Ever have an experience that felt surreal, as though you’d been suddenly transported into the twilight zone, where time seemed to warp, perhaps slowing down or speeding up? Tell us all about it. If you haven’t had an experience in real life that you can draw from, write a fictional account of a surreal experience.
Eating ‘shrooms is like having a mouth full of shit. Bite after bite after bite of nasty, blue veined, shit. Funny that putting shit in your mouth can wash the shit from your soul.
I had my first soul washing college. I was sitting on an eight foot orange couch, hunched over an empty keg of Dinkel Acker I stole in high school that I used as afoot stool. I was living in a large tudor style frat house, all wood beams and plaster, secret doors and hand shakes. The house looked like a fairy tale had gotten lost on the Laramie plains.
I sprinkled white stems crawling with blue veins, and fat brown caps over some food-like beef. The kind of meal you order by number. Had I known I would be eating God I would have gone somewhere nicer. Perhaps the Chinese place on Grand.
I gagged with each bite. The kind of gag that makes your stomach fold in half and swells your tongue. And with each gag I thought…this is gonna be great.
My room had been put in order, vacuumed, and perfumed with incense. I didn’t want to return from a long trip to a messy room.
I was musing how the saliva in my mouth was turning to smoke. I felt every pore in my body growing its own set of lungs and breathing in deep the sights and smells of around me, then spitting out the bad taste of material things I had caged in my room.
Then a question popped into my head. Will I know when I when the trip begins?
I wasn’t sure that I would, but before it did, I needed to get out into the Wyoming wind, cuddle up with the sun. And smoke. God, I felt like I could suck down Marlboro Reds till the smoke filled the marrow in my bones and then smoke some more. I was invincible, indestructible. Fuck cancer. That was a trick of the mind, a dis-ease that could never penetrate the leather of my skin. Funny I thought.
I wondered what crazy shit I would think of when I actually started tripping.
Once outside, I stood under the big Wyoming sky for a spell, gorging on the sexiness of Mother nature. The leaves swaying like Jessica Rabbit’s hips. I wanted to spoon with the wind. I wanted to run my fingers through the chalk of the low lying clouds glowing in a sea of electric blue. But first I needed to get some green. I had been told that tripping was like a balloon filled with helium, you need something keep you grounded or you would float away. The green was a great anchor.
I had to hurry before I started tripping.
I knocked on the door and waited for the old school retina scan, which in those days we called a peep hole. It took a minute for the door to open due to the duct tape around the door frame. It was meant to trap in any suspicious smells.
There was a customer there already, a dark clown in a puffy jacket spitting rhymes about being gangster. A halo of fur lined his hood, his hand beat the open air like a percussive. I took a seat in a banana chair, front row center. I was transfixed by the glaring white of his teeth against the deep black of his skin. A broad, awkward smile sat on my face that made me uncomfortable and afraid. Afraid that he could see on my smile the words, caricature, cartoon, poser.
I needed to get that green and boogie before I started tripping in case this poser proved himself true.
Back out into the Wyoming sun. The clouds were lower in the sky before. I hunched my shoulders so I wouldn’t bumped my head on the sky and headed over to Jere’s to burn some of the green.
And then it happened. The fasten seat belt sign had been turned off. My body defied gravity and leapt into the air. The trip had begun.
I noticed the change as I stared down the shaft of an infinitely long shaft of a two inch glass pipe. I could see every white hair of the green leaf surrender to the fire and send smoke billowing out of the bowl like a genie escaping her lamp.
She took my hand and lifted my arm. The veins in my hand were drawn in vibrant purple crayon on a canvas of pale white skin that undulated in fleshy waves. It was frightening and beautiful. The genie whispered in my ear that such visions couldn’t be shared with with the sober. She suggested I find sanctuary somewhere private. Who was I to argue with a genie? So I thanked Jere for the green and headed back to the tudor mansion.
The sanctuary the genie lead me to was a room of discarded treasures. A place where brothers left things they no longer wanted. I found refuge in the piles of other peoples garbage.
The two greatest finds were the Rastafarian wig that protected my thoughts from demons and the book of Esher drawings.
Each page of the Esher book offered a new mandala and I slipped further and further into the universe. One of my brothers found me in the room. Knowing I was on a trip he asked if I had seen any little blue men, or some other myopic question. He stood in the doorway only a few feet away but might as well have been on the other side of the universe. The complexity of my grunt was lost on the brother.
I returned from my trip to a clean room. The night ended with me recounting my journey to some brothers over a few beers. The bar and drowsiness of beer all seemed so JV.
But there would be other trips. More shit in my mouth and paper on my tongue. More white painted foil and toilet paper rolls stuffed with dryer sheets.
And eventually there would be giggles riding hiccups and deciphering da-da in a coo.
A whole new way of washing my soul. Shit would still be involved but at least I wouldn’t have to put it in my mouth.