Everything in here was profoundly beautiful, friendly at it felt very safe. We made our way along the path which forked twice and emerged onto a grassy lawn on the side of the river where there is a statue of Saint Vladimir, a prince of Kiev who first converted the Russians to Christianity over a millennium ago. The statue is stern-faced, bearded and is holding up the Orthodox cross and the Bible in his outstretched arms, as if for the masses he is converting. As we looked at him he seemed to tremble with a mighty energy and soon was wreathed in a fiery glow.
We stood there in awe for a time and then, after maybe fifteen minutes, headed back through the gully, walking for what seemed ages, but was probably only five minutes. We once again stopped at the bamboo grove, which we felt had some sort of spiritual power and seemed almost conscious. Emerging back on the playing fields we walked over the marquee that mysteriously stood on the far side.
Seeing a gap in the side we slipped under the flap and were inside. It was set up like a cocktail bar, but was devoid of a single person. A strong wind was blowing and the entire marquee seemed to tremble. Soon not just the walls and the roof were shaking, but the ground too, as if it were liquid and we were miraculously walking on it. Looking along the length of the marquee we saw several machines of some description located at the far end and Claire insisted on walking towards them, but I could see them melting away into black slime, which became the fate of the entire far end of the tent and I suggested we leave.
We reached the back of the theatre, where the names of every play are spray-painted on the plain brick wall, graffiti-style. In the bottom of the overhanging deck above I could see a crack and as I watched it, the area around it started to darken and the crack spread and began dripping the black slime of before. Judging that the building had a cancer we once again moved on, though through morbid curiosity I continually looked back at the wall and the crack.
Soon we were walking back through the main area of campus, which was strewn with fallen jacaranda petals. These seemed to glow brilliant purples and carpeted everything. The couches were like jelly and the circles on the fabric expanded, contracted, blinked and occasionally burst like bubbles. I soon discovered the bar had been closed whilst we sat there and we exited, electing to take a ferry to Southbank to ride the Ferris wheel there.
The boat ride was superb and the buildings and trees on the shoreline danced and everything seemed to have a beautiful, serene aura as the sun set. By now it was about three and a half hours since we had dropped the first time and I judged the second dose was now starting to kick in as the first maintained its plateau. This amplified the experience immensely and the ride up river, with the strong, cool breeze and the setting sun was absolutely perfect. Soon we reached Southbank and felt like we had arrived in some sort of carnival.
Though it was a Wednesday night the whole city seemed to be alive and thriving. We strolled through the rainforest garden walkways and stopped briefly to smoke another cigarette before going on the wheel. Strangely we found staring into the mechanical workings of the wheel itself more interesting than the spectacular view of the city it afforded at its highest point. After a few rotations we became confused and wondered whether we had to disembark ourselves or it would stop.
Finally we went to catch a bus back to my house, pausing once again to smoke in King George Square where we looked at City Hall and the giant Christmas Tree. At this point the second dose was peaking, though the peak was far less vivid than that of the first. Whilst we were waiting at the bus station a little while later the black specks in the floor tiles began to grow and spill out and ooze up, finally transforming into thousands upon thousands of tiny bristling spikes which I felt might penetrate the sole of my shoe if I did not get my feet off the ground.
Claire experienced the exact same sensation and lifted up her feet too. At last we had sex. I did find that smoking cigarettes seemed to briefly invigorate the acid experience, but the effect was very short-lived. Overall it was a profoundly enjoyable experience and even the unsavoury things I saw seemed less horrifying and more morbidly fascinating in a cerebral sense. I do not think it is a thing to be feared, as so many do. Claire said she enjoyed her first experience immensely and is keen to do it again, possibly at a considerably higher dose next time.
But at this time I wanted to go out from his apartment, and so we did. Just to walk felt like a life-task if you know what I mean. I felt like a marionette on my own without the ropes. Still this felt quite funny. There was nothing in the world that could have scared me at that moment. I was the strongest man alive. I didn't really cared about anything. Nothing felt important, still everything felt funny in some kind of way.
The total freedom from anguish and fear was the highlight of the whole experience. And I'm a very neurotic, paranoid person normaly. Me and Flute were taking of from our older friends and headed for a party with our regular friends. At this time we had bought a bottle of Vodka that we had finished. Everything was really fucked up. Well, at this moment my relation with time ended and there are alot of gaps in my memory, but I'll do the best I can to get a picture of what happened next.
Well, we came to the party, now I know that it was a bad idea to go there. Well, that's not the case anyway. When I got in people were looking at me and laughing. Some in a 'What the hell is he doing' way and some in a 'Oh my God, he's totaly wasted' way. And they were so right. But at that time I couldn't understand it, I couldn't understand anything eccept that I wanted more beer and that I wanted to sit down and smoke a cigarette.
I don't know but I think I swallowed one more pill at this time. I sat down in a couch and relaxed. I guess I relaxed a little to much. I tried to place the beer on the table but missed it with about one meter. Everything were sooo sloow in my head. I could hear people talking about me and with me, but I couldn't care about them. I just wanted to smoke my cigarette. When I stub out the cigarette I missed the ashtray and did it on a walkman instead. People were screaming to me that I was doing something wrong.
And yes, they were right. So instead I did it right on the table. After that I started to dream with my eyes open, not those kind of dreams that are full of emotions and happenings.