17 th. February.

17/02/2007
Have had a good sleep, nothing important in post, went to car and got liver which I’d left on back seat yesterday, put that in fridge, looking forward to making a meal later, have got carrots, cabbage and green beans defrosting, should be nice with a couple of onions.
Weather wise, it’s quite a nice day, sunny, very little wind, pleasant.
Have no need for fire to be on and indeed I have the windows open.
Going to spend a few hours revising course work.
Can’t really get into it; have a bottle of Vodka as an alternative and against my better judgement I’ve laid out some coin for a quarter!
Well it is the weekend and Fridays are boring.


Wednesday 21 st. 1.40p.m. opticians




Average price of an ounce is £42 and is being sold for £80, averaging £38 per ounce profit.
Am still on first j and jury is out at moment.
Mellow, mild smoke, not antagonising throat too much.

Control; and enter for page break.
Relaxed still doing course work,
I sit and roll second joint up; not too much, just what I consider will be enough to keep gentle stone going, hell I don’t want to be going to bed already!
Relaxing jazz sounds in the background, simple sounds none of which cry out for one to listen yet impact quite dramatically upon the body. Concentrating quite strongly on the sounds but not aware of doing so!
In short the sounds are sweet, fitting for the state of mind.
In such a state of relaxation I continue typing as the hot rocks fall upon the odd key and mark its presence by its individual burn mark,
I’m enjoying it and am not ashamed to say.
I sit with a full bottle of Vodka next to me but I would no more swap it for the smoke than cut my arm off!
The last time I got stoned I tried to type but hell had to give up.
With thousands of pieces or writing going round my head, stoned thoughts and questions; but unable to write them down.
Maybe just as well you may say, perhaps you are right.
But often after a night’s stoned sleep I have the clearest recollection of some of the thoughts and arguments my mind had considered while asleep.
Other times there is just an annoying thought that I meant to remember some particular thought etc. and I had indeed forgotten completely, sometimes I go through a list of “tags”, phrases, words, very much like the Find and Replace function on a P.C,
(Co-incidence I’m studying that module, when not typing).
Some times the trick works and whole sections of thoughts come flooding back, often leading by association and strength of memory to other items, once thought to have been forgotten.
I do sometimes take the Dictaphone to bed and leave it on auto mike, speech activated, works but can never be arsed to listen to it afterwards!
Will do one day.
Thus memory is limited to what I can actual recall, which I deem to be what I would have desired, actively concentrated upon remembering.

There were times years ago when I begin by typing and when got too stoned would turn to the mouse and surf till fingers became rigid and head fell forwards onto chest,
I then had to return to typing, but with the knowledge that my head was too heavy to be lifted and apart from that the neck had gone stiff and refused to move,
I therefore wasn’t able to see the screen, tried using mirrors at one time to get a reflection within eye range, but gave up.
Thus my concentration had to be good and often I surprised at how good the typing had been in terms of accuracy.
A refreshing mouthful of cold tea returns the moisture to my dry mouth.
A sure sign that joint number two is beginning to kick in.
Feet tapping away to rhythm.
Neck is like braided steel fibres, and makes horrific noise when I try to move it, the sound is either a crack or a snap but feels like every movement could the last before something snaps.
Movement is taken in small well thought out and considered movements, sometimes fractions of an inch other times full agonising twist from left to right, backwards and forwards.
Muscle groups activated by thought to provide a self massage until stiff portion of neck relaxes or muscle tightens first.
I pause for thought and decided it’s too soon for Joint number three.
Spelling is getting a little erratic but thank god for spell check.
I often get a laugh at some of the more obvious
comical errors.
I suddenly realise I’ve had the media player volume turned down while listening to the college lecturer over dub.
I crank up the volume and begin to concentrate more upon the sounds than what I’m actually writing.
Feet tapping, neck snaking slowly, up and down forward and back, moving with all the grace of a puff adder.
Another mouthful of cold tea and the thought of food flashed thought my brain and was dismissed instantly.
I nearly succumbed to having a normal rollie and indeed had moved to reach for the pouch when my eyes settled on the ashtray and there it is, petering on the edge half of the last joint!
My verdict, so far on the gear is o.k.
I cannot remember the last time I left a joint to go out and forget about it.
I marvel at the level of self control I’ve unknowingly had this last hour.

I jump to this page because it is like my mind, vacant, a blank canvass, a magnet for ides and thoughts, an arena to debate and argue in, a studio in which to paint vivid canvasses, make music, a space to ponder, wonder, recall and forget, edit and rewind, heaven’s playground if used correctly and hell incarnate if abused, a sanctuary, a retreat from reality, a place to experience, peace, stress, anger, fright, passion and lust, where else can you break all the commandments so easily in one night?

I love my mind, I love the places it has taken me, true some of the pathways were frightening but the destination and the reason for the journey when made apparent soon made the journey forgettable.
I would never in a million years have had 72 hr continuous mescaline trip,
Without the aid of Mother Nature, I had and never since have seen colours to match those seen in that trip, never gone through the full spectrum of senses being stimulated, everyone put under stress, i.e. going blind, losing sensation of touch, etc.
When you watch the flesh on your partner melting like some wax dummy in a fire then reach out and believe whole heartedly that you have just put your hand through the skull you see in front of you, then you go blind, a depth of black never previously perceived.

Eight foot large butterfly in the corner of the room, gossamer wings all displaying vivid colours, its wings slowly move until in the background a spider’s web begins to grow and the butterfly’s wings touch the web, a huge black spider appears and destroys its victim, blood drips and eventually a small river is flowing, red with blood from ceiling to floor, shapes appear in the bloody torrent, look like small stones but then are revealed as the heads of alligators, slowly they emerge and are so in mass that they join together like the pieces of a jigsaw and the river becomes solid.
At the end of the river two huge pipes appear, about half the size of the wall of the room and the river pours into these pipes, the river gradually becomes blue and the alligators are replaced with salmon leaping.
The river fades and a huge stained glass church window fills another wall, beautifully coloured glass with an ever changing array of designs, almost liquid in transition, images morph effortlessly into one anther, and colours change as the sun comes up through the tall window, gradually filling each level until it lights up the whole of the window displayed it in all its glory, colouring so obviously beautiful to instil marvellment.

Before that experience I had dabbled with thought of painting as a hobby but during that trip I realised the inadequacy of the materials available.
I did get mildly interested at the thought of harnessing the computers palate but that seldom comes up to expectation, although I’ve seen some very good computer art in the on line galleries.
I saved a couple of dozen and they come on as a slide show whenever I pause typing, sometimes nice to take a break listen to music and glance through on screen art gallery.
The use of a 42 inch plasma as a monitor adds to the effect somewhat.
Back to mushie trip,
We got our vision back and were starting to relax, I’d made a thermos of mushie tea so we had a cup and laid back down to relax.
To be honest we had no other choice.
We both wanted to go to the bathroom but every time we looked at the bedroom door it shrank to about the size of two foot in height.
We both experienced the same effect and she happened to mention it was like an Alice in wonderland experience, well that was it we were off!,
Alice in Bloody wonderland bring it on.
Bed tilted, or so we thought and for quite a while we gripped the mattress to stop us from falling onto the floor, the shrinking door kept occurring and all thoughts of escaping from the room seemed doomed, none the less I kept shooting sideways glances at the door to check.
Eventually we reached a stage where we felt we no longer existed, all senses were numb and refused to co-operate,
Felt like the body had been atomised and was simply a part of the darkness in which we found ourselves existing.
The trip continued and we talked to each other as our only means of contact having lost sense of touch, and being unable to move simply because never felt the presence of a body! Spiritual being.
We described what we were experiencing and for the most part we were experiencing the same yet my trip was slightly different!
My trip seemed to be marginally more progressed than hers, also I seemed to be able to go to the end of my time line see what was going to happen the return to another time line and give assurances to my partner that all would be well because I’d just been through it.
That may make sense to some;
I return to rolling joint three
I light up, crank the volume up and thank the lord I bought the P.C. speakers off Q.V.C.
I own up to the fact the postage cost more than the speakers themselves, this is written by a former slave to a 500 Watt theatre system!
I remember one threat was the appearance of a full wall Jim Hendrix poster, you know the one with the dopeful eyes, wearing his hat and multi coloured coat.
The colours were brilliant and the background was an oil on water phsycadelic colour wheel, lasted a long time.

I tilt keyboard and blow ash off keys.

Eventually my persistence in checking the bedroom door paid dividends, we both looked at the door and true enough it was as it should be six feet tall.
We both remembered our long forgotten need to visit the bathroom. But our minds were full of suspicion at the time and we sat and considered the possibility of this being a trap.
My mind was racing, had we fell victims?
I checked I’d taken all precautions before we started, checked doors were locked and we had enough tea to keep us going.
I must admit thinking back to the time I was heavy handed with the doses!

The sight of the joint in the ashtray reminds me I have one on the go. I’d drifted pleasantly off with the sounds of a saxophone playing ever so invitingly.

We decided the door reverting back to size had been an invitation, beckoning us to venture abroad, if for no other purpose than to have a piss!
We then had the problem of not really actually being able to move.
The body didn’t seem to be responding , any exertion merely resulted in bobbing movements from side to side like the repellations of magnetic fields.
The huge pipes changed into sewer pipes and all sorts of garbage and bodies were flowing into them; the bed tilted and we both gripped the bed to stop ourselves falling into the river going into the pipes.
We eventually felt the bed tilting further and ended up falling out of bed onto the floor.
The landing switched the river scene off immediately and we began the long process of getting the body mobilised enough to try standing.
Eventually we stood, gripped each other and in an instant both glanced at the bedroom door,
We breathed a sign of relief it was still of size.
We headed for it, rocking from side to side with unsteadiness as our legs regained strength like the slow effect of the sun upon a hatchlings wings.

I’ve done it again, let a joint go out.

Good job I’m typing and not talking, glass eye would be dead.
Only two things moving in the room,(apart from the thick pall of smoke)
Are my feet and the goofy looking paperclip assistant.
I haven’t started speaking to it yet and seldom use it but I enjoy the odd confrontation when it gets in the way of things.
I sip a small mouthful of tea and smack my lips, taking several layers of skin off in the process.

We opened the bedroom door and stood transfixed at what was before us.
A dirty great long, rope bridge, it seemed to go on forever and to make matters worse it was hung over a deep crevasse.
Scary!
As soon as we stepped onto it, it began to sway and glances down were rewarded with a horrendous feeling in the stomach.
Nothing else was there except us on a swaying bridge spanning a rock mouth.
We emerged in the bathroom quite unexpectedly as if we had been dropped into place, took us a while to look round and convince ourselves we were actually where we thought we were.
I was pissing and thinking hope to god this is the toilet.
I looked in the mirror and was still looking when joined by my partner.
We both stared into the mirror but…no reflections to be seen.
We looked at each other then looked into the mirror and every time the result was the same.
We panicked, left the bathroom crossed the bridge and collapsed on top of the bed, exhausted by our efforts.
We then toyed with the merits of mounting another expedition into the kitchen to finish off the remnants of the laced spag- bog.
We decided it would be too dangerous and assured us that we were in the safest place, in bed.
We celebrated with another cup of mushie tea,
I may have actually filled two flasks now I come to think of it.
By assuring ourselves we were indeed safe nothing to do except get up for college on Monday and thus the weekend disappeared.
We cuddled up relaxed the return of being able to feel each other providing extra comfort.
We spent hours upon hours tripping inside our heads, continuously telling each other what we were experiencing giving advice to each other as to what to think about and how to go to the limits of the current experience.
There were exceptional times of stimulation, we both tended to enter the experience at the same time and the ability or desire to speak has gone and this inability lasts for as long as the experience, immediately it has finished we talk, usually to marvel at what has just happened asking each other if we experienced same soon the questions die and another phase descends.
The surrounding darkness becomes heavy and slowly sucks you into the deep blackness of its eye.
A sensation of falling ever so slowly into a swirling black funnel, thoughts, warnings, doubts punctuate the darkness with the power of neon lights displayed against the sides of the funnel like adverts on the underground, each one swirling, distorting and slipping away, swallowed by the force.
The finale is into deep sleep, an active sleep when the mind remains open despite wrangling of the conscience with the sub-conscience.
Together we travelled over hill and dale, visited exotic climes, had out of body perceptions, travelling sometimes in body and other times seemingly on there as a presence. often even as a onlooker, sometimes by invite and sometimes not.
Monday morning came and we both miraculously woke up not more then five minutes apart, we agreed we felt o.k.
I told her to stop on bed and wait till I returned, I picked up my Psychology books and went to my lecture.
I’m staring at the lecturer sat in front of the blackboard and there are some weird effects going on behind here,
She opens here mouth and asks “ anyone here took acid?!
My hand immediately went up and I began to apologise but in my opinion mescaline was as good if not better than acid.
She asked me when I’d last taken it and I replied 72 hours ago and it was still going strong.

Quite a relaxing day but dope not worth the expense, watched TV till 3 a.m. picked some good films and drama out, went to bed.