Dreaming on LSD

Burnt brain. Nothing to say. Thought I could finally sleep. Closed my eyes, sure I was done. The most interesting things were to come. I first noticed it as sound - had white noise playing on speakers to help me sleep, quickly forgot it was white noise, seemed to contain every color in the spectrum, several off spectrum, seemed digitally altered in many ways at once, deeper, reverbous, thick, filling the room, foaming my head. Unusually bright inside, flexible beams, glowing, grids interwoven, and somewhere in there, the personality of the mind/chemical interaction, now remembered: a multiple personality, but each facet part of a consistent hyper-human aesthetic. There was the female, casually beautiful, face emerging from a frilly windowframe that had sprouted like a paisley flower. Long black hair, pale face, knowing smile. She could do no wrong, eye candy ambassador for acid. It was all an aesthetic unit, internally consistent, looked, sounded, felt like "acid", something sly, something that knew secrets but would not reveal them now, only show the edges, coloured contours, a veildance. Then there was the male, Mr. Tryptamine, dashing, devilish, an avatar I could wear if I was to climb a little, maybe a lot higher up the ladder. Someone so much more than me, with a grain of my personality, but a skyscraper above me, highrise to my dingy basement psychology. He wore an old west style hat, but he was of the future. Bathed in an orange sunrise hue. The two people mingled and melted together, the light lattice of beams did its kaleidocycle until I'd forgotten the situation of looking at hallucinations, and had fallen asleep in a seamless transition.

The visuals continued, except now I was completely immersed in them, and believing in them. Now I was engulfed in scenes, still engorged with that brightly colored multidimensional texture, like Louis Wain paintings animate and interacting with each other. These scenes contained people, of a sort. Striking personalities in outlandish costumes that embodied their souls. A forest chamber gathering, watching a conduit of churning blue bubbles. There were several entities with me, and all had strong and disparate personalities. These personalities were like no one I know, but I felt I knew them all well. They felt like family. A perpendicular stream fed into the conduit and seemed to be spawning versions of ourselves at regular intervals. Like it was an external womb. A young woman watched a version of herself gestate from the translucent womb-stream. It perfectly resembled a prototypical version of her, smaller and simpler, less defined. Some differences. It tumbled out of the stream and into the blue bubble conduit which then frothed a lighter shade. The creature flapped around, rapidly evolving into early artistic maturity, arranged itself in an upright position, and produced a cylinder of green light/sound that was a synesthetic song, perfectly individual, colored and textured that just-so shade of the character, which was a just-so distortion of the mother, a consistent extension of the spawn. Somebody told the mother not to be distressed that it wasn't a perfect copy. "We don't want perfect copies. Your child will go her own way. Her music will be her own. You're only the seed." Then another entity emerged from the womb stream, a male. It seemed to be based on me, I could see there was some seed of me in the design, but it had emerged as freakishly other, despite that seed being evident. It was mind-blowing. It produced a blue synesthetic song-beam, and I heard flavours of my musical idiom subsumed in some larger symphonic blast I could never have thought of. The thing disappeared in its own song and the whole florid flowing mess disappeared in the conduit. The conduit disappeared into an undulating wall of hexagonal tiles that seemed to breathe.

These tiles were being removed and re-attached here and there, according to some pattern I couldn't make sense of, by somebody on the other side, telekinetically. I got the sense that the person was Robert Anton Wilson, and also that the room on the other side of the wall was crowded - by people who weren't there physically, but mentally. The wall phased out enough that I could make out the face of someone who looked very much like goateed RAW, in his younger days. This person, with the simultaneously telepathic elaborative aid of two or three others, explained the room and the wall, and what it was all for, while the undulating phase in/out pattern continued. It felt like a huge epiphany, an understanding I could apply to every facet of life. Something about creating reality, which sounds cliché and meaningless expressed in words. It was more about the feeling of this activity, with the hexagonal wall embodying and illustrating. Like we were pushing on opposite sides of the wall with our minds, with certain mental tendrils here and there, like fingers, not with intent but with habit, fractal patterns of behavior. Varying pressure points would create different levels of reality, hallucination, enable options, preclude others. It had quantum implications. It was not so much a metaphor as gnosis, expressed visually, felt physically. A mental potency, an ability - and also acceptance, of this ebb and flow. The wall surged to total solidity. I could hear no one on the other side. I lost touch with them.

Many more visions flowed together. The only other scene I remember took place in a cavernous alley in some psychedelically stylized city block, on a ground-level staircase leading up to an apartment building. The architecture was a chaos of square blocks at different elevations. I was with a crowd of people. They all seemed like that acid entity - more human than human - very alive, personable, diverse, strongly defined characters, but also alien, hallucinogenic, multidimensional, and just fucking weird. One of them, a male, 30ish, was talking with me. He seemed cocky, but also respectful of me. At least, he was including me in his cocky coterie, like he drew vast swathes of coolness across the city and into his circle with an assured motion of his hand, that excluded people who didn't get it. Whatever it was, I can't remember. His face was shaped like a vertically elongated trapezoid. I looked into his eyes and saw mirror images of rainbows bleaching out into a white void toward the edges. I had an intense emotional reaction to those eyes. They seemed beautiful and hideous, they made my head ache. The guy knew exactly what I was thinking. He said that yes, we've all got the void inside us now, because we're part of the acid entity. He was talking about burnout. The emotion I got was that all this pretty psychedelia carried a terrible price, but that it was beautiful anyway, in context. He was like Faust firmly embracing the deal. I looked around at the hipster crowd on the steps. They all had those rainbow void-eyes. I thought and felt that this was horribly wrong and evil, but so beautiful. Like I could live with it, for now. Bare witness.