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D.M.T is an extraordinary hallucinogen that lasts
only a few hundred seconds at the peak of the flash.
It is something which is smoked.
Something waxy.
Orange.
Smelling of camphor.
You vapourise it in a small glass pipe.
Something which is smoked.
Behind closed eyelids, a kind of hallucination forms.
A chrysanthemum - a swirling floral pattern.
Overlayed patterns of colours.
You watch the chrysanthemum
and if you've taken enough D.M.T.,
after about fifteen seconds,
you are physically propelled through it.
Into a kind of tunnel-like space.
You seem to be catapulting forward
through some kind of labyrinth-like,
tubular, unfolding, coloured, fluctuating space.
And after a few seconds of this, it is as though you arrive.
The trip stabilises itself around you.
At that point you are in a kind of domed,
indirectly lit, comfortable, underground space.
But what is astonishing about this space,
is that it is inhabited, it is crowded.
Jewelled, self-dribbling basketballs that bound forward.
Chirping fractal denizens of the unconscious.
They surround you, singing in a visible language
and they use that language to produce objects.
Sculptured, jewelled machines.
Things made of precious stones and metal.
Agate, Topaz, Chalcedony.
All kinds of precious materials.
But not stable.
Morphing.
Transforming themselves.
Matter somehow imbued with the spirit of language
and imagination.
And these elf-like, gnome-like artisans crowd forward,
each offering their own creation for your inspection.
Follow these entities,
these hyper-objectified linguistic objects.
It's terribly important that you learn to do this.
They are the initiators of the human species into a new
ontos of language, where meaning is beheld.
Use your voice.
It only lasts a few hundred seconds.
Meaning is beheld.
The presence of these entities on the other side
of this pharmacological energy barrier raises a
number of questions.
Are they true beings?
True Aliens from another star system,
gently approaching us?
Are they true Aliens?
Hiding behind the mask of an intoxication?
Perfect interfacing of dimensions?
I prefer to think, however, that we are encountering an
ecology of souls.
Shaman, I am.
Shaman, I am.
D.M.T. is all of these things.
It is like a hyper-cosmic carnival in your mind.
The boy in the bottle, the goat-faced girl.
I somehow shattered the membrane
between myself and ordinary space.
I carried the trip into the room with me.
Very rapid transmission of data.
It only lasts a few hundred seconds
You awaken from a dream,
I can see it clearly,
after a time I think it sticks with you.
The details.
Some quality of seeing and understanding.
A dimension has been added to ordinary perception.
And you will have the complete experience in the dream.
It's in the body.
You can do this on the natch, it is not far away.
Outrageous Possibilities lie immediately to hand
and are virtually only a toke away.
