Short stories of life and death

Chapter 1.

 Taking drugs was never an abusive relationship.  Not after id realized that anyway.  It was always something that served as a catalyst to our evolution.  The evolution of our minds and philosophies, and the evolution of our relationships – those enhanced and added to, on or off drugs.  There comes an inevitable desire then, to evolve as far and as quickly as possible, whether we see it or not.  For most people, this manifests itself in the often-heard mantra in the drug-user world of “lets get fucked up”.  For many, this is all it is.  For us – and especially since we’ve begun to use drugs as an evolutionary tool – it’s some loose translation towards “lets see how far we can take this”.  Tempt death.  Look at insanity.  Take a subjective look at reality, and see if we can find our way back home.

When you start to use drugs like this – in a constructive way – you’re getting their point.  (Let me make it clear though, I’m talking about natural and/or hallucinogenic drugs here.  Drugs that evolved from their natural state in the ground:  Little gifts, often shamanistic, that were planted before our curiosity, tempting us to explore the realms of our subconscious minds, and see the energy that connects us all, makes the universe).

This is surely why we can manage to get more ‘fucked up’ that anyone else.  Than everyone else.  Higher.  It’s a sense of spirit, an attitude.  A strong will to experiment, evolve, learn and grow from each drug taking experience, whether this attitude is attached to each other, or only ourselves.  Sure, I bet you think you get more ‘fucked up’ than me.  Im talking about getting high.  When was the last time your best mate wished you sincerely: “I hope one of you dies this weekend”?

Chapter 2.

Last weekend, it almost worked.  We went further, deeper, higher than ever before.  We tested the limits.  Broke things that had never broken.  Broke wills that had never bended before, despite past attempts.  So I’m sitting here now, writing, asking:  How?  Why?  And how did we make it back because after all, if we don’t address these questions, we wont understand how we did it, we’ll miss the point of the journey we started, effectively relinquishing our control, hopeless to choose our destiny.  And when you plan on going so far each time, its imperative that you understand the vehicle that takes you there, otherwise you might not understand the journey back.

Chapter 3.

The most important thing to remember when taking evolutionary drugs is that you are in control.  You are always in control.  Always.  We control our lives, our minds, everything we do is a choice.  No matter how out of control you feel, you are always in control.  This feeling of control is definitely dictated by what it is you control – the conscious and (or) the subconscious.  Obviously, one is a lot harder to control than the other.  Practice makes perfect.  This is the risk.  And the challenge.  And the evolution.  You can control your conscious mind, but it’s the subconscious that makes you feel helpless, anxious, lost, ‘out of control’.

On this particular occasion, it was definitely the subconscious that got the better of us all.  To what point we lost it varied individually (as it does).  And at what point – if at all – did we lose control varied too.  The fact that drugs imbed themselves so deep in your mind, certainly causes them to react so acutely with what’s going on inside.  Every emotion that your brain releases.  Every chemical, affecting every little piece of stardust in your body.  And when the claw of the drug are long like tendrils, like beautiful flowing streams, or hanging, enveloping branches, the greater your mind’s effect becomes, and the greater it is affected.  This isn’t a new concept.  The weekend didn’t birth this idea.  It merely affirmed it in a beautiful, scary, tumultuous, intense way.  Its way.  Psychedelic drugs.  Some complete exploration of the mind.

The consciousness rears its awkward head.  Kind of makes you feel dumb sometimes, when you’re so high.  Definitely makes you seem to feel childish, and that’s amazing fun.  But the subconscious creeps over you.  The vibrations.  They can poison the well, just as easily as they can perfume beautifully, the life that you breathe…

Chapter 4.

Everything started out innocuously.  We arrived, dressed in bunny suits, the same bunnies that we’d seen earlier in the headlights.  By the evening of the party (our arrival too) we’d been high for an entire day.  12 hours in, everything’s fine.  No acid yet – not that it would have been a problem generally (when you have to drive to the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, its better not to risk creating one.  A problem).  As we start to get high and higher, the sun starts to creep up, we’ve been laughing like crazy, soon there’ll be kids in the yard, and we’ve interrupted one headjob.

One great thrill of this ride is the raving madness.  Ordinarily, our thoughts are lateral, sideways even, nonsense often, complete bullshit, too deep, impossible to understand, left-field, from a field outside the left field of a very big stadium, floating on the universe.  Multiply that by hallucinogenic drugs, amphetamines, dope, cider, whisky, beer and laughter, and the magnified results can only be imagined, looked forward to, sometimes excitedly feared (“I hope one of you guys dies this weekend).

The day was ahead of us.  Antics abounded:  Soon enough, the householders would awaken to a beautiful morning-misted vista, complete with giant rabbits, engaged in usual and not-so-usual antics, and those coming and those engaging with us (sometimes there were only ‘attempts’ and not actual successes) would be able to enjoy or endure the convoluted hysterical madness that our minds were manifesting.  Good times.  –  And on and on they go.

What happens then then, is largely determined by the strength and understanding in everyone’s minds.  See, the ‘vibrations’ in the air are all combined in a giant metaphoric cauldron, with all of our hands stirring the broth, all our minds adding to the pot.  Eventually, starved of any real nutrients (or simply, any nutrients in a participant’s body are nullified by the toxins) everyone starts to seek nutrition from the cauldron itself.  Maybe it’s not your thing.

Almost invariably, the cauldron’s offerings are a sweet, soul-warming nectar or love and goodness, and it is certainly the subconscious that contributes to it most.  This particular weekend though, not everyone knew what was going on, or why.  So undoubtedly, into the cauldron was going vibrations of confusion, misinterpreted anger, shock, awe and probably even disgust (or so we hoped).

As some consciousness tried harder to tow these misinterpreted lines, so the cauldron began to fill with a subtle but disproportionate mélange of bad vibrations.  By the end of the first 36 hours, the vibe in the air was teetering on madness yet unknown, and still more were arriving to experience its thrill.

The bunnies made multiple appearances, gully dives, trampoline shows and fights, and enough drugs and booze had been consumed (nb:  Anything is always enough.  Enough is enough, that’s what ‘enough’ means, even if you’re sure you’ll have more – at which point, that too will become enough).  By nightfall on the second day though – with all starved and now feeding from the cauldron – things would start to go awry.

Some participants cried out for attention and voiced issues through feigning or suggesting suicide.  There were hostilities between friends, and more and more awkward conversations, magnified by some almost tangible feeling of inexplicable confusion in the air.  There was confused anger everywhere.  Many were highly irritable.  When this is all their seems to be (it never actually is) we stand on the precipice of breaking, or worse still, probably death.

Chapter 5.

Some of us broke.  I almost died.  Breaking would have occurred had I have stayed around the cauldron, feeding, though I was conscious of my subconscious.  Instead, I escaped to solace, and spent hours willing myself to live, as the physical impossibility of all of the drugs id taken, multiplied by the cauldron’s effects almost got the better of me.

Chapter 6.

Sometimes, the best thing for a strangled mind is wide open space.  Whatever the case, being aware of our minds is key.  Had I not stopped the ride myself, I would have ended up with the rest of them – still at the fair, but wondering when passouts would be issued.  Anxious, angry, still drinking from the poisoned well, not sure about the taste.  It was a beautiful thing though, to see this possibility.

The end.

When we all come back down, we’re still the same people, essentially.  Life is still equally as beautiful.  When our minds are opened wide though – transported to places, privy to the unforeseen, tested like never before – and we know it, appreciate it and understand its contribution to ourselves, our being and our energy, that beauty is unmatched…



The rabbits now live on.  Their adventure(s) will be constantly added to.  And we all learned so much about each other, some of us, about ourselves.  And that was just one weekend.

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