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Please share your bad trips.
Fortunately, I've only have had two or maybe two and a half bad trips in my life, but they have stayed with me in acute detail, much like some childhood nightmares that I can recall, like, totally.
My worst bad trip was in college, on LSD, by myself, in my tiny run-down apartment in the ghetto (as in, no one will deliver pizza to you, out of like, fear.). Imagine a sense of total loneliness, fumbling with the telephone for hours, dialing too few, or too many digits, over and over, until, amazingly, an "emergency operator" comes on the line and asks if everything was ok, like, have you been gagged, and are you being raped-type Socratic enquiry.
A milder, yet perhaps more intensely unpleasant, bad trip, was on salvia, which I smoked in secret, while the people with whom I was coinhabiting were in, like, adjacent rooms, cooking, or just carrying on as normal. I was listening to the first or second Pole records, and I remember my environment turning block-y, as in Lego-type blocks; total panic at this notion. I remember staggering somehow to the stereo and trying to adjust the volume, but the dial felt enormous, and, rubbery, and unresponsive. Luckily, this whole misadventure lasted two minutes tops, but I wanted out immediately, as in, where is the eject button?!
Also, my first dalliance with drugs was with cough syrup, which started out nicely, (I remember declaring that I was a muffin, getting into the fetal position and sinking into the carpet of the living room [which was some kind of muffin tray in my mind]) but after I puked on the carpet/muffin tray, things got rather more grim. I remember a computer screen lowering over my field of vision, and my thoughts were all in DOS, or something. I kept typing, to remind myself of my safety (and non-culpability) that I AM NOT DRIVING. Over and over. I AM NOT DRIVING. I AM NOT DRIVING. Like, bolting upright and typing again: I AM NOT DRIVING.
It has been some years now, but I expect that these memories will return in my twilight years even as I watch my heart monitor slow, and eventually stop (or however that ends up playing out).
Fortunately, I've only have had two or maybe two and a half bad trips in my life, but they have stayed with me in acute detail, much like some childhood nightmares that I can recall, like, totally.
My worst bad trip was in college, on LSD, by myself, in my tiny run-down apartment in the ghetto (as in, no one will deliver pizza to you, out of like, fear.). Imagine a sense of total loneliness, fumbling with the telephone for hours, dialing too few, or too many digits, over and over, until, amazingly, an "emergency operator" comes on the line and asks if everything was ok, like, have you been gagged, and are you being raped-type Socratic enquiry.
A milder, yet perhaps more intensely unpleasant, bad trip, was on salvia, which I smoked in secret, while the people with whom I was coinhabiting were in, like, adjacent rooms, cooking, or just carrying on as normal. I was listening to the first or second Pole records, and I remember my environment turning block-y, as in Lego-type blocks; total panic at this notion. I remember staggering somehow to the stereo and trying to adjust the volume, but the dial felt enormous, and, rubbery, and unresponsive. Luckily, this whole misadventure lasted two minutes tops, but I wanted out immediately, as in, where is the eject button?!
Also, my first dalliance with drugs was with cough syrup, which started out nicely, (I remember declaring that I was a muffin, getting into the fetal position and sinking into the carpet of the living room [which was some kind of muffin tray in my mind]) but after I puked on the carpet/muffin tray, things got rather more grim. I remember a computer screen lowering over my field of vision, and my thoughts were all in DOS, or something. I kept typing, to remind myself of my safety (and non-culpability) that I AM NOT DRIVING. Over and over. I AM NOT DRIVING. I AM NOT DRIVING. Like, bolting upright and typing again: I AM NOT DRIVING.
It has been some years now, but I expect that these memories will return in my twilight years even as I watch my heart monitor slow, and eventually stop (or however that ends up playing out).
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