Disclaimer: The following is fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is entirely coincidental. Also, using the SWIM pronoun wouldn't be as therapeutic. South Africa has a huge Psy-Trance scene. The preferred sound is hard, full-on with lots of rolling bass and glitchy formant leads. Less of a hippie-atmosphere, and more futurism mixed with pure hedonism. And hedonism, excessive human indulgence is what you can expect. Chemists from around the world not-so-discreetly have their party aids in the fistfuls. Head off to the Israeli owned coffee-stall and pick up some MDMA, or visit the “Natural Ways” tent for Salvia Divinorum, San Pedro and Psilocybe Cubensis - sold in full sight. Gorgeous girls and Greek Heroe-esque guys flock from around the greater city area dressed to the nines in the haute couture of Trance fashion. Think forest living, mixed with alien safari accessories. Ugg boots, fur ruffs and coats alongside the UV piercings and body paint. Or actually, think of over-indulgent and more-often-than-not obnoxious hedonists ready to land at a forest venue as if it were another uninhabited but life-sustainable planet ready to fuck it up, use it as a means to an end, in order to have a weekend orgy of altered states. After the weekend they’ll return to civilization and await announcement of the next big event ready to repeat the cycle. Hippie-pretense is dead, environmentalism is a joke. 99% of attendees do not give a fuck about the Earth’s eco-system…All this is, is a weekend of mind-numbing music and indulgence that would rival Babylonian legend. So why should I be any different? I went up with my best friend and his girlfriend. In our trunk was 2.5 liters of vodka, bottles of whiskey, brandy, 40oz’s, a bong and a baggie. We were set. Did I mention my desire to drop two tabs of acid? That will come later. My previous experience was at a party about a month ago, one tab that blew me away. After that, I spent hours on Erowid absorbing as much as a I could about psychedelics, so I knew what to look out for the next time. We arrived on Friday for a supposed tranquil night of camping before the majority of party-goers arrived at around noon Saturday, when the music would start. There were already about 700 people on Friday. We got pretty stoned and slept well. Next morning was a scorcher. Wake and baked, met up with some friends under a gazebo, made some new ones. Drank a lot, smoked even more and waited for the music to start. The rig, a forty-something foot tall palace of a stage. Psychedelic dragons painted on the side columns. and a somewhat full-scale dragon’s head smoke machine at the DJ controls. Lots of lasers, smart lights and speakers all over the venue. The music started, playing chill-out, down-beat ambient Trance. We went to buy drugs. My friend and his sigoth purchased two caps of MDMA while I had a brief chat with the Californian “chemist” about his Timothy Leary. He told me the dosage was 120ug a piece, which seemed somewhat believable. Asking him for some foil so it wouldn’t degrade in the heat, he said “Don’t worry about that, I don’t seal this with strychnine, it’ll be fine.” “Pfft.” I thought. But bought them, nonetheless. Some acquaintances who’d previously only managed to stomach half a tab of the Leary’s were flabbergasted at the fact I was planning on dropping two. “Don’t worry about me.” I told them “I can handle myself.” Smoked some more, slept. Sunday. D-Day. Slept till around 3PM, had a smoothie and went for a sobering walk in preparation for the trip. 5PM, twilight is settling in. Sitting comfortably under the gazebo with my most trusted friend, I drop the first tab. I feel the effects within twenty minutes. “Doesn’t seem like a DOx compound” I think to myself, “the second tab should be manageable if it’s just LSD” As the day begins to die, my minds eye opens to – a phrase that will be forever stuck in my mind – Mr Mallow’s Emporium of Nu-Weird Psychedelia. That is perhaps the best way to describe the comical visuals. My friend was under a blanket and his girlfriend was cradling his head. In the failing light, I just saw a smiling disembodied head talking to me, the hair a liberty-spikes Mohawk of black and blue shades. When the head turned to the side, there was a delay in the face moving along with the skull. I tried to give my friends so reference of understanding what I was seeing. Imagine a pastel-coloured classical painting in which everything has been put through a wonkiness filter. Everything is different. Limbs are elongated; a passing person’s eye takes up most of their head as their body strains under the weight of their Cycloptic appendage. My cell phone is a TRON light-cycle arena. The sky is one gradient brush-stroke, in the distance a bright smudge of white that trails across my head into a darkening streak. Like the cover of a Cereal box depicting the imminent dawn, or in my case, the coming darkness. There’s a cover of a book about Psychedelia that matches this state of visuals to the T, also, The Simpsons episode where Lisa goes tripping on Nitrous Oxide during a dental procedure. Watch that scene and you’ll understand what I mean. Nu-Psychedelia. Alice In Wonderland meets the contemporary nighttime. Bright, garish psychedelic colours are a thing of the past. All hail the navy, red and purple. Dark candy colours. Chemical colours. Beautiful! A breeze blows under a nearby safari-type canopy tent, lifting it off the ground a bit in a parachute fashion. This looks like a blow-up cat bouncing across the landscape. Depth is an archaic concept, movements coming towards me in the third dimension seem to be in 2D. This is fun, I think with a smile. It’s been an hour and I drop the second tab. About twenty minutes in, I want to go exploring the Alien Safari of stalls. Because this is what it looks like, exactly. Familiar tent-canopy’s with a clean future (Think AI: Artifical Intelligence’s compared to the dirty future of Blade Runner”) aesthetic. It looks so vibrant and inviting, so I dive right in. (By the way, I’d gotten into my “acid outfit” Cyberdog: London flashing tribal design T-shirt and a cobalt ribcage design jersey. I felt so cool!) Each of my steps felt like a huge stride, I had a huge grin on my face as I took in all these strange visuals. I asked a NO2 balloon stall owner when she’s going to be selling again. “Laaaater on” she replies, then gives a conspiring lick of her lips as she raises her eyebrows off her forehead. Perhaps this is when things started to get a bit strange. During the come-up, the rig had been shut down to let the sound system cool off a bit. I hear a thunderous boom of bass and see a revolving flash of spotlights. “Oh fuck yes!” I think. “The machine is alive, and it’s hungry!” The Psytrance begins to blast. I walk to the rig in what seems to take years. “How long have I been walking?” I wonder “Fuck. Has it been years?! Have I just been walking in a mindless circle while everyone laughs at me?” The path begins to feel more mazelike and puzzling before I reach the dance floor in what seems an eternity later. Oh…Wow. I don’t remember the stage being sky-scraper height. The dragons are alive and moving, the centerpiece breathing and puffing out smoke. The DJ at the time, an incredible piece of eye-candy, was God. Her movements to the music were precognitive. She was telling the music what to do aboard her cybernetic tank of destruction that was going to crush this place in its roar of music, regardless of the causalities. Dancing was spectacular. I was dancing next to towering putty-like humanoid shapes, their waving limbs stretching across the horizon. I don’t know how long I was gyrating for, because I seem to have a black-out. May have been a second or an hour, but my friend’s female cousin who I’m quite friendly with walks past me and grabs my attention. I jog after her for a chat and touch her shoulder. She turns to face me, but now things are in a comic-book panel form. Like a long exposure on a camera. Even though she has turned and faces me, overlaying that image I still see myself tapping her on the shoulder. Time has slowed down radically. Not easy to cope with. It’s also not very easy when whilst looking at her, I am seeing myself through her eyes. I look like a Tin-Tin caricature. The graphic novel visual style has gotten more pronounced and I have no recollection of what I’ve done in the space between one panel and the next. For instance, I’ll see an image of myself opening my mouth, her the words come out, but the image doesn’t change until a few seconds later when I’m looking at myself in a new pose. I think of Tin-Tin and The Blue Lotus (?) and the chemical given to some characters which have made them raving lunatics. “Oh no” I think all of a sudden. “It’s fucking happened. I’ve lost my mind. Oh fuck, what have I done! Oh fuck. I’m schizophrenic…I’m having fragmented thoughts and I’m going to hurt someone.” I being to feel very uneasy. “Did you take those two tabs?” My friend’s cousin asks me. “Yes!” I exclaim thinking she’ll understand I’m having a difficult experience and will call my friend. “Stop lying” she jokes. “I know you have some for me” “Why are you only fucking thinking about yourself, and not me?!” I yell, unexpectedly. She looks startled and I try apologize. I tell her I need her to please just baby-sit me until I regain some lucidity. “Why me?” she asks, evidently uneasy of the situation she’s found herself in. I try speak, but go through another “blackout”. I am now seeing things from an OBE point-of view, as if I’m a camera mounted to her shoulder. I can understand now that I was probably just following her very closely, although it feels that I’ve left my body behind, that I passed out on the ground and she’s gone to get me help. I see her talking to the dealer that I bought my first tab from a month ago, probably to secure some for herself, although I just know she’s telling him I need an ambulance and I’m dying. Snap back to in-body. I’m seeing things through my own eyes, I grab her shoulders and exclaim incoherently. “Did you tell him I need an ambulance? I don’t need one!” She looks at me blankly, she has no idea what I just said. “What?” Her reply. “Huh?!” Mine, as her speech is just a garble. “I don’t want to do anything stupid, OK!” I regret saying that, because it was what pushed me over the edge. “Like what, huh?” was her response that was most probably concerned, but sounded provocative to me. I turn from her and walk off, but in my altered state, I have now traveled about twenty minutes into the future and I know – just know – that I blanked out consciously, and in an act of delirious and insane violence, I killed her. I panic as my corporeal self now needs to catch up with the lag my mind has left in its wake. In a dazed panic, in which I have absolutely no control over myself or any lucidity as everything is melting into everything. Time, physical matter, sound. All wishing and washing through itself. “I can’t carry on like this.” I think. I’m a hazard to myself and everyone else in this state and I need to get to a safe place. Every step I take is dangerous, I could do more damage than I already have. Perspective and depth are a thing of the past. I know I need to get to my friend’s car to hide, but how do I get there? I take stumbling steps, each one I’m so sure is myself lumbering through someone’s tent, stepping on faces and limbs…Causing more damage. Eventually I find the car. I pull open the door and fall down, sweating. I grasp exhausting moment of lucidity. “Everything is fine” my mind says in a faint whisper. “I had two tabs of acid, I’m having a difficult trip, but everything is fine. I haven’t involved anyone else” Another part of me tells me that’s crap, I’m now seeing things in reverse. There’s no way I can help myself on my own. I’m obviously in an ambulance on the way to a hospital while my friends try talk me down, as my mind trails back on all the damage I’ve done to my friends and everyone around me. My parents must know and are ashamed, I’ve become the failure they always feared. I begin to sob in the car, still not believing the faint lullaby of mental coherence telling me to calm down. My body is aching from fatigue and sleep deprivation. My mind is no longer a refuge, my thoughts have no cognitive process. It’s just a fragmented mess of random words, sounds and images. The word Smeard99351 with an overlaying sound-effect of a boinging spring and oscillating high frequency is one of the only things I remember from that assault of random thoughts. I’m sure others will come back soon. I’m sweating so much, I clench my hair and feel my hand splash through my head. I rip off my shirt trying to cool down and see my stomach wither away, I grab it with my hand and pull my withered skin inside out. Another flash of lucidity. “Get out of the car, you’re having a bad trip. Get out of the car before you lock yourself in and suffocate.” I wrench open the door and stand outside, it feels like I do it a score of times with a panicked sob. How many times have I actually done this? How many times were hallucination and how many were real? “It’s all hallucination” I tell myself. This is my consciousness retreated into itself. My mind is separate from my body and my physical self was is still out of control, wreaking havoc on unsuspecting party-goers. A sudden wave of nausea and a flash of red – most probably a light from the rig shining through the car window, although I don’t know this. “Yes…” I breath a sigh of relief. “I’ve been taken out. The police have shot me. I’m dead…Oh thank God. Peace” But why am I still feeling so terrible? “This is hell. I’m in hell.” I kick open the car door with a cry and the side-light comes on. It shines directly into my eyes. “No…Not dead. Operating table. This is the doctor’s light shining into your pupils. You’re still alive and you’ll be dealt with.” I pass out. I think. I close my eyes, but I’m still seeing. Psychedelic dreams or maybe just closed eyed visuals. I come to, still in the car. But no, I’m no longer in a car. I’m no longer on an operating table. I’m in a state hospital. I’m insane. I lost my mind. Irreversible psychosis. I killed my best friend’s cousin, I’ve shamed my family and I’ve ruined my life. Soon I waken to the first thing that flashed through my mind “I’ve just woken up to my worst nightmare.” I believe this is what’s known as a fugue state. I was no longer myself. Ego-death at it’s worst. I saw myself now, as a weedy middle ages man with a moustache and thick glasses. I was in a psychiatric dorm of a run-down state hospital, twisting in the small cell. My sweat-pants are covered in the piss and sweat you’d expect to find staining someone who’s lost their mind. I twist in anguish along the car seat which is now the mildew infested mattress of society’s scorn. I can see the wire across the windows. I’ve gone through the life of a middle-aged severe schizophrenic who is me. The failure epitome. Again, I pull open the door and stumble out wearing just a pair of pants. But I’m still not me. I’m still LSD-Casualty. I’m still thinking like him. “The stuff melted my brain, man” escapes my lips but the voice is not mine. It’s the timbre of a mentally unstable asylum escapee who should be considered delirious and dangerous. I’m the man people pull their children away from for fear he has a rusty knife hidden in his pants, ready to lash out in a moment of jumbled madness. I fall back against the car sobbing, melting into it. Everything still melting. Nothing making sense except what I’m sure is happening. I must have been lying half-in/half-out of the car slipping in and out of sleep before the LSD effects began to wane a bit. The beat of the rig starts to get through my ears. I regain some sense of coherence. “The music” I think. Me now, not LSD-Casualty. “I’m still at the party if I can hear the music.” Lying in a dark car begins to make more sense, and I throw on a shirt before venturing outside. I’m feeling as if I’ve woken from a horrible nightmare but perhaps if I keep low I can see whether or not I’ve caused any damage. Walking softly through the shadows of the stalls, I bump into one of the guys who warned me about dropping two tabs. “How was your trip, dude?” he asks, casually. Why is he speaking to me as if I’m a normal person. I’m a murderer, aren’t I? “I know this sounds like I stupid question…” I hazard. “Did I kill anyone?” “Hahahaha” He laughs, “No man, not that I know of.” I nearly fall to my knees in relief. “Oh Jesus, then I just spent four hours in the back of the car having the worst experience of my life.” I sob. He chuckles to himself. “Well man, I guess your back must be pretty stiff, but fuck…It happens, so just try have fun.” With that, he’s off. The effects are still strong, but I’m far more lucid. I spend the next few hours either silent or recounting psychotic occurrence with my friend whom I soon rendezvoused with. His cousin was fine. I just walked away from her when her back was turned and she thought I’d regained some control. For the rest of the night and most of the morning I remained contemplative, pacing up and down or lying in my sleeping bag trying to decipher the experience. I believe I uprooted a deep, innate fear. The fear of being thought insane, having no control over my mind which is my most treasured possession. Living in a reality so different to the rest of society, that I’m a danger functioning around them and thus need to be kept under constant, medicated supervision in an under-budgeted state hospital. That’s another phrase that will stay with me for a long time. State Psychiatric Hospital. It is now perhaps the most terrifying place I can imagine. I have a sense of claustrophobia now, which I hope will pass. Trying to sleep in that car after the trip was hell, because all I could think was: Cell. Suffocating. State Psychiatric Hospital, along with the incredibly demented Smeard99351 and its accompanying wave of nausea. Another fear. Disappointing my parents, becoming the failure they might have a deep-rooted fear I might become. I don’t want to end up as that person whose identity I possessed for an hour or so that felt like decades. During that mental hell in the car, I had no concept of time. I could have been twisting and sobbing in emotional anguish for seconds or minutes or hours, with either or remaining before I regained some sense. So, do I regret it? No. It was the most intense, terrifying moment of my life. A traumatic experience that will stick with me for a long time. But it’s shown me exactly how I don’t want to end up as a human. It’s given me a glimpse of a potential future I want to avoid. I want to make my parents proud of me and I’m going to start doing it in every way I can from this moment on. I gave them a huge hug when I got home and spent an hour or so talking to them, I’ve been negligent lately. Not anymore. Perhaps I’ll show them this. Anyone wishing to discuss this further, please do. I posted it in the LSD Experiences forum, but it didn't seem to post properly as a reply.