Silk Road forums
Discussion => Security => Topic started by: barnum4141 on June 06, 2012, 11:08 pm
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I sure feel like the cops are going to come bashing down my door any minute now given this fucking police state we live in, despite the fact that logically I know the likelihood of this happening for a relatively tiny personal use amount is just about nil.
Does everybody feel this way during their first order? The package is here...just sitting there. Is hyper-paranoia pretty much the standard (healthy?) response?
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I sure feel like the cops are going to come bashing down my door any minute now given this fucking police state we live in, despite the fact that logically I know the likelihood of this happening for a relatively tiny personal use amount is just about nil.
Does everybody feel this way during their first order? The package is here...just sitting there. Is hyper-paranoia pretty much the standard (healthy?) response?
Yes.
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I wasn't anxious one bit - I was excited ;)
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It was more like a feeling of shock.
I still can't believe this place is for real, and delivers.
I kept my first packaging around for a while, I was just in complete awe.
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Re: Is it normal to want to vomit from anxiety after your first order?
ahh, that brings back memories ;D
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Somehow I knew I didn't need to worry since there was the feedback system and forums, it just seemed natural to order.
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I sure feel like the cops are going to come bashing down my door any minute now given this fucking police state we live in, despite the fact that logically I know the likelihood of this happening for a relatively tiny personal use amount is just about nil.
Does everybody feel this way during their first order? The package is here...just sitting there. Is hyper-paranoia pretty much the standard (healthy?) response?
You are a pussy and unworthy of drugs obtained via the Silk Road. Actually, you're a stupid pussy if you just leave the fucking package hanging out like, "Hey -- look at me officers! I'm probably the item scribbled down on your search warrant. Can you believe how fucking dumb the target of your investigation was to just leave his dick waving in the wind like this?"
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I spent a good few months researching everything I could think of involved with making an SR purchase (Tor, Bitcoin, and different encryption methods), then piecing the knowledge together into what I felt was a complete picture, from order to reception, with ways to handle issues in every step of the process.
I was still a little anxious after the first order. Was definitely MORE anxious after the 420 sale, since I place several orders at once.
Don't worry about it; a little bit of fear will keep you on your toes about security.
Keep in mind your security process should be a set of rational, predetermined steps, carried out calmly.
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u sure it wasn't something you ate?
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I was nervous until I actually started using it, and then I was like "Chiiiiilllllll Winston mon" 8)
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After u consumed it, yes.
Or rather you will vomit.
If it is brown, for sure, coke maybe.
But only the first few times of heroin use.
But no vomit tendencies before consumption.
Just ordering doesn't do that trick.
Ordering is not on the top list of the police, selling is worse.
And if the police arrives in the same time as package, there must have been made a very big mistake then...is it not?
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It was more like a feeling of shock.
I still can't believe this place is for real, and delivers.
I kept my first packaging around for a while, I was just in complete awe.
It was pretty awe inspiring after first package is sitting there and you know what it contains before opening it.
I don't think about it and let it get delivered and check the box a day or so after. Or I go right after it gets there when I just have a serious feeling it's there.
I dig the best parts of the community.
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The whole thing is quite surreal, just that this exists. It's not entirely rational, but I figure paranoia keeps me on my toes!
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Shit i'm always fucking anxious when i wait for drugs in the mail !! But weed help me relax a bit.. once i get my package i pass from anxiety to supreme happiness :D
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I always want to vomit from anxiety. I guess that's what the Xanax is for
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Nervously look up and down my street when checking my letterbox ready to leg it at any moment. Get package, run upstairs and hide it. Decide its too good to hide so take it out and look at it while I jump up and down excitedly.
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Nervously look up and down my street when checking my letterbox ready to leg it at any moment. Get package, run upstairs and hide it. Decide its too good to hide so take it out and look at it while I jump up and down excitedly.
Tiny droplets of drool drip onto my hands as I excitedly fumble with the packaging...
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Nervously look up and down my street when checking my letterbox ready to leg it at any moment. Get package, run upstairs and hide it. Decide its too good to hide so take it out and look at it while I jump up and down excitedly.
Tiny droplets of drool drip onto my hands as I excitedly fumble with the packaging...
A feeling of immeasurable anxiousness sweeps down my spine and every moment is committed to memory in great detail, the way people talk about where they were during 9/11. I begin to tear the package apart, layer by layer, wondering what specific role each part plays in keeping my order discrete...
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Chill out dude. 60+ transactions here and everythings worked out fine. The seizure rate is probably something like 0.001%, if that.
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I would freak out at every white van i see lol
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If you're really paranoid, as soon as you get the package, take it inside and write "RETURN TO SENDER" on it. Then leave it and wait a while. That way if you get busted you've got plausible deniability.
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Nervously look up and down my street when checking my letterbox ready to leg it at any moment. Get package, run upstairs and hide it. Decide its too good to hide so take it out and look at it while I jump up and down excitedly.
Tiny droplets of drool drip onto my hands as I excitedly fumble with the packaging...
A feeling of immeasurable anxiousness sweeps down my spine and every moment is committed to memory in great detail, the way people talk about where they were during 9/11. I begin to tear the package apart, layer by layer, wondering what specific role each part plays in keeping my order discrete...
After what seems like hours of peeling this onion of a parcel apart, a glimmer of light reflects off of a tiny ziplock bag and temporarily blinds me. My hands feel damp with sweat as my vision returns...
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Guess you're all in the usa?
The only thing i would worry about is being scammed really. Then again living in holland has the benefit of noone caring much if you were to have an ounce of coke dropped in your mailbox :)
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Nervously look up and down my street when checking my letterbox ready to leg it at any moment. Get package, run upstairs and hide it. Decide its too good to hide so take it out and look at it while I jump up and down excitedly.
Tiny droplets of drool drip onto my hands as I excitedly fumble with the packaging...
A feeling of immeasurable anxiousness sweeps down my spine and every moment is committed to memory in great detail, the way people talk about where they were during 9/11. I begin to tear the package apart, layer by layer, wondering what specific role each part plays in keeping my order discrete...
After what seems like hours of peeling this onion of a parcel apart, a glimmer of light reflects off of a tiny ziplock bag and temporarily blinds me. My hands feel damp with sweat as my vision returns...
Upon first sight of the item in question, it somewhat resembled the picture on the website, but it wasn't quite as I had imagined. Nevertheless, nervously, I remember to lock the door. Wouldn't want to get caught engaging in something so taboo.
Inspecting the product quality I see that I got what I expected to get. I am simply dumbfounded that this experiment seems to have prevailed. But I can't shake the feeling of paranoia that comes when something too good to be true, actually seems to be true. Like a lemming being led off a cliff, I can't help but feel as though I'm walking into a trap.
But the potential rewards are too much to ignore...
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OP does bring back a very memorable time. My first was a gram of molly that was basically two crystals......I had never (And haven't since) seen anything like it.
I would suggest developing your own personal protocol/code and stick with it. Having a rational thought process of risk vs. benefit, a few scenarios with contingency plans tends to help my anxiety. Also, keeping the amphetamine and coke a minimum.
Fight the urge to tell your friends. If any happen to sample your treasure, I guarantee you will be getting a lot of questions.
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I still get a little nervous. I feel awesome when it gets here though. Especially this good ass og kush I got from the sadie lady not too long ago.
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So? Are you in prison already?
Remember not to drop the soap!
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Nervously look up and down my street when checking my letterbox ready to leg it at any moment. Get package, run upstairs and hide it. Decide its too good to hide so take it out and look at it while I jump up and down excitedly.
Tiny droplets of drool drip onto my hands as I excitedly fumble with the packaging...
A feeling of immeasurable anxiousness sweeps down my spine and every moment is committed to memory in great detail, the way people talk about where they were during 9/11. I begin to tear the package apart, layer by layer, wondering what specific role each part plays in keeping my order discrete...
After what seems like hours of peeling this onion of a parcel apart, a glimmer of light reflects off of a tiny ziplock bag and temporarily blinds me. My hands feel damp with sweat as my vision returns...
Upon first sight of the item in question, it somewhat resembled the picture on the website, but it wasn't quite as I had imagined. Nevertheless, nervously, I remember to lock the door. Wouldn't want to get caught engaging in something so taboo.
Inspecting the product quality I see that I got what I expected to get. I am simply dumbfounded that this experiment seems to have prevailed. But I can't shake the feeling of paranoia that comes when something too good to be true, actually seems to be true. Like a lemming being led off a cliff, I can't help but feel as though I'm walking into a trap.
But the potential rewards are too much to ignore...
As I inspect the product a shimmer of emerald light refracts through a rogue crystal in the most North Westerly corner of the bag. Suggestive of elven magik, the light beam warps the fabric of space time, so that I see beginning and end, the alpha and omega. The crystal rests back to a state of matter, reveling in the dark currents and fractal dances contained in its molecular sub-environments. As the slow hum of the crystal beam lessens, and the tracers of love and light left by its manifestation finally wane, I am struck by the naked, beautiful truth. There was no crystal, only the bag.
-
Nervously look up and down my street when checking my letterbox ready to leg it at any moment. Get package, run upstairs and hide it. Decide its too good to hide so take it out and look at it while I jump up and down excitedly.
Tiny droplets of drool drip onto my hands as I excitedly fumble with the packaging...
A feeling of immeasurable anxiousness sweeps down my spine and every moment is committed to memory in great detail, the way people talk about where they were during 9/11. I begin to tear the package apart, layer by layer, wondering what specific role each part plays in keeping my order discrete...
After what seems like hours of peeling this onion of a parcel apart, a glimmer of light reflects off of a tiny ziplock bag and temporarily blinds me. My hands feel damp with sweat as my vision returns...
Upon first sight of the item in question, it somewhat resembled the picture on the website, but it wasn't quite as I had imagined. Nevertheless, nervously, I remember to lock the door. Wouldn't want to get caught engaging in something so taboo.
Inspecting the product quality I see that I got what I expected to get. I am simply dumbfounded that this experiment seems to have prevailed. But I can't shake the feeling of paranoia that comes when something too good to be true, actually seems to be true. Like a lemming being led off a cliff, I can't help but feel as though I'm walking into a trap.
But the potential rewards are too much to ignore...
As I inspect the product a shimmer of emerald light refracts through a rogue crystal in the most North Westerly corner of the bag. Suggestive of elven magik, the light beam warps the fabric of space time, so that I see beginning and end, the alpha and omega. The crystal rests back to a state of matter, reveling in the dark currents and fractal dances contained in its molecular sub-environments. As the slow hum of the crystal beam lessens, and the tracers of love and light left by its manifestation finally wane, I am struck by the naked, beautiful truth. There was no crystal, only the bag.
My heart is now racing, reminiscent of the rhythmic, trance-inducing tribal drum circles whose origins are closely related to the magical substance contained inside this modern-day prison of a plastic bag. The hint of a smirk splashes over my face as I consider the irony of this century-old shamanistic substance being manufactured in high-tech laboratories, passing through dozens of mechanical mail-sorting devices, venturing over the deep oceans via airplane and being delivered to a tiny mailbox in a quiet suburban town.
The beating of my heart grows more intense the longer I stare at the bag I have just discovered. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, growing ever more intense as I begin to take notice of it...
-
Nervously look up and down my street when checking my letterbox ready to leg it at any moment. Get package, run upstairs and hide it. Decide its too good to hide so take it out and look at it while I jump up and down excitedly.
Tiny droplets of drool drip onto my hands as I excitedly fumble with the packaging...
A feeling of immeasurable anxiousness sweeps down my spine and every moment is committed to memory in great detail, the way people talk about where they were during 9/11. I begin to tear the package apart, layer by layer, wondering what specific role each part plays in keeping my order discrete...
After what seems like hours of peeling this onion of a parcel apart, a glimmer of light reflects off of a tiny ziplock bag and temporarily blinds me. My hands feel damp with sweat as my vision returns...
Upon first sight of the item in question, it somewhat resembled the picture on the website, but it wasn't quite as I had imagined. Nevertheless, nervously, I remember to lock the door. Wouldn't want to get caught engaging in something so taboo.
Inspecting the product quality I see that I got what I expected to get. I am simply dumbfounded that this experiment seems to have prevailed. But I can't shake the feeling of paranoia that comes when something too good to be true, actually seems to be true. Like a lemming being led off a cliff, I can't help but feel as though I'm walking into a trap.
But the potential rewards are too much to ignore...
As I inspect the product a shimmer of emerald light refracts through a rogue crystal in the most North Westerly corner of the bag. Suggestive of elven magik, the light beam warps the fabric of space time, so that I see beginning and end, the alpha and omega. The crystal rests back to a state of matter, reveling in the dark currents and fractal dances contained in its molecular sub-environments. As the slow hum of the crystal beam lessens, and the tracers of love and light left by its manifestation finally wane, I am struck by the naked, beautiful truth. There was no crystal, only the bag.
My heart is now racing, reminiscent of the rhythmic, trance-inducing tribal drum circles whose origins are closely related to the magical substance contained inside this modern-day prison of a plastic bag. The hint of a smirk splashes over my face as I consider the irony of this century-old shamanistic substance being manufactured in high-tech laboratories, passing through dozens of mechanical mail-sorting devices, venturing over the deep oceans via airplane and being delivered to a tiny mailbox in a quiet suburban town.
The beating of my heart grows more intense the longer I stare at the bag I have just discovered. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, growing ever more intense as I begin to take notice of it...
Suddenly the heart beat ceases. And I stand up again, a little dizzy, not realizing I had even sat down. This is the hardest I've ever tripped in my life. I have now completely forgotten about the paranoia from a minute ago. It's been a half hour since I opened the package but I swear to god it has felt like 3 hours so far. I can't even remember dosing. Is it possible to trip from touching the bag?
Maybe it's a magical bag. Maybe this drug is a way to talk to god. Maybe me not being able to remember there ever being drugs in this bag is god's way of telling me my life can be fulfilling even if it seems like I have nothing. It doesn't sound like much, but at the time this was a real epiphany for me. It moved me to tears, and as I'm crying I start to burst out laughing simultaneously. I am completely unsure of what emotions I'm feeling. I think this is what it would feel like if you were somehow able to chemically combine emotions into new emotions, instead of experiencing them concurrently.
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You guys are really good writers.
As soon I get karma I'm going to come to this thread and plus one everybody.
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Nervously look up and down my street when checking my letterbox ready to leg it at any moment. Get package, run upstairs and hide it. Decide its too good to hide so take it out and look at it while I jump up and down excitedly.
Tiny droplets of drool drip onto my hands as I excitedly fumble with the packaging...
A feeling of immeasurable anxiousness sweeps down my spine and every moment is committed to memory in great detail, the way people talk about where they were during 9/11. I begin to tear the package apart, layer by layer, wondering what specific role each part plays in keeping my order discrete...
After what seems like hours of peeling this onion of a parcel apart, a glimmer of light reflects off of a tiny ziplock bag and temporarily blinds me. My hands feel damp with sweat as my vision returns...
Upon first sight of the item in question, it somewhat resembled the picture on the website, but it wasn't quite as I had imagined. Nevertheless, nervously, I remember to lock the door. Wouldn't want to get caught engaging in something so taboo.
Inspecting the product quality I see that I got what I expected to get. I am simply dumbfounded that this experiment seems to have prevailed. But I can't shake the feeling of paranoia that comes when something too good to be true, actually seems to be true. Like a lemming being led off a cliff, I can't help but feel as though I'm walking into a trap.
But the potential rewards are too much to ignore...
As I inspect the product a shimmer of emerald light refracts through a rogue crystal in the most North Westerly corner of the bag. Suggestive of elven magik, the light beam warps the fabric of space time, so that I see beginning and end, the alpha and omega. The crystal rests back to a state of matter, reveling in the dark currents and fractal dances contained in its molecular sub-environments. As the slow hum of the crystal beam lessens, and the tracers of love and light left by its manifestation finally wane, I am struck by the naked, beautiful truth. There was no crystal, only the bag.
My heart is now racing, reminiscent of the rhythmic, trance-inducing tribal drum circles whose origins are closely related to the magical substance contained inside this modern-day prison of a plastic bag. The hint of a smirk splashes over my face as I consider the irony of this century-old shamanistic substance being manufactured in high-tech laboratories, passing through dozens of mechanical mail-sorting devices, venturing over the deep oceans via airplane and being delivered to a tiny mailbox in a quiet suburban town.
The beating of my heart grows more intense the longer I stare at the bag I have just discovered. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, growing ever more intense as I begin to take notice of it...
Suddenly the heart beat ceases. And I stand up again, a little dizzy, not realizing I had even sat down. This is the hardest I've ever tripped in my life. I have now completely forgotten about the paranoia from a minute ago. It's been a half hour since I opened the package but I swear to god it has felt like 3 hours so far. I can't even remember dosing. Is it possible to trip from touching the bag?
Maybe it's a magical bag. Maybe this drug is a way to talk to god. Maybe me not being able to remember there ever being drugs in this bag is god's way of telling me my life can be fulfilling even if it seems like I have nothing. It doesn't sound like much, but at the time this was a real epiphany for me. It moved me to tears, and as I'm crying I start to burst out laughing simultaneously. I am completely unsure of what emotions I'm feeling. I think this is what it would feel like if you were somehow able to chemically combine emotions into new emotions, instead of experiencing them concurrently.
A million questions race through my mind: could this REALLY be a magical bag? Could this actually be raw emotions packaged with care inside a tiny plastic bag? Did the vendor who shipped this actually find a way to SYNTHESIZE raw human emotions? Think of the worldy applications of such a synthesis! War and terrorism and violent crime could be eliminated with the power of laboratory synthesized feelings of good! The psychiatric applications could be phenomenal! I feel like I need to tell the world about this bag! However, a flash of paranoia quickly squashes any such feelings.
My mind returns to the thought of the bag itself being magical. My tears have dried and my mouth hangs open slightly in wonderment. Can this bag be a sentient being? Can it think and feel and communicate? What other visions of enlightenment can this bag offer?
[i haven't role played like this in years, thanks everyone who has contributed!]
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Nervously look up and down my street when checking my letterbox ready to leg it at any moment. Get package, run upstairs and hide it. Decide its too good to hide so take it out and look at it while I jump up and down excitedly.
Tiny droplets of drool drip onto my hands as I excitedly fumble with the packaging...
A feeling of immeasurable anxiousness sweeps down my spine and every moment is committed to memory in great detail, the way people talk about where they were during 9/11. I begin to tear the package apart, layer by layer, wondering what specific role each part plays in keeping my order discrete...
After what seems like hours of peeling this onion of a parcel apart, a glimmer of light reflects off of a tiny ziplock bag and temporarily blinds me. My hands feel damp with sweat as my vision returns...
Upon first sight of the item in question, it somewhat resembled the picture on the website, but it wasn't quite as I had imagined. Nevertheless, nervously, I remember to lock the door. Wouldn't want to get caught engaging in something so taboo.
Inspecting the product quality I see that I got what I expected to get. I am simply dumbfounded that this experiment seems to have prevailed. But I can't shake the feeling of paranoia that comes when something too good to be true, actually seems to be true. Like a lemming being led off a cliff, I can't help but feel as though I'm walking into a trap.
But the potential rewards are too much to ignore...
As I inspect the product a shimmer of emerald light refracts through a rogue crystal in the most North Westerly corner of the bag. Suggestive of elven magik, the light beam warps the fabric of space time, so that I see beginning and end, the alpha and omega. The crystal rests back to a state of matter, reveling in the dark currents and fractal dances contained in its molecular sub-environments. As the slow hum of the crystal beam lessens, and the tracers of love and light left by its manifestation finally wane, I am struck by the naked, beautiful truth. There was no crystal, only the bag.
My heart is now racing, reminiscent of the rhythmic, trance-inducing tribal drum circles whose origins are closely related to the magical substance contained inside this modern-day prison of a plastic bag. The hint of a smirk splashes over my face as I consider the irony of this century-old shamanistic substance being manufactured in high-tech laboratories, passing through dozens of mechanical mail-sorting devices, venturing over the deep oceans via airplane and being delivered to a tiny mailbox in a quiet suburban town.
The beating of my heart grows more intense the longer I stare at the bag I have just discovered. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, growing ever more intense as I begin to take notice of it...
Suddenly the heart beat ceases. And I stand up again, a little dizzy, not realizing I had even sat down. This is the hardest I've ever tripped in my life. I have now completely forgotten about the paranoia from a minute ago. It's been a half hour since I opened the package but I swear to god it has felt like 3 hours so far. I can't even remember dosing. Is it possible to trip from touching the bag?
Maybe it's a magical bag. Maybe this drug is a way to talk to god. Maybe me not being able to remember there ever being drugs in this bag is god's way of telling me my life can be fulfilling even if it seems like I have nothing. It doesn't sound like much, but at the time this was a real epiphany for me. It moved me to tears, and as I'm crying I start to burst out laughing simultaneously. I am completely unsure of what emotions I'm feeling. I think this is what it would feel like if you were somehow able to chemically combine emotions into new emotions, instead of experiencing them concurrently.
As I glance away from the bag, Voldemort approaches. Sullied and soiled by the toils of war, my heart racing, the lascivious beat of death and doom echoing in its cacophonous rapture through my soul and all that I am... I reach for my wand. A glimmer of light tugs at my awareness, as I glance over to see the moon pass sweetly behind a veil of clouds, as if by some divine irony and poetic justice, the universe knows my fate and decrees that my light must too decrease. "AVADA KEDAVRA!!!!" I hear in serpent like tones, emanating from behind me. I am struck by this final, fatal reality, the apotheoses of my life, dawned into this single moment, as I begin to fade away. As the light dims, and my senses wilt, I catch a final gaze upon the night sky, as I drift into the unconscious realms...
As I open my eyes the room around me begins to present itself, my vision clears, my identity returns.. as I look down at the bowl of vaporized DMT currently sitting in my lap. To my right.. the hastily opened packaging from minutes before, shouts at me as though a relic from the past, yet a reminder of who I always was. I think back to my trip.. how I began to fade.. how I felt the pangs of death and my call for answers, decay with their demise, and softly wane to nil.. As I look out of the window and stare towards the night sky.. the majesty of the moment hits me, as the moon.. in a movement worthy of Chaucer, in almost Shamanic justice, retreats again behind the veil of clouds.
And later.. as time passed.. and I lived on and breathed and bled the air, that pale white disc forever etched into my mind's eye, it's true dimensions betrayed by the lie of perspective, and the void in which it rests, warped by its mass and density.. I summoned my final breath.. That image recurring, forever meaningful, forever poetic, resonating somehow with the story of my life, the visions I created, and the ones I could not, I am lastly detained by my final, unerring thought... as out from behind the veil of clouds I finally drift, a life of shifting sand and darkness, for into the light I depart and weep, what oceans and dreams I am about to leave, forever resting behind the veil.. As finally.. that pale white disc presents itself again, valiant, defiant, glaring in the eye of my inner mind.. Only to realise.. the moon never moved, it was only the cloud.
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Nervously look up and down my street when checking my letterbox ready to leg it at any moment. Get package, run upstairs and hide it. Decide its too good to hide so take it out and look at it while I jump up and down excitedly.
Tiny droplets of drool drip onto my hands as I excitedly fumble with the packaging...
A feeling of immeasurable anxiousness sweeps down my spine and every moment is committed to memory in great detail, the way people talk about where they were during 9/11. I begin to tear the package apart, layer by layer, wondering what specific role each part plays in keeping my order discrete...
After what seems like hours of peeling this onion of a parcel apart, a glimmer of light reflects off of a tiny ziplock bag and temporarily blinds me. My hands feel damp with sweat as my vision returns...
Upon first sight of the item in question, it somewhat resembled the picture on the website, but it wasn't quite as I had imagined. Nevertheless, nervously, I remember to lock the door. Wouldn't want to get caught engaging in something so taboo.
Inspecting the product quality I see that I got what I expected to get. I am simply dumbfounded that this experiment seems to have prevailed. But I can't shake the feeling of paranoia that comes when something too good to be true, actually seems to be true. Like a lemming being led off a cliff, I can't help but feel as though I'm walking into a trap.
But the potential rewards are too much to ignore...
As I inspect the product a shimmer of emerald light refracts through a rogue crystal in the most North Westerly corner of the bag. Suggestive of elven magik, the light beam warps the fabric of space time, so that I see beginning and end, the alpha and omega. The crystal rests back to a state of matter, reveling in the dark currents and fractal dances contained in its molecular sub-environments. As the slow hum of the crystal beam lessens, and the tracers of love and light left by its manifestation finally wane, I am struck by the naked, beautiful truth. There was no crystal, only the bag.
My heart is now racing, reminiscent of the rhythmic, trance-inducing tribal drum circles whose origins are closely related to the magical substance contained inside this modern-day prison of a plastic bag. The hint of a smirk splashes over my face as I consider the irony of this century-old shamanistic substance being manufactured in high-tech laboratories, passing through dozens of mechanical mail-sorting devices, venturing over the deep oceans via airplane and being delivered to a tiny mailbox in a quiet suburban town.
The beating of my heart grows more intense the longer I stare at the bag I have just discovered. I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, growing ever more intense as I begin to take notice of it...
Suddenly the heart beat ceases. And I stand up again, a little dizzy, not realizing I had even sat down. This is the hardest I've ever tripped in my life. I have now completely forgotten about the paranoia from a minute ago. It's been a half hour since I opened the package but I swear to god it has felt like 3 hours so far. I can't even remember dosing. Is it possible to trip from touching the bag?
Maybe it's a magical bag. Maybe this drug is a way to talk to god. Maybe me not being able to remember there ever being drugs in this bag is god's way of telling me my life can be fulfilling even if it seems like I have nothing. It doesn't sound like much, but at the time this was a real epiphany for me. It moved me to tears, and as I'm crying I start to burst out laughing simultaneously. I am completely unsure of what emotions I'm feeling. I think this is what it would feel like if you were somehow able to chemically combine emotions into new emotions, instead of experiencing them concurrently.
As I glance away from the bag, Voldemort approaches. Sullied and soiled by the toils of war, my heart racing, the lascivious beat of death and doom echoing in its cacophonous rapture through my soul and all that I am... I reach for my wand. A glimmer of light tugs at my awareness, as I glance over to see the moon pass sweetly behind a veil of clouds, as if by some divine irony and poetic justice, the universe knows my fate and decrees that my light must too decrease. "AVADA KEDAVRA!!!!" I hear in serpent like tones, emanating from behind me. I am struck by this final, fatal reality, the apotheoses of my life, dawned into this single moment, as I begin to fade away. As the light dims, and my senses wilt, I catch a final gaze upon the night sky, as I drift into the unconscious realms...
As I open my eyes the room around me begins to present itself, my vision clears, my identity returns.. as I look down at the bowl of vaporized DMT currently sitting in my lap. To my right.. the hastily opened packaging from minutes before, shouts at me as though a relic from the past, yet a reminder of who I always was. I think back to my trip.. how I began to fade.. how I felt the pangs of death and my call for answers, decay with their demise, and softly wane to nil.. As I look out of the window and stare towards the night sky.. the majesty of the moment hits me, as the moon.. in a movement worthy of Chaucer, in almost Shamanic justice, retreats again behind the veil of clouds.
And later.. as time passed.. and I lived on and breathed and bled the air, that pale white disc forever etched into my mind's eye, it's true dimensions betrayed by the lie of perspective, and the void in which it rests, warped by its mass and density.. I summoned my final breath.. That image recurring, forever meaningful, forever poetic, resonating somehow with the story of my life, the visions I created, and the ones I could not, I am lastly detained by my final, unerring thought... as out from behind the veil of clouds I finally drift, a life of shifting sand and darkness, for into the light I depart and weep, what oceans and dreams I am about to leave, forever resting behind the veil.. As finally.. that pale white disc presents itself again, valiant, defiant, glaring in the eye of my inner mind.. Only to realise.. the moon never moved, it was only the cloud.
My voice cracks as I utter a single word into my empty room: "wow..". This was nothing like the last time I tried DMT that I bought from a friend-of-a-friend-of-a-friend's second cousin who was in town for a Phish concert. The visuals were so frighteningly lifelike, yet seductively exotic. I witnessed myself, convinced I was the mythical wizard, savior of all things good on earth, battling against my dark foe who emanated evil and impurity as he tried to transform me into just another one of his many minions of hell.
"This shit is crazy", I thought to myself as I stared at the bag, whose contents I had barely made a dent in. I begin contemplating doing another bowl of these crazy Deemsters when I realize I had been holding my breath. How long has it been since I breathed, I wonder. As I begin to exhale I taste the familiar DMT and a fairly large plume of smoke engulfs my room. Here we go again...
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Bump for more role playing.
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ooooooooh? it was DMT we were talking about???
I was imagining an as yet undiscovered wonder-drug that's perfect in every way because it adapts itself to the way you prefer to get high, because the mind can metabolize it.
coincidentally, I'm getting some DMT soon to try for the first time ever, so now you guys have got me super pumped.