Erowid: the psychedelic diaries
Remember what the dormouse said
Back in the weird ass 80′s, whenever everybody had girl hair and stonewashed jeans, screechy music and refrigerator-sized radios, break dancing and Atari, Dee Snyder and neon everything, I had this friend who was crazy about the ganja. Had himself a sweet bowl, matched with anybody who would match, spent entire days in the sweet smoke of experimental adolescence.
Then the poor bastard started shrinking and it was all over.
It’s true, you know. I don’t know the science of it – something to do with mitochondria, I suspect – but one moment my stoned friend was pondering the marvel of his own foot, and the next he was in horror because while his big toe remained the same, the rest of him was growing smaller.
It was horrifying. My friend tells me it was, that is. The poor, drug abused fool begged his buddies to take him to a hospital, but they only went on eating Doritos and watching Fantasy Island. Tattoo was hilarious to the brain on THC. That’s what they tell me.
So the love affair between boy and herb came to an end because after the night of shrinking, he could never smoke the stuff again. Every time he tried, things got Kafka goofy. The world sounded strange. The colors were never quite right. Things flitted on the corners of his vision and everyone was out to poison him.
It was terrible, my deranged friend tells me.
But it was all for the best because the poor lad was able to give up the culture of weed and spend his time in a fashion more suited for a young man with ambition. Beer and women. Because those things might kill you, my friend. But they generally won’t cause the biggest of the little piggies to get left behind as all the rest of the body withers to elfin-size.
But enough about that slob of a friend. Here is an oddly compelling compilation of drug trips, good and bad, suffered or enjoyed on a wide variety of chemicals. A psychic diary, of sorts. Like “Fear and Loathing” without all the meddlesome noise of Vegas.
Disclaimer: you didn’t get that shit from me, y’understand?
