I discovered something yesterday...
Nov. 16th, 2001 01:44 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
novapsyche... or merely realized it for myself.
I may have to scale back--or cut out (*gasp*)--my DXM use.
Not that I don't love it, or think it's still a wonder drug or a sacrament. Indeed, last night I used it as a sacrament. But, like Sam from Quantum Leap, I often have this Swiss-cheese effect. And that kind of goes against the general point. I mean, it's wonderful, having a means that can propel your mind to cosmic heights and depths you'd never before contemplated. But I'd like to remember the trip once it's over.
I mean... I think I had a good journey last night.
I wrote in the entry right before I went to bed that I wished I had a microcassette recorder. Well, even that might not really help. It's not that I forget how to talk, but it's hard to shape my mouth and tongue in the right configurations. F always complains about how slurred my speech gets. That's not quite right, however. It's like my jaws get tight, and I have to find a way to talk through them.
So the recorder probably wouldn't help. But GOD knows I can't write worth a damn, either. My handwriting during a DXM trip resembles a child's. The reason for this is the same as above. DXM is an anaesthetic, a mild tranquilizer. So it doesn't come as a surprise to me that my wrist and fingers aren't responding so well to my mental imperatives. And always I go back to writing cursive! I can't decipher my own notes to myself when the trip is over. It's the epitome of lost time.
I had the thought last night that perhaps the only recording device that might be any good to me would be video. I wouldn't care if I looked stupid; I'm pretty sure I would. But maybe I'd at least have some clues as to what I'm pondering during my peak times.
What really gets me is that I didn't really take that much last night. I had about 600 mgs total, a 7-8 hour experience all told. 2nd-tier stuff. Nothing too brain-wiping, really. I had a 3rd-tier dose once, and that was the most surreal drug experience I've ever had (and yes, I have had good acid before). But at least I can remember that trip.
So, after the peak, F and I watched Unforgiven, which I'd never seen but had always wanted. It's not a DXM movie, due to its unconventional, eclectic editing style (which, no doubt, contributed to its worth as an Academy Award winning piece). But I am glad to have seen it. Like I said to F, I'll have to see it again when I'm sober. (A good DXM movie, amazingly enough: Deliverance. Excellent, fluid editing between takes.)
I had a severe bout of homesickness during and following the movie. For some reason, my mind was centered on the Timbers, the family who half-adopted me and spirited me off to church once or twice a week. They were good people, and I miss them. I haven't talked to them in years... not since some of the darkest years of my life. I hope to see them this Christmas, when I make it back to Michigan.
And I wrote the quickest card to my father, whom I always miss, no matter how long we lay out of touch. It had been a month to the day since I last saw or spoke with him, and that was too much. I hope his reply comes soon.
Hmm. Now I'm just rambling. But cutting back on the DXM might help me insofar that my muscles won't tense up so much, and maybe I can get some writing done. I wish I could write and meditate at the same time.
I may have to scale back--or cut out (*gasp*)--my DXM use.
Not that I don't love it, or think it's still a wonder drug or a sacrament. Indeed, last night I used it as a sacrament. But, like Sam from Quantum Leap, I often have this Swiss-cheese effect. And that kind of goes against the general point. I mean, it's wonderful, having a means that can propel your mind to cosmic heights and depths you'd never before contemplated. But I'd like to remember the trip once it's over.
I mean... I think I had a good journey last night.
I wrote in the entry right before I went to bed that I wished I had a microcassette recorder. Well, even that might not really help. It's not that I forget how to talk, but it's hard to shape my mouth and tongue in the right configurations. F always complains about how slurred my speech gets. That's not quite right, however. It's like my jaws get tight, and I have to find a way to talk through them.
So the recorder probably wouldn't help. But GOD knows I can't write worth a damn, either. My handwriting during a DXM trip resembles a child's. The reason for this is the same as above. DXM is an anaesthetic, a mild tranquilizer. So it doesn't come as a surprise to me that my wrist and fingers aren't responding so well to my mental imperatives. And always I go back to writing cursive! I can't decipher my own notes to myself when the trip is over. It's the epitome of lost time.
I had the thought last night that perhaps the only recording device that might be any good to me would be video. I wouldn't care if I looked stupid; I'm pretty sure I would. But maybe I'd at least have some clues as to what I'm pondering during my peak times.
What really gets me is that I didn't really take that much last night. I had about 600 mgs total, a 7-8 hour experience all told. 2nd-tier stuff. Nothing too brain-wiping, really. I had a 3rd-tier dose once, and that was the most surreal drug experience I've ever had (and yes, I have had good acid before). But at least I can remember that trip.
So, after the peak, F and I watched Unforgiven, which I'd never seen but had always wanted. It's not a DXM movie, due to its unconventional, eclectic editing style (which, no doubt, contributed to its worth as an Academy Award winning piece). But I am glad to have seen it. Like I said to F, I'll have to see it again when I'm sober. (A good DXM movie, amazingly enough: Deliverance. Excellent, fluid editing between takes.)
I had a severe bout of homesickness during and following the movie. For some reason, my mind was centered on the Timbers, the family who half-adopted me and spirited me off to church once or twice a week. They were good people, and I miss them. I haven't talked to them in years... not since some of the darkest years of my life. I hope to see them this Christmas, when I make it back to Michigan.
And I wrote the quickest card to my father, whom I always miss, no matter how long we lay out of touch. It had been a month to the day since I last saw or spoke with him, and that was too much. I hope his reply comes soon.
Hmm. Now I'm just rambling. But cutting back on the DXM might help me insofar that my muscles won't tense up so much, and maybe I can get some writing done. I wish I could write and meditate at the same time.