Pneyz's experience

Another DXM Experience - by pneyz of Ganja Digest (
Typed up on August 1, 1997 very early in the morning. For public consumption.

Hello. I'm a 16 year old living in Santa Cruz CA, and as a hobby I write about drugs for online 'zines. A while ago I came across a thing detailing DXM and decided to try it. Not having any dose information, I took 960mg my first time and had the most intense experience I can remember. Since then, I have spent many hours writing, researching, and experimenting with DXM. Then, I had a BAD TRIP! A horrible, wicked, evil, nasty trip. I saw horrible stuff that humans should not be exposed to. And I saw it all on only 240mg of dex. I then swore off DXM for a long time, because I felt the after-effects of that trip for almost a week. Then I decided to try it once more... and I made it a very involved experience.

I took 1200mg of DXM right after my family left for the weekend. I then had to spend a good 10 minutes sitting by the porcelain smoothness of my toilet with a hand covering my gut and trying to suppress the urge to spew vomit onto the bath rug. When I felt sufficiently stabilized, I un-lugged all the phones, clocks, and other noise-making objects I could find. I did not want to be disturbed.

Since I still had at least a half hour of soberness before it really hit, I tried to get myself in the most relaxed/psychedelic mood possible. I popped FSOL's 'Lifeforms' and 'ISDN' albums into my CD Player, hit random play and found my copy of 'Gate to the Mind's Eye'. As Gate started, I lay down on my waterbed and watched the universe destroy itself on my TV screen. Wonderful entertainment even if you aren't severely twisted. Coupled with the natural sounds and ambient music coming through six speakers (I love my sound system), I was feeling very relaxed and groovy in record time.

However, I'm a very impatient person. I sat up suddenly while a hand was flying away as a bird to escape a snake/hand and struggled to find my stash of weed. I smoked two bowls and a Dee Tee, and was so stoned I barely realized that my time had come to embrace the entity known as dextromethorphan. I had almost forgotten the rush I get when the trip hits me. It does not come gradual to me. No. It comes as a train of pure knowledge, slamming into me with the force of a thousand synapses, crackling and firing and threatening to overwhelm my sensorium. Then abruptly, it was gone. I was rose tinted.

It was time for the real fun part of this whole thing. I had planned this out in advance. I opened my trip kit (where I keep all my paraphenelia) and drew out a pair of goggles with lenses I had spray-painted black. Then I set my stereo to a non-existant FM radio station and cranked the volume up. My room was filled with the soft, steady and insistant sizzle of white sound. I put on the goggles, turned off lights, killed movie, closed windows, and lay down on the waterbed. I was attempting sensory deprivation.

I also threw in a little Zen breathing excercise to quickly dissociate me from my body. I love those Zen guys, they invent the best stuff for stoners. I was concentrating on my breath and had already lost all feeling in my body below the nipples when I felt myself slipping away on a cloud of almsot vaginal pinkness. My body was carried by green angels to a room where I was deposited on a rusty bed.

This was the sort of room that is featured in that wonderful feat of cinem- ography 'Trainspotting'. It radiated degeneracy. I felt right at home and sat down on the bed (hearing it creak in helpless opposition as I did so). Soon, a triplet of people entered the room. Not throuh a door, but they entered just as naturally as you or me. Never mind the lack of entrances and exites. As I said, there were three. My friends Dan, Bryan, and Al. Dan and Bryan were there when I first dosed, and I had seen Al when I had my bad trip. They were deeply connected to my DXM experiences, and Bryan has magic powers, so I thought very little of their strange appearance and the fact that they were obviously fake, like those drawing you can get done in the mall of you and a friend for $5.

They sat cross-legged on a three-legged table and stared at me. I studied them happily, because I had the power to see beneath the skin, beneath the muscles and organs down to the very flow of electrical impulses that keep our fragile lives going on. Then, Al spoke. He said he was in Arizona having a damn good time racing dirtbikes (I later found out that this was where he was when I had this experience, but I think he told me in advance). We all conversed back and forth about stuff that seemed entirely logical at the time. Then we reached one of those lulls in a conversation that seems entirely natural, where you all are just thinking over the others' arguments. We were all standing around like that when Bryan started to move.

Slowly and deliberately, he started crawling down the side of the table like a spider. He reached the floor and started moving in strange ways. I sat there, intently studying his behavior, for future reference. For some reason, Dan then pulled a bucket out ("One for vomitus" - Renton) and told me to throw up in it. I did as he requested. The vomit process was utterly painless. Leaving me was a cool stream of mountain water, rushing through my chest cavity to fill me with icy freshness before leaving me in a way that made my chest feel like a load of bricks had been lifted. I looked up, and they were all gone except for a ghost image of Bryan, who flashed the 420 symbol as he vanished.

"Eyes Pop - Skin Explodes - Everybody Dead". It's a song, and it's what happened next. I started to bulge in weird ways and lose bits and pieces of my body off into the limitless space through which I was now traveling. It seemed that my anatomy was setting out to disprove the fundamental laws that govern the elasticity of objects. I was stretching, but not in painful ways. My body had finally decided that it was partial to a ellipsoid shape, when I realized I was now traveling at a fair speed towards the center of a mottled green torus. I passed through the donut hole and fell out of the clouds onto earth.

I hit ground pretty hard. Hard enough that I could feel my organs arranging into geometrical patterns. I woke up. Fast. I came out of my bed and onto the floor in one fluid motion. The goggles were thrown off and I crouched there, dripping sweat and looking around with pupils the size of large dinner plates. It only took me a minute to regain my composure. I put on a robe and checked a clock in another room. I had been out for 3 hours. It felt like a lot more, but I wasn't surprised. By this time, I had regained control of everything and was planning on just kicking back and riding the crest of a massive DXM experience. I grabbed 'Gate' and went to my living room to watch it, because I was feeling a weird paranoia in my bedroom. I never got to watch 'Gate' because I spent my time staring at the screen snow on the TV. That captivated me for a good 15 minutes, at which time I walked on my head, plawing the ground with my nose, furrowing the carpet like a plow. Don't ask, and I won't tell.

When my trip was over, I ate some Jalapeno bread, drank a lot of orange juice, relieved my bladder, and fell into a deep sleep. I woke up and inspected my room. Nothing was broken, nothing was disturbed. There was not a huge puddle of vomit on the floor as I had feared, leading me to believe that I had a total dissociative experience. It was fun, and it was very ... deep. I'm back on DXM now, and still loving life, the world, women, and drugs.

Until next time, Jah Love.

1998 The Third Plateau
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