’s true that food was way over-priced. Getting my grip on reality was slow and painstaking, but well worth it in the end.
As for how I feel about the whole thing now, I think it was essential to my growth as a person. I realized a lot about myself during those couple hours of psilocin-induced schizophrenia:
- I really need to relax. I am very anxious and paranoid and that really needs to stop, or it will be the end of me and I will end up in a mental institution.
- My regular use of marijuana needs to stop. Not only is it severely debilitating my proper brain function and memory, but it is making me a nervous wreck as stated above. It also has made me not care about anything that doesn't involve instant gratification and that just isn't right.
- I need to take people's feelings into account. I know I’m really a nice person inside, but I am so easily swayed by people laughing at the mean things I say to others that I have been ignoring it my whole life.
- I need to spend time exercising my incredible mind. The human mind is not something to be squandered and I know my gifted one in particular must be respected and treated properly. No more video games, stand up comedy, and television. I want to read more and buy a bass guitar. I used to play bass and lost interest because pot clouded my judgment of this extremely exquisite art form.
- I also want to get back into footbag (hacky-sack), because it encouraged me to exercise and stay healthy, while being very challenging and entertaining.
- Friends are more important than anything, and I was well on my way to become a complete social outcast if it wasn't for this trip.
- I need to stop worrying about money so much. My paranoia had a lot to do with this, along with regular pot use, and I lost sight of what really matters in life.
- I need to become an optimist, not a pessimist. I always look on the shitty aspects of life, which must come to an end. A lot of this comes from my father, who is also very paranoid, and only views the dark side of life. Another contributing factor to this was my obsession with political punk rock a couple years ago. Punk just complains about everything that is wrong with the world, and never talks about what makes life a beautiful thing. The music I heard at Bonnaroo (which I in no way could complain about, it was absolutely fantastic. It’s a shame I didn't get to enjoy it as much as I could have while it was going on because of my recovery from the bad trip) made me feel good to be alive.
-Judging and classifying everything shouldn’t be. People say they don’t want to listen to music of a certain genre because their “not into it.” Stop following others and listen to whatever makes you happy. I realized that I am also very judgemental and that nice people everywhere are nice, especially in the south (Every single person from the south I met at Bonnaroo was extremely kind).
So, all in all, this trip was groundbreaking. It helped my development as a person like you wouldn't believe. The bad trip was a complete exaggeration of every negative aspect of my personality I need to fix, and I’m doing a great job at fixing them as we speak. I have noticed an increase in my motivation, relaxation, driving skills (anxiety is brutal on driving), and lust for life. Thank you mushrooms again for showing me what is important in life and not letting petty things get in the way.
substancecode_mushrooms