Recurring LSD Trips

INTRODUCTION

The following described depictions originated in the form of hallucinatory visions that repeatedly were experienced during multiple different LSD trips. 

Perhaps, just as psychologists consider the presence of recurring dreams to potentially hold valuable insight into the hidden parts of the psyche, recurring trips or visions during other altered states of consciousness too may offer the same insight. 

Just as with decoding the details in dreams, the underlying expression may be heavily shrouded in undetectable symbols. It may be providing a beneficial glance into the depths of one's own subconsciousness and unconscious thoughts or could just as likely be randomized filler made of minute sensory input that barely showed in the periphery for a mere glimpse the morning before dosing. 

Who is to tell? 

I am no psychologist but I do take fancy in the psychoanalyzing of my own mind to see what I have hidden from... Myself

So here describes the most repetitive visions I experience over and over again while on LSD.

SWAMPY NATURE SEX SOUP

HOW NATURE GETS MADE

I see a 1950s style antique vintage black baby carriage stroller in the desert. From in it reaches out a plum colored tentacle. An octopus. For a split second there is a brief momentary flashback of a creepy uncle that looks like Quentin Tarantino who tries doing dirty things with his big toe as an interlude from the Deltron3030 album is heard saying "That's some funky funky stuff" in the background. 

But the octopus in the carriage... If you look up its skirt (to see its mouthparts) I see a chaotic frenzy of craft stuffs dumped from a bag including string, yarn, beads, ribbons, pipe cleaners all entangled in a knot.

From there is the bird of paradise flower that opens up like a bivalve shell and inside it holds swampy nature sex soup. An erotic sexy peep show is going on between alligators and orchids in a lagoon inside a flower shell in the desert. I've been in it. I've been fucked by it. I've fucked it. And I've watched nature fuck herself as it.

The colors feel heavily saturated and exotic, erotic, viscerally toxic. Its rock candy crystals gleaming and shining and sparkling. Its everything my eyes want to see. I hear parrots, flamingo, and rainforest sounds. It smells like guavas.

I see big gleaming eyes nearly entirely pupil in dilation so shiny they nearly cry on the Lisa Frank jaguar. Its fur turns to tigers eye stones. This is Mother Nature's son. His name is Jasper and is vigor. He is adrenaline. He is enticement and excitement. He is the life juice birthed from her dragon like rivers where jungles emerg

SOFAS AND ISOPODS

THE DEPTHS OF MY MIND

A 1970s style vacuum cleaner spits out hairballs made of dust, lint, cobwebs, and fruity pebbles underneath the sofa. This imagery can take me back to craft supplies up the octopus' skirt if I grasp attention to them quickly enough backing out from beneath the sofa.

But if I stay under there, there is a pit to the center of the earth. This pit is full of magma and inside it is my Grandpa's big toe toenail grinder at the center of the earth being rolled and churned by giant isopods.

It is dark, moldy, and sludge laid like the grime in the bottom of the sink or the weird gunk stuck in grandpa's comb.

THE OLD WEST TAURUS

WEATHERING OF THE PHYSICAL BODY

Tension builds in the trapezius muscle and I see the American southwest cowboys. Cattle running free and the seasonal bison smashing into a trailer like a train as the autumn winds force big, thick, heavy blankets to store up in the trailer. Its Mother Nature's thunder thighs running. The earth shakes. The blankets built up are the chest of the earth housing the heart muscles which are a gun in the old west. 

There is a brothel. Inside the building is a room full of pussies (female genitals) just airing out and laying around like pillows and cushions on the furniture. Hand folding fans wave the stale air as fishnets and victorian 1800s brothel attire adorn the room. It smells of estrogen. I call it Mother Goose. The musky scent perfumes the scene in cattail reeds and pheasant tail feathers. It is old, dingy, and dusty but still very pretty. Nothing seems sexual as it is only pussies that are sitting pretty and waiting to be used.

Once used, the steed comes in. The broke back cowboy has to "handle his business" but can easily get his Johnson confused for the bull's in the stalls of the saloon. 

The tension from trying to understand this visual experience must be "broke in" like a wild mustang. To do so i see a triad of muscles all converging at a pole. They get easily knotted up you have to break them in to loosen them. To break in the tension knotted up I put myself through the wringer and I see shoulder blades on a the upper back of a gymnast swinging on the double bars on a nonexistent slab near the hotsprings. As they swing down and their shoulder blades rotate up, I go face first down below the old farm plow axle that is grinding and if the tension loosens and the muscles are wrung free, a bridle made of leather straps and metal rings pulls out cleanly and hangs on the pole. This pole with the bridle where tension is pulled through the wringer to be broken again and again like three muscles in a bond that secures foundation but builds stress and carries tension is Taurus.

THE ORIGIN OF SIN

UNCONSCIOUS REPRESSION

I see a bottomless pit and hear my Grandma's voice whispering loudly, "SSSHHHH! You don't want to wake Nagy Papa" as a pig's head emerges from the darkness within the pit. It is Satan. "Big Daddy". It is my grandpa. 

Then I see the seasonal flocks of poultry running down the wash in the desert. Quails, turkey, and hens too. 

Then comes the pack of wolves eating the livestock (poultry and cattle). They ravage the bones and I see the old-fashioned mechanical farm equipment that reaps the crop from underneath. The rusted axle and blades sheering death for the pioneers to survive the winter (this is timed following the bison wind from the Taurus in the fall). It is the great reaping of nature and farming in order for humans not to starve. It is brutal and grotesque... Then gets worse. 

At the end of the wash is a tiled bathroom in ruins (there is a floor, no ceiling and two walls remaining but the tiles inside remaining are intact). There are plumbing pipes inside but where the sink should be, there is a goose whose throat makes the lower portion of the sink plumbing. It is being force fed to plumpen it up. Where a bathtub should be, sits a swine being formed. How? I don't know as I abandon this thought everytime it happens because it is horrific and disgusting. 

Background thoughts of beastiality creep up my spine and so I do not want to know or want to understand the "origin of sin". But it entails some manmade unnatural formation of pigs by force feeding them lard and fat while removing their ability to sweat so the salty brine pools up in their fatty skin layers causing them to plumpen up and bloat.... Idk. But again, I dont want to know.

ABANDONED EGO

PLUMBING OF THE MIND BLOWN

I find myself wondering about perception. My train of thought goes as follows:

Viewpoint→ Point of view→ Who's point of view?

At this point I find myself inside of a glass lightbulb and a big burly fat clown stares at me crosseyed poking at me with a pin. Then I experience an explosion from the inside. Everything goes white. I see a cartoon cityscape somewhere between the Simpson's and Hey! Arnold in style. In the back right corner there is a white water tower shaped like a blimp. On it reads "Google" and it becomes devastatingly clear that god is in fact the enemy of mind by portraying a good guy but imprisons brains by limiting our view of an actual infinite sky. Again he world blows up. This is catastrophic so to survive my mind being blown up I rewind by scene skipping back to the beginning. 

Viewpoint→ Point of view→ But who's point of view?→Trapped in the lightbulb again→ pointed at→ explosion.  

This repeats over and over and over until I manage to flush it down the drain.

I am falling down, out and through a metal kitchen sink drain hole that seems to be floating in midair unattached to any plumbing pipes. I fall through this empty white void facing upward watching the hole from beneath the underside of the sink get further and further away. I fall spiraling around a long drain stopper chain that dangles freely from the sink drain hole without the plug allowing me to see up inside the sink drain hole.

Then I see a hat like the Hogwarts sorting hat from Harry Potter and it is has large huge pupil glassy eyes crying. It becomes apparent that the hat is a helpless child abandoned by a red and white snap back trucker style ball cap with a bill. The helpless crying hat sucks its thumb like a toddler whose dad left them alone but for whatever mysterious reason never returned. They are ALONE.

I see that the trucker hat is somehow also a red and white bouy plunger thing bobbing up and down... I can hear a lever plugging and unplugging as water empties out and immediately rushes to fill again. The buoy keeps the water at a certain level to avoid over filling by plugging and unplugging a plunger who somehow must be the thumb sucking abandoned toddler hat.

This must be the flushing mechanism inside the tank of a toilet. The sound of the bobber and lever lingers...

...as I fall from the sink drain again... and again... 

This is ego death.

ANNOYING PEST

PHYSICAL REMNANTS OF CONSCIOUSNESS

I view that trucker ball cap linked to an annoyance in the corner of my periphery like an unseen mosquito buzzing in the corner of the room. I am inside a nearly empty stale trailer in the desert following the end of the world. There is a nightstand in the trailer and on it sits an ashtray empty of cigarette butts or ash other than the ash gunk that grimes up on the bottom over time. Smoke rises from the empty old caked up ash somehow forms the shape of a mustache (the kind on a stick) on the face of harvestman daddy long leg make of lint, dust, or smoke. He is over a million years old and brittle, about to fall apart. He is someone's grandpa and for some reason its apparent that he is from China. 

Beside the ashtray on the nightstand is a thin piece of tin bent enough that the slightest breeze teeters it back and forth tapping on the nightstand in the most irritating fashion. In the background I hear static from residual AM radio and very faintly NoBuddy's voice making indistinguishable speech alternating with the buzzing mosquito sound. 

Everything has turned to static and dust.

FUCK! My brain is still ON.