CBS4 report about salvia: It's "Like Acid"

Discussion in 'Salvia divinorum' started by jtsarles, Nov 16, 2006.

  1. jtsarles

    jtsarles Newbie

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    Last edited: Nov 16, 2006
    1. 4/5,
      good find. crazy story. fuckin dea.
      Nov 16, 2006
  2. radiometer

    radiometer bananadine addict Platinum Member & Advisor

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    Some samples of the amazing knowledge base of US head-shop clerks:

    Wheee! I'm completely retarded!!
     
  3. Nature Boy

    Nature Boy Gold Member

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    Salvia is nothing like acid, shrooms, ecstasy, alcohol or nitrous. I despise these labels the misinformed media place upon substances they have no clue about. It's hyperbolic, inaccurate and downright shoddy journalism. If I was editing a paper and had idiots like that working for me, I'd give them all the boot!
     
  4. PsychicTraveler

    PsychicTraveler Silver Member

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    Exactly.

    Salvia is more like getting winded from walking in front of a giant leaf fire while huffing a can of spraypaint (so I would imagine).

    I hate that crap.
     
  5. PsychicTraveler

    PsychicTraveler Silver Member

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    And it's, "if I were editing a paper".

    Subjunctive mood, you know.
     
  6. grandbaby

    grandbaby Titanium Member

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    The subjunctive is no longer mandatory in American English unless the speaker is describing a patently impossible situation: "If I were on the moon right now, I'd..."

    ;)
     
  7. Trebor

    Trebor Palladium Member

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    Does grammar really matter in a thread about Salvia? On topic though, I feel Salvia is like DMT, in that the effects are simillar and the duration is a small bit longer.
     
  8. darawk

    darawk Gold Member

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    Who hires these assholes? Are they screened at all for any sort of technical knowledge before they go out and spew this bullshit?
     
  9. Trebor

    Trebor Palladium Member

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    Mr. Sweetin, to you I pose this question, Do you dream? If the answer is yes, and I know it is! you are experiencing hallucinations without a toxin1 You fucking pleb!
     
  10. wellhelm

    wellhelm Silver Member

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    A simple internet serch will show pure extract's of salvinorin-A is absolutely NON-TOXIC! Way to go DEA and spread the misinformation on yet another drug. Demonize it, right? Oh my allah, its toxic!
     
  11. Alfa

    Alfa Productive Insomniac Staff Member Administrator

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    Are these headshop clerks representable for many of the headshop clerks in the US? I can see how the second one could have been misquoted (i.e. using half a sentence, like biased media does oftenly), but the 1st one should have his mouth glued shut with superglue.
     
    Last edited: Nov 26, 2006
  12. radiometer

    radiometer bananadine addict Platinum Member & Advisor

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    Yes. They are generally dregs of society. The guy who owns and operates my local shop also has a webporn and (legal, in Las Vegas) escort empire. He reminds me of Howard Stern.

    I wonder if any of these guys thinks about the fact that they are opening themselves to legal enforcement and/or lawsuits by discussing recreation use of salvia, which is sold under the pretext of being "incense."
     
  13. old hippie 56

    old hippie 56 Gold Member

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    Here is a trip report swim found in The New York Inquirer, sorry about the length.



    DMT and Salvia Divinorum Trips; Yes, Both

    (Originally published 9/30/06.)

    by Peter Eichenberger

    First Trip: Dimitri

    It was just another day when I walked to my usual joint, Sadlack’s, a dinged faux diner here in Raleigh dating from the Upper Devonian era, a dented aluminum box legendary for the range and diversity of clientele. I was just there for a beer. I stepped up to the patio, a concrete deck provided with shabby wooden picnic tables. As I made my way to the front door, a fella I know called to me.

    “Hey Eichenberger, come here.” I knew the guy. He was sort of a mystery. Claimed to work for the communications industry. Ok, sure. He just had a funny way of showing up, looking for me, often with molecular compounds I had never heard of, which was odd. I have an extensive resume with drugs and have taken pride in my knowledge. I moved over to the guy. He held out a glass stem, the type used to smoke, well, whatever one happens to have to smoke.

    “Take a hit of this.” I took the piece and examined the whitish powdery substance packed in the end. I knew it wasn’t crack. This guy wasn’t the type and, more, it didn’t look like crack.

    “Ok. I’ll bite. Gimme a lighter and let’s fire it up.” He did. I flicked the Bic.

    “Hit it slow, just heat it.” In general, good advice for smoking anything.

    Burning the substance destroys a percentage of the molecules. Warming slowly ensures a better kick. I drew the lighter closer, keeping the flame some distance from the end. It had a yicky, plasticky taste, but I kept on.

    Immediately, I felt a powerful surge rushing up my back. Five seconds later, the grain of the picnic table began to scroll hieroglyphics like on CNN. Problem was, I couldn't read them.

    “I don’t know if I like this, Big boy . . .”

    “You’ll be fine. Take a deep breath. You know what to do. It’s over in 20
    minutes.”

    “Ok,” I said to myself. After all, it wasn’t my first trip to the petting zoo. But lordy, whatever this shit was, it was the strongest drug reaction I’d ever encountered and that included big ole bell ringers of IV Cocaine.

    Shoooo-wheeee. After time unknown, the world morphed into an angular monumental vision, resplendent with applied decoration: Mayan, Mesopotamian, that sort of flavor. The intersection of Hillsborough and Enterprise Streets became polished translucent sheets of semi-precious stone, lapis, tourmaline, and agate. The sheets of stone changed size, color and position to account for movement and lighting.

    There were customers standing close to me. I had to conceal my state, taking care not to try to engage anyone in conversation, limiting my movement to belie my mangled mind. I stood, reeling from whatever this was.

    “What the fuck is this?”

    Dimethyltryptamine, DMT, Dimitri.” I’d only heard of it and didn’t know anything. As I stood, trying to make myself a part of the landscape, there was a pop, a noise coinciding with the appearance of these—um—critters. They stood maybe 5 feet tall, these scaly, feathery Aztec—ee—things. They made a hissing sort of whine when they moved, as if their motions were resulting from hydroelectric servos. Whirr—a—click.

    “I take it you guys aren’t from around here?”

    Two of them looked at each other and make this sort of giggle, gesturing.
    So we spoke for about two thousand years or so. They sure knew a lot about Ford
    trucks, being from another dimension and all.

    Subsequent reading led me to Rick Strassman’s groundbreaking work, The Spirit Molecule. Strassman, a researcher at The University of New Mexico, had done the first clinical trial of the psychedelic compound DMT since the sixties. He published papers and had collected the anecdotal material for the book. Strassman believes that DMT can put folks in touch with other dimensions.

    After what I saw, I’d have to agree.

    Next: Salvia Divinorum

    When I heard that Salvia Divinorum was legal, my first reaction was, “horseshit.” My second reaction was to toddle over to the local headshop to check it out. Yup. Legal and sold to anyone. We picked a packet up and went back to Clark’s place. I’d forgotten the rules about enteogenics, that you should have one person to act as a “watcher.” We dragged Arkansas Bill’s bong out of from behind the couch and all took big ole hits.

    Within seconds, I was gone. I lost all sense of external reality. The only thing I can recall is a thought, a voice, a sense that went like: “You’re never coming back, you’re never coming back, you’re never coming back. Do you want to never come back?” The world was rendered to toroidal—geodesic in structure—a lattice-like structure that unrolled one way or another, as if a inner tube was being grasped in two hands and being spun on itself, depending on how I felt about never coming back.

    Within minutes, the sense began to fade, just in time to hear the smashing of glass and women screaming. I tried to get a hold of myself.

    It was time to get professional, for the sake of journalism to note what was happening.

    The bong lay shattered on the floor. Three women who had been hanging out, drinking and smoking weed, fled the house in screams.

    Back enough to consensual reality, Arkansas Bill was standing over Joe who had been sitting on the couch. “Don’t go, Joe! Don’t go!” Bill hollered as he took Joe’s hands. The tops of Joe’s thighs had become almost level with the tops of the cushions, as if he was literally becoming one with the couch. From what I saw, Joe seemed to be sinking into the cheap couch cushions of foam rubber covered with a dull plaid.

    A terrified expression on his face, Bill gave a mighty tug. Joe pulled up and out of the cushion with a wet slurping sound like the sound one would hear pulling a flat rock partially buried in the muddy bottom of a shallow stream—schulurrrrrp—and broke free of whatever seemed to be holding him.

    I made my way, as best as I could on the downhill of the stuff, outside to where the gals had fled in terror.

    “What did you see?” I asked. “What happened?”

    The women clutched each other, sobbing with fear and confusion. “I saw, I saw, I saw, he was—uh—oh God, I saw him sink, something, oh my lord,” was about all I could get out of them. I went back inside to see how things were going. Bill and I were in agreement.

    In my typical fashion, as in after I ruined something by not reading the instructions, I went online the next day, I checked out the Salvia Divinorum User’s Guide. At level five, where we apparently were, the substance can cause actual or perceived merging with solid objects.

    Weeks later, I ran into one of the gals. I’d been unable to pry out of her what she had seen. I asked her again. She gave a description of what Bill and I saw: Forget one with the cosmos, Joe was becoming one with a cheap piece of salvaged furniture.

    You want more?

    Peter Eichenberger is an Opinion Writer for the Independent Weekly in North Carolina.
     
  14. radiometer

    radiometer bananadine addict Platinum Member & Advisor

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    ^ That is one of the must fucking retarded articles I've ever read. The author is exactly the sort of drug user who should have Darwinned himself by now.
    The New York Times printed this crap? I guess given their political stance on drugs it shouldn't be surprising. I guess it's OK to print scientifically ludicrous statements as long as they're labelled "opinion.

    I feel stupider just having read this trash. No offence to you old hippie for posting it.
     
  15. old hippie 56

    old hippie 56 Gold Member

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    My feelings exactly, btw, it is the NY Inquirer. Just adding more fuel to the fire for making a good plant illegal.
     
  16. radiometer

    radiometer bananadine addict Platinum Member & Advisor

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    Haha, NYT, Enquirer...definitely a big difference there. Mea culpa!