When I accidentally dropped acid

A strange & mystical case of the Mondays

Alas our writing meetup did not happen Sunday—after ICE’s brutal execution of a US citizen, I just couldn’t muster the mindset.

So instead of posting prompts & recap as planned, I’ll tell you what happened Monday afternoon, unplanned.

📝 Today a young man accidentally dropped acid…

That is to say—I ate the tabs very much on purpose. But the accident was, I didn’t expect it to work.

You see, I have no memory of where these tabs came from, who gave them to me, nor how long ago. They’ve been neatly wrapped in foil, hidden in a corner of my box o’ tricks for…five? ten? years now, waiting for some Right Time never come.

But today the entire box fell off my shelf…and after I finished cursing in tongues and gathered up the catastrophic scatter, I found the little lost square of folded foil and set it aside.

I thought surely by now the potency must’ve evaporated into the ether whence it came…but only one way to find out. And until then it constituted clutter. So I had to unsee it while deciding how/when to dispose of it.

👨‍💻 Writing with a purpose

My plan for the afternoon was to strap myself into my writing cockpit and leave behind the world’s chaos for a while. My mission: blow apart my novel outline and dogfight through a tricky narrative roadblock to ascertain what exactly the whole thing is about, underneath it all.

It was going great, a promising outline rolling out under my fingertips. Then a sunbeam crossed my desk, and a small glint there caught my magpie eye.

Well hell, why not? I could use a little creative jolt. With any luck, maybe a touch of magic still remained in that little half-inch square of blotter, which might just open the curtains and let in some insight. At worst, chewing on the tiny slip of paper offered a good anticipatory rumination, activating salivary and creative juices alike.

In that naive and innocent prelude, I settled in and started reconfiguring my novel plotline, mapping out characters’ journeys and realigning conflicts. Looking forward to a long strong afternoon of focus.

🌈 The clock struck half past Now

An hour or so after I’d spat out the paper and given up on any magical intercession…I noticed the edges of my screen shifting colors. Real subtle, like I could just be making it up, willing it to be. I checked my senses. The music sounded weird, kinda drawn out and echoey…but that’s just the soundtrack I chose; an album I haven’t listened to in years.

Nah, not tripping. Just mildly floaty, uplifted enough above the big picture to grasp all the threads and rework my new outline. Seeing unusual but important connections and weaving in ideas sprung out of nowhere. Making great progress...

Then I become aware of my hands typing, rippling with strange faint shadows; geometric capillaries wefting my skin…and I realize I might potentially be entering actual trip territory here—coinciding with my weed guy’s text that he’s 10 minutes out with my order.

I chuckle at the notion, and slip into the first gentle wave of helpless mirth at what I’ve just done, my afternoon now ahead…

I pulled myself out of the rippling current enough to answer the door and accept my delivery without too much goofy banter—and gratefully returned to the keyboard to capture all my sifting thoughts before they escape.

🌀 Writing on LSD 😵‍💫

Eventually the trip waves swell too strong to continue writing, as words and letters swirl on the page before me in a complex tarantella of meaninglessness.

It’s happening. Any experienced psychonaut knows that you cannot resist a trip nor attempt to swim upstream against the psychedelic state…you must go with it, whither it will.

So I acquiesce and abandon my self-assigned writing task, moving to the couch to stretch out and embrace the new paradigm. But my dog’s already there, so I curl up alongside and hit repeat on the incredible song soaring out from my phone.

🎼 When the time is right

Violins build and splurge into a heavy metal riff; falling off and ratcheting with emotion, rising and falling through chord progressions, swinging verses, and rhythmic drops, driving up the stakes through a melodic bridge and madman guitar solo to a climactic visceral appeal—and echoing away hauntingly to stunned silence.

Wanting to revisit that sensuous torrent of sound, I hit repeat again…

Like walking into a dream…

and wind up spending the next 2 hours curled in place petting my dog and listening on repeat—alternately sobbing and laughing as my mind glides with the current of music and drug through visions of my hoped-for future and the implications of success…riding empathy spirals deep into the months and years ahead, helplessly writhing with excitement and sadness, revelation and shadows, giddiness and nostalgia aforethought…thrilling on this astral wring-out and residing in that bittersweet ecstatic state on repeat…until finally driven from my embryonic berth by a burgeoning bladder bellowing to be delivered of its burden.

🔮 Ask the oracle—expect surprise

This wasn’t at all the insight I set off to gain in my quest to understand my novel better. I guess that’s how it works though, when you consult something with the inner-bending power of an oracle. Ask for insight and you’ll get it—but in unexpected ways, and you may not know how to interpret until much later.

But in the moment it turned out to be just the ego death I needed, to cleanse myself of the recent angst and acerbic resentment that’s been building lately in my soul; to let go of everything and flush out my emotions in this enervating rush of sonic solitude…and set me back upright on the inner path.

I disentangled myself from canine and couch and shuffled to the bathroom to lighten myself in yet another way, and splash cold water over my weepy face.

Whereupon I sat down here to begin composing this missive to you. ✍️