Do you really need a grinder?

The short answer is no.

After all, what does a grinder do? The simple variety does just that-- grinds up your weed into more manageable shreds. This is convenient, sure, but not particularly necessary. Grinders with more than one layer also do you the courtesy of filtering out stems. Nice, but still nothing you can't do by hand.

Never buy a one-stage grinder. They are just a waste of money.

However, I love my grinder. I use it every time I smoke, plus to store my weed (which I generally buy in small quantities at a time). That's because in addition to the grinding convenience, it has a third layer, divided by a screen, that acts as a kief catcher-- all the pollen off the weed in the upper chambers falls down through the screen, becoming a powder you can smoke on its own.

I love kief. It's like a delicacy. While it can sometimes be harsh and hard to smoke out of bowls (you have to sandwich it in between two layers of bud), it is so tasty and the high feels so clean. And a grinder is the only way to separate the figurative wheat from the chaff. It improves my mood to look in my grinder and see a sand-castle of kief piling up, which I save to smoke with my closest friends.

Only buy a multi-stage grinder, and only if you're as into kief as I am.

If you're an elitist like me, by all means buy a grinder (the multi-stage kind advertised as having a "pollen catcher"). If not, don't waste your money because you don't need it.

Additional thoughts:

• If you do decide to buy a grinder of whatever variety, don't buy one made of wood or plastic. They erode quickly and all the bits that come off your grinder go into your weed. Always go with a sturdy metal one.
• To encourage kief to fall into the bottom section, put a nickel in the middle stage (in the above picture, the empty section at the top left). This will knock the particles down so they don't mix back in with your bud.
• I find my (really really blunt) pocket knife to be a great tool to use in tandem with a grinder, as a scoop. Some grinders come with a scoop for the kief, but I bought mine second-hand and I'm not sure if it came with one in the first place. Therefore, my pocket knife serves me just as well.

Best Christmas Present Ever!

I suppose it's a little late to be buying it for any stoners on your list, but I really have to brag about this awesome Christmas present I received in a Secret Santa trading game.

No, it's not actually Dr Pepper. It's what I've dubbed the Stash Can-- it's meant to look and feel like a real, unopened can of Dr Pepper, but you can unscrew the top (as pictured below) and you can shove incriminating things in there. Like perfectly legal tobacco products.

In my opinion, this is a must-have stoner gadget, especially if you live in a communal, searchable place like a dorm. Just don't stick it in the fridge or someone might try to pop the tab and drink out of it...

Sex on Acid vs. Sex on Shrooms

This is really a question for you guys, out of my own curiosity.

I personally prefer psilocybin sex. I am not as experienced with shrooms as I'd like to be, but on my strongest trip I was convinced I was an Aztec goddess and that my then-boyfriend was a sun god. It made for some pretty interesting fucking. On acid, my newfound Buddha-consciousness tends to distract me from what is happening around me, and I only periodically remember that I'm getting fucked. Not really worth it.

How about you? Which do you prefer? How are they different?

I have done a good deed.

This weekend the Boyfriend and I each shared with the other person something we both love: he showed me the joys of kissing girls, and I showed him how great LSD can be.

Boyfriend is someone who all parents would delight in seeing their daughter with. He's studying a medical profession (but not to be an MD) and his hero is his grandmother. He's also a pothead and has some wildly unconventional religious beliefs. And he reminds everyone who meets him of Jack Black. :) He told me before the trip that he's not in it for any crazy "revelations" or soul-searching, because he's creative enough to do it on his own. He came away very satisfied with the new sensations that he experienced, and the lovely body high he felt. I maintain that only the most uncreative would "need" acid to think outside the box, but that it will catapult you in some directions you never saw coming. But I'm really glad that he tried something so important to me, despite initial trepidations. After the trip, he said he could see himself doing it "every other week." I'm so proud!

We spent the day with four of his good friends, who had all done acid in some form. We did low doses and spent the day relaxing in the air conditioning and playing Super Smash Bros. Interestingly, though it was the same batch that resulted in our crazy experience the other day, and similar doses, the experience was not nearly as intense. This provides some evidence for the mango theory, even though I'm lacking corroboration.

The high point of the trip was laying with him on the couch feeling like melted butter, while our friend experimented on the piano. He is apparently extremely talented, and was seamlessly stringing together the riffs of popular songs while we listened in amazement. I witnessed the grin on Boyfriend's face at the moment when he realized how tangible music could be. Our friend eventually got up and left nonchalantly, and when we applauded he acted surprised. :)

On the comedown, we bought pizza and walked to the nearby lake to eat it. In the bay, there were two pirate ships. I swear. I have no idea why they were there, but someone was sailing full-size replica pirate ships. I thought my friend was kidding when he pointed them out. Some serious sanity questioning occurred, let me tell you. Actually...

Whenever I trip, I count on some sort of revelation. Seldom am I in an environment that fosters it, but this time I think I had one that definitely counts, even though I was almost sober at the time. After I got home and sat around alone for a while, I got to thinking and I realized something pretty life-changing. I don't have a label for it quite yet, but I am definitely transgender in some way. Meaning, I am profoundly uncomfortable with being treated as a woman despite my female body. I've been thinking this for a while, but I hadn't realized the magnitude. This weekend was my first real sexual experience with a female, which also helped solidify some of this for me.

I'm a freak. Between being a drug enthusiast and queer in so many ways, it's easy to find people who share some of my interests but very few that support and understand all my endeavors. I am so glad to have found someone who helps me be myself as completely as Boyfriend does, whether he's accompanying me on a drug deal or kissing girls that are straddling me or letting me wear his boxers. I'm glad that we can grow together like this, in directions that most people never even look into. Sharing LSD experiences with lovers is always special. Besides the obvious upside of body exploration and potential sex, you have someone with you who you can be completely yourself around. In that respect, I'm really blessed.

The Responsible Drug User's Oath

This has apparently been floating around the internet for a while, but I didn't encounter it until recently. I think it's a pretty good system for maintaining responsible drug use, although you might want to edit it for your needs, or add some rules of your own.

I don't know who originally wrote it, so instead of making a link, I'll just reproduce the text here. If you happen to know, tell me so I can give proper credit.

I swear or affirm that:

1. I will understand the effects of all recreational drugs I take prior to ingestion, to the best of my ability. I shall research all relevant neurochemical, psychological, physiological, and spiritual effects, the legal issues surrounding the drug and its use, along with other relevant information.

2. When taking a drug I am inexperienced with, I shall begin with a reasonably low dose suggested to be psychoactive by the aforementioned research before progressing to higher dosages. I will measure the drug carefully, with an accurate scale, when possible and applicable.

3. If it is possible that the drug may contain harmful adulterants or in fact be a different drug altogether, I shall have the drug chemically analyzed for purity and content. If this is not possible, I will use caution and/or follow the appropriate course of action.

4. I will learn the overdose limits for my own body weight and adjust them for any possible synergistic effects due to diet, prescription or other drugs. I will also adjust for dangerous side effects and my own health condition. I will also learn of any possible drug interactions and make sure I am not at risk.

5. While under the effects of a drug, I shall not take physical risks such as driving, climbing, swimming, or any other physical activity in which my actions may cause harm to myself or others.

6. When first using a drug I am inexperienced with, I shall take it in the company of an experienced user, also known as a sitter. The sitter will remain sober during this experience, and will also have fully researched the drug. If this is not possible I will make sure there is a responsible way/backup plan to deal with any haphazards which may occur during my experience.

7. I shall not attempt to sway, force, trick, or otherwise coerce another person or animal to take any drug; rather, I shall discuss previous drug experiences and research frankly and honestly, allowing all people to make their own personal decisions about drug use.

8. I shall defend the rights of others to make educated, responsible decisions about drug use. I shall not support any person or movement that attempts to remove or abridge said rights.

9. I shall not allow my drug use to overshadow or disrupt the other important aspects of my life, including social interaction, employment or even other personal pursuits.

10. I will also take responsibility for the drug use of friends and relatives, if their drug use becomes dangerous to their health or personal relationships.

11. I will take drugs only in my free time, when I am not answerable to an employer or responsible for another person's health and well-being.

12. As a drug consumer, I will embrace responsible drug production and distribution methods, such as growing or pharming your own, and shun suppliers who use violence when not necessary for their self-defense.

I swear this with the hope of creating a society in which safe, responsible drug use is a personal decision, not a criminal offense.

Bathroom Theory

I have a theory that going to the bathroom is a pivotal point in any drug experience. Besides being super daunting when you're high, bathrooms are the place where everybody freaks out. Suddenly, you're alone, in a place full of pure white and clinical surfaces. A familiar task, which you've probably done a million times over your lifetime, becomes infused with strangeness. It's not until you go to the bathroom that you realize how fucked up you really are.

This video is one man's story of his bad acid trip, which is pretty funny now but probably wasn't funny at all at the time. It corroborates my theory. :)

Time Flies... or Jumps, or Skips, or....

Trouble and confusion regarding the passage of time is a really common characteristic of hallucinogenic experiences. Some people find it pleasant when time slows down or seems to behave strangely, and others will become baffled and anxious. This is sometimes exacerbated by the need to keep track of time for worldly engagements, or by paying too much attention to where you are in relation to your peak. Time perception is a really intricate brain process, involving many different pieces working together, and is by no means regular or infalliable.

There are many things that can affect your time perception even while sober. For example, the efforts of your eyes to maintain a clear picture can affect time perception. The eye actually makes many more jerky motions than we notice, and therefore has processes in place to give us the movie that we're used to. If you move your eyes very quickly to a clock with a second hand, you'll see that that one second seems to last longer than it should. The visual parts of the brain extend that image backwards in time so you perceive a smoother transition between your last focus and this new one.

I am by no means an expert on this matter, but from what I do know of perception and hallucinogens, these drugs affect the way your brain integrates the information that comes to it. I assume that that is why you sometimes see multiples-- your brain loses the ability to mesh the images from each of your eyes together. The kaleidoscope or fractal effect seems to me to be a result of the doubling of the edges of complex or irregular shapes, like clouds. Therefore, it's not a stretch that maybe the parts of your brain involved in time misfire similarly. LSD (I'm not so sure about other hallucinogens) results in sleeplessness and a loss of appetite, which may affect the Circadian Rhythm, which is the body process that tells you when it's time to eat and sleep. And experiencing novel things makes time seem to slow, and with hallucinogens novel is the name of the game.

My first trip was really interesting in this regard, and I didn't take it very well. I was reminded of this by both my friend's trip the other day and because I found my graphical representation of my time perception during that trip while I was cleaning out my drawer. :)

My ex-boyfriend took me out to the nearby park for my first peak. I figured I would feel very comfortable there because we hung out there a lot, but it was an unseasonably nice day so it was very crowded. It began to remind me strongly of a day that I had spent there with him a year earlier, and as that idea began to grow in my mind I became very confused. It seemed that the year had formed a loop, and that it was up to me to figure out the secret of breaking the loop so we didn't endlessly relive that year. Obviously, I had no idea how to go about this. I asked him if we could go back to his house, and he agreed. I sat down on his bed and asked for a piece of paper so I could try to explain my problem in a drawing. "I'm confused," I repeatedly whined. I felt that something important had happened on the journey home (probably just my peak) but I couldn't remember it.

TRANSCRIPTION:

I was trying to explain to you how time kept getting reset every 20 seconds. Minutes feel like hours. I feel like... who knows. I should just let it do its thing. I can't wrap my head around time. Like, the leaves could have been spring or autumn and then it was the day we met, it was a funeral was a wedding everything kept getting reset. What the hell was up with the pinecones? It seems tragic that I could have made that much of a fool of myself. I should stop fighting.

Time just got too much for me to handle. I should let myself float. I shouldn't be this confused.

All I can see are the leaves on the ground-- registers as orange. Orange? Could that be right? What? What day is it? Suddenly this matter o time is of utmost importance

I am glad that I saved this because I find it hilarious. :)

SOURCES

First Science

Wikipedia

The Windows of the Skull

Part of the reason that LSD is so amazing and rewarding is because it removes the doors of perception and thought so you are better able to explore your piece of the universe in a creative and unorthodox way. This can mean feeling comfortable enough to play with your environment, or create bold new art, or think about God, or even just sit back and watch the movie blossoming around you. All these are great reasons to do acid, but sometimes I am whisked away by my fascination for the molecule itself. We know the basics of how it works-- the molecule, because of its shape, replaces serotonin in your nervous system, and therefore alters your modes of thought. But why does it make the radical changes it does? What about lysergic acid diethylamide turns clouds into fractals? What about it helps you get closer to the spiritual? It baffles me that a molecule exists that is so harmless to the body but so powerful to the mind. This, when it comes down to it, is what fascinates me about acid. It's an important tool both for the individual and for the study of the normally-functioning brain.

Yesterday I had the most intense drug experience of my life. My friend Barrett had his parents' house to himself for a few days, so he invited over me, M, and B to trip. I was really excited because Barrett is my favorite trip partner-- he and I are on the same wavelength in many areas, and we're both very curious and driven to learn about the drugs that we do. M is a chill sort of guy who had done acid once before, but usually preferred Ecstasy, whereas B is a lovely and joyous girl who had never tried anything stronger than pot. They were both acquaintances from high school, but were more friends of Barrett's than of mine. I actually had to be talked into this trip, because of my terrible comedown from the last one, the horrific nightmares I've been having, and because of the depression that has been seeping back into my life. I had spent the night before drowning my problems in tequila (which I've never done before) and contemplating another round of self-mutilation-- Boyfriend is a saint and managed to talk me out of it, but I knew it wasn't the best set to begin a trip with. Barrett promised that he'd keep that in mind and make sure to help me through it if I had any problems, so I reluctantly agreed. I love tripping with Barrett and it happens much to seldom for my liking, so I'm really glad I took the opportunity.

B had heard a rumor that some molecule in mangoes will make a trip stronger, so she brought over a tub of chopped mango in addition to some amazing vegan carrot cake. I was skeptical, after hearing rave reviews about the effects of orange juice and never experiencing anything noticeable, but I love mango and hadn't had time for a good breakfast so I ate quite a bit to avoid being hungry later. We made a meal of it, and then went upstairs to take our doses. Barrett had trouble figuring out where to divide the tabs, because they weren't perforated and only had dots in the center of each tab to judge their boundaries. He did his best, and we all placed the purple paper under our tongues.

Either Barrett can't use scissors, or the mangoes worked wonders. Afterwards, me and Barrett estimated that even though we took about a hit and a half, that the trip had been more in the four-hits realm. I'm so thankful that his house was deserted, because we wouldn't have been able to keep it together around "Outsiders." We agreed that it was the strongest trip that we'd ever want to have, but it was altogether a pleasant and eye-opening experience.

We went for a hike in the woods near Barrett's house. The woods are beautiful and worth the trip, but the quarter mile of busy suburban neighborhood we had to traverse makes me super nervous. They are truly little boxes on the hillside but my uncle's family lives along the way, and I dread getting stopped by one of my cousins while tripping. But the acid hadn't hit us yet, beyond a great body high that was almost immediate, so we made it to the woods without a hitch. The forest there is lovely, because it's so winding & secluded that you forget you're at most forty feet away from a sprawling housing development. Barrett and I agree that the time we tripped and played Bridge to Terabithia in there was a ridiculously great time, so we were excited about showing it to M and B.

The path took us through dense trees and fallen logs and patches of Forget-Me-Nots and cornfields. B had a great time naming all of the flowers, which I appreciated and admired because nature knowledge is something I really don't possess. I told B that she was missing her true calling as a wood nymph. The four of us rested for a while on a footbridge across a bubbling stream. The bridge spanned a little waterfall, and through the clear water you could see a reddish algae coating the worn rock. Some sort of industrial building was only yards away, but people were nowhere to be seen and we felt perfectly comfortable and alone. We ended up traversing back to "Terabithia," which is a clearing near a different part of the stream. Surrounded by a mini-moat is an island with a tree and a tire swing. On the other side is a small flat piece of grass and then a field of various kinds of flowers and grasses. It was a little muddy, but to us it was beautiful. We laid down a blanket and stayed there for our peak.

Visually, it was the most real and "present" trip I've ever had. Often, in lower-dose trips visuals will just be an augmentation to the changes in thinking, but this time the fractals and kaleidoscope patterns formed by the clouds and the leaves totally took over my vision and mindset. Unfortunately, the bugs also multiplied. Laying in the grass, I ended up with a spider on my face, which made me very paranoid and uncomfortable for quite a few minutes afterwards.

The amazing visuals made me and M perfectly content to lay on the blanket in a pile, sometimes in long stretches of silence and sometimes comparing and sharing what we saw. I had a very very strong urge to take off my shirt due to the inescapable heat, but I knew rationally that it wasn't a good idea so I kept my urge in check. B alternated between being even more of a forest sprite than she is in day-to-day life, and being an Alice in Wonderland who was a different size in depending on what she looked at. Barrett jumped over the creek onto the tire-swing island and couldn't find the courage to get back. Barrett is inordinately sensitive to psychedelics, sometimes not returning to normalcy for weeks after a trip, and as I realized he was in a mental space very far away I began to get a little worried. He was talking distantly about how he could see the future, and kept asking bizarre questions in response to our conversation, like, "What does it feel like to be alive? Am I alive? What is a house? Are you the human they call Minna? How does time work?" I was in a conundrum because I wasn't sure whether I should let him explore or try to pull him back. I asked him a few times but he gave noncommittal answers. I decided not to push it for fear of making him or someone else nervous, but it was freaking me out a little. I'd tripped with him before and I knew it wasn't his normal behavior, and as the purveyor of the substance and the location we all looked towards him as a guide. I was next in command, being at least as experienced, but I didn't want to have to handle a crisis. M was calm the whole time and could be counted on to remain so, but I doubt he would have been able to help. In the end, I decided that making a big deal of it would do more harm than good-- Barrett's weird trip was his own to grapple with. Later, the three others agreed that at some point during this period, we shared a consciousness-- I remembered the discussion, but I didn't feel it, which is disappointing.

Around rush hour we got the energy to make our way back to Barrett's house. After emerging somewhat from his weird cocoon, Barrett began to feel like a Messiah guiding us back to the promised land. We chose 5:30 to come back to civilization, not realizing that we would encounter a family admiring a new bicycle, a jogger, some pedestrians, and a few SUV's. A dog very near my uncle's house began barking as we passed, so I hurried us along and made sure to keep my eyes averted from that direction. Honestly, I am better at "keeping my shit" while tripping than while high, but this was way out of my league. I was on the far side of the strongest peak of my life, with three other people in varying states of sanity. B was babbling excitedly like a child, and Barrett kept making sketchy-looking glances back at the rest of us who were following him in a very awkward line. M and I were making pretty normal conversation, but I was always very aware of how odd the four of us must look, as mismatched and muddy and quiet as we were.

The air-conditioning in Barrett's house felt so soothing and refreshing to me that the super-awkward journey had been worth it. We situated ourselves back in Barrett's upstairs bedroom, but not before B ran around downstairs 100% convinced that she was a sprite. Barrett was still not even close to reality, so my indecision about trying to pull him back resurfaced. I offered him a place in our puppy pile, which he seemed to react warmly to, but B got distracted with the myriad weird objects in his room and therefore my plan fell through. I started thinking of new things to suggest, but when I brought up glow sticks he began muttering about how he needed a sink to extract the fluid, so I stopped that train of thought in its tracks. I don't think that he realized that he was talking out loud, because he looked really confused like I read his mind. I decided we were going to put on an episode of Adventure Time. It was sketchy for a few minutes because of the dark plotline (B stopped being sprightly and became really engrossed), but it resolved well and put everyone in a better mood. Barrett came back from the future for the most part, so I considered it a success.

We went downstairs and had a few hours of play time. We experimented with furniture, and with music, and with food. B loved the feeling of the carrot cake and the frosted flakes in her mouth (even though it made her afraid her teeth were falling out) so I challenged them to find me a food that I'd like while tripping-- it didn't last long because we got distracted enumerating the different kinds of smooth. I became very frustrated that orgasms could only result from genital stimulation-- I wanted to cum from my wonderment at all the sights I was seeing, and I almost did. We invented a unit to measure fun. I dubbed B the Cosmic Housekeeper after she straightened the entire house and told M to quit moving what she had straightened. We were deities who created an ocean out of a blue handkerchief and a plastic octopus, and then subjected the poor creature to horrible storms. Barrett blasted his favorite Icelandic music. We found a very soft stuffed Llama, who we named the Cosmic Llama. I mentioned that I had been miscounting the number of people in our group the entire trip, and that the CL was obviously the unseen fifth member. This was a bad thing to voice, as it freaked out B quite a bit when it seemed to be staring at her. We spent quite a few minutes playing with perspective on the stairs-- Barret and B laid down at the bottom with their feet on the steps, while me and M sat at the top, creating an Escher-like effect that made B feel like she was floating. That was definitely one of the coolest visual & spatial things I've ever experienced.

My cell phone reception was bad in Barrett's house (I took it as an allegory) so I got a bit nervous about making arrangements to be picked up-- I don't drive, and I hadn't made specific plans with my dad in advance. Luckily, B noticed his headlights in the driveway, earlier than I had expected.This was about ten hours after we took our doses, but I was still far from sober, and my dad hates to be kept waiting when he picks me up. I was afraid he'd be angry, but he blamed our cell phones for the lack of communication and was in a good mood, so I listened to his conversation and then retreated straight into my room when we got home. I'm sure he noticed that I was acting strangely; my mother asked me what was wrong and I wasn't sure how to reply. I've been around my parents before while under the influence, but the degree of this trip was so unlike anything else that it was entirely impossible to act normal. My father knows about all the drugs that I do, and doesn't really mind as long as I'm careful-- he's done them too, plus other ones that I'm not interested in. However, I still feel like the boundaries between parent and child require that I hide it enough that he doesn't have to confront it.

The comedown was much better than last time. For one thing, I had had a fun-filled day with some great people, and now I was ready to relax. After cleaning for a bit (ineffectually) I sat down with my thick book filled with the collected poems of Allen Ginsberg. I've decided that this my favorite activity for a comedown-- it's inspiring and productive, but not always easy. He writes a lot about war and insanity and his glaring faults and vulnerabilities, but also about drugs and the beauty of life and the seemingly banal details of his existence. I have not encountered an artist of any kind that I've felt so connected with. One of the biggest obstacles in my comedowns is the persisting thought that I never really do anything with my life, so reading some Ginsberg is the best way to counteract the perception that I'm rotting my time away, and to inspire me to write great poems myself.

I slept relatively well, and food is palatable again-- I think I'm back to normal. I didn't come away with any of the earth-shattering insights I always expect from acid trips, but I had a great time playing like a child and pushing the limits of my perception of reality. I'm glad to have a friend who knows just how to do these things right-- I've never experienced nature or the company of others like I did during that trip. I can't help but fixate on the question of whether the strength of the trip was from a misjudged dosage or from the mangos, but I'm glad to have had the chance to explore new territory and conquer it.

Saying "No": How & Why

A lot of anti-drug propaganda focuses on how to say "no" to drugs, but saying "no" to drugs isn't any harder than saying "no" to playing a game of kickball, or saying "no" to a food you don't like.

I skimmed a book recently, on how to get kids to avoid drugs, and it got me thinking. Propaganda often treats drug users as evil fiends who hand out drugs just to ruin people's lives. This is blatant hysteria: the motives of those that offer aren't examined. Some people probably will offer you addictive drugs and then make sure that they're your connect, which is obviously of questionable morality, but many are just well-meaning friends trying to be polite. (If you get made fun of or pressured, your "friends" are immature and playing a power game. Say "More for you!" and go hang out with someone who isn't a douchebag.) Also included was a list of ways to say no. Surprisingly, many were actively hostile, like "I don't want to. End of discussion." or "Are you crazy?" That bristly hostility is just plain rude, and often directed at someone who wasn't meaning any harm. This just passes the hysteria along to children, who think of a drug offer like an offer to be an accomplice in a murder. They ignore drug use as a legitimate choice, and though I don't expect that sort of reasoning from propaganda, it still bothers me.

Especially because I fully support the choices of those that don't do drugs. Of course, I still pass them the bowl to be polite, but I would never pressure anyone into doing anything they didn't want to. I like to correct people's incorrect D.A.R.E. ideas about the drugs that I do, but if they know the truth and still don't want to join me, I leave them alone. In fact, occasionally I actively support their decisions. I have one friend who everyone thinks smokes pot, because she dresses like a hippie, has synesthesia, is spacey, and eats vegan. But her veganism is exactly why she doesn't do drugs: she's very interested in nutrition and exactly what she puts in her body, so she likes to be extra careful with any chemical that goes past her lips. She likes to investigate the health, political, and moral implications of everything she ingests, and I really respect that. I also try to dissuade my friends with mental health issues (like addictive personalities, depression, or schizophrenic tendencies) from doing drugs, or at least try to supervise them and make sure they're careful. Some people shouldn't, or don't want to, do drugs at all, and I support them in their decision.

To say "no" to drugs, all you have to do is say "No, thanks" and pass the pipe along. Learning to say no to drugs shouldn't be a campaign in itself, because anyone who has the self-esteem to say "no" to anybody, about anything, can say "no" to drugs.

LSD & Autism

My brother and I have always been exact opposites. He likes sports; I like books. I love to go out with friends; he would rather stay home and play on the computer. He likes math class; I like English. However, our most obvious difference is that he was diagnosed with Autism at age three. 

I was only five years old at the time, but since then the lives of each of our family members have been impacted irrevocably, mostly in a positive way. My mother encouraged my early love of books and writing by giving me a unique "homework assignment." I wrote and illustrated a shoe-tying manual when my brother was having trouble grasping the concept. He was an early reader as well, and would delightedly flip through each of the pages and laugh at my goofy stick-figure drawings. My mother would hold him on her lap and guide him through the process, until he finally understood well enough to do it himself. I would sit next to them and beam with pride that something I had created could have a positive effect on someone else. From then on, the only thing I have wanted to do with my life is write. I hope to use my skill with and enthusiasm for language to influence the world and the individuals in it. 

As time went on, I developed skills to match those he lacked. He often speaks in a cryptic, seemingly illogical way, but since we grew up together I was the only one who could translate what he meant to my parents and the other adults who dealt with him, further improving my own language and people skills and helping him to be understood and accepted. I helped him make friends by inviting him along with me on outings, and encouraging him to join clubs he might be interested in. I enjoy seeing him succeed in a realm where he has had such difficulties, and love doing whatever I can to help. 

Most importantly, I learned from my brother that each individual really is just that, and cannot be judged by his or her differences. In the diverse world we live in, we must learn to accept everyone, regardless of any label or diagnosis you can attach to them. My brother's presence in my life has reminded me how important the individual is to the whole world, and what a difference one person can make.

Yes, I just subjected you to my entire college admissions essay (names excised). Yes, it's a little cheesy and self-serving, but it's all true. I think it's important to help you understand not only my relationship with LSD, but my relationship with Autism as well.

Autism is often misunderstood, due to its spectrum of symptoms that differ per individual, and its convoluted history. I have lived with my Autistic brother for 17 of my 18 years, and even so, it's much easier to explain my brother and his unique behavior than it is to explain Autism as a whole. I can assure you that the barely-stifled rumors of Autism being created by unloving mothers isn't true: Autism is thought to be caused by a variety of factors in conjunction, including genetics (not one gene; the rights ones must be "in alignment"), disease during pregnancy (like Rubella), exposure to certain chemicals in the womb, and/or immune system deficits. There is no test for Autism, and maybe there never will be, but symptoms are noticeable by age three, and include:

• Impairment of nonverbal social behaviors (like eye contact)
• Trouble with peer relationships
• Lack of social reciprocity (trouble holding conversation, or truly sharing in shared experiences)
• Delay in spoken language and other forms of communication, like gesticulation
• Inappropriate use of language (not the swearing that is a stereotype of Tourette's, but problems with pronouns and prepositions, or repetition of other people's words or sentences, etc.)
• Restricted and obsessive interests (for example, my brother can't really hold a conversation about anything besides sports statistics)
• Adherence to rituals and schedules, and a resultant anxiety if they are changed or something unexpected occurs
• Repetitive mannerisms (hand-flapping is the stereotype; my brother never does anything halfway, and instead gallops around the yard or house with his hand a few inches from his face, and makes ticky-sounding computer noises to his hand, which I'm sure terrifies the neighbors)
• Sensitivity to sensory stimulation (one boy I know keeps his fingers in his ears all the time; my brother is phobic of fire alarms and dogs, and has to cut the itchy tags off of all of his clothing)

These traits persist through adulthood-- an Autistic child, without extensive therapy and special education, will probably never be socially "normal." Therefore, Autism isn't just a disorder, it's an important part of what makes an Autistic individual him- or herself. (If you're interested in reading more about Autism, its history, and its impact on families, I recommend Richard Grinker's Unstrange Minds. I'm only about halfway through it right now, but it's very interesting and informative and matches up closely with my experience with this disorder.)

Before LSD was hijacked by the hippies and the radicals, it belonged to the psychiatrists. They used it to treat a variety of emotional and psychological problems, including alcoholism and schizophrenia. In the early sixties, Autism was just changing from a symptom meaning extreme introversion, to a unique diagnosis separate from childhood schizophrenia (which is actually extremely rare). However, psychiatry at that time was not as organized as it is today, and therefore childhood schizophrenia was still a frequent diagnosis.

LSD and schizophrenia were connected in the minds of the experimenters because it was first used to simulate psychotic episodes for the researchers themselves, to better understand their patients. Though it is now believed by most that organic schizophrenia and this induced state are very different, the connection remained and LSD began to be explored as a treatment for schizophrenia. In a field dominated by Freud's psychoanalysis, psychologists thought that the same anxiety that induced psychosis in some test subjects would release repressed material in others, helping them to deal with the roots of their problems. Patients on LSD experienced either an intensification of their symptoms, no change at all, or a strange mix of intensification and normalization of behaviors. Mute patients would often laugh-- or cry-- hysterically for hours on end, sometimes bouncing between the two at the mercy of strong mood swings. However, most schizophrenic patients seemed relatively immune to the effects of LSD, and therefore it was an ineffective treatment. A few researchers were inspired by these studies decided to try their luck with LSD therapy for the "childhood schizophrenics." They believed that the disinhibition may make Autistic children more "present" and better able to assimilate social understanding.

Freedman conducted a study on twelve moderate-to-severe cases, ages five to eleven. The observed effects, which were were either physical and measurable or inferred through body language because of the patients' lack of speech capabilities to describe their experience, included flushing of the face, pupil dilation, catatonia, lack of coordination, lack of appetite, exploration of new bodily sensations, increased desire for physical contact, mood swings, hallucinations, panic, relaxation, freer use of language (an increase in quantity of communication but not quality; no new words or phrases were used), and (my favorite!) "dizziness due to whirling." The researchers had a problem with continuing the treatment because tolerance built up so quickly, but the research was promising. One eight-year-old girl responded very well to treatments over a year's worth of weekly sessions; the severe behavior problems were cured in a young boy; and another ten-year-old girl improved after only three months.

Another study found a greater rate of success by administering half-doses twice daily. It raised the social maturity rating of the younger children but was less beneficial to the older children. Children who were not Autistic, but actually had schizophrenia, showed much more improvement with LSD therapy than did adult schizophrenics.

Though LSD has worked for Autistic children in the past, I wouldn't say that I recommend it for everyone with Autism. My brother, for example, is too high-functioning, anxious, and self-aware to end up with anything besides unpleasant confusion and/or a bad trip-- pot brownies might suit him better. However, I know kids with more severe symptoms, who would be more likely to benefit from LSD therapy. Those who are further removed from the everyday reality of the rest of us may be better equipped to deal with LSD therapy as just another new experience in a world that barely makes sense to them as it is. This is another promising field of psychiatric research that has been entirely stemmed by the insane War on Drugs, which is not only punishing recreational users, but alcoholics, PTSD-sufferers, AIDS patients, and Autistic children.

Vitamins and LSD

There's this rumor circulating about the connection between LSD and citrus fruit. Some say it will dull the effects of acid if it becomes too much, and others say it strengthens and smooths a trip for less paranoia and restlessness. Others say niacin will help handle bad trips.

Do you have an opinion on this? Have you tried it? On accident or on purpose? What did you experience?

I certainly do. The first time I tripped, I dug into a grapefruit on the comedown and it was probably the best experience of my life. I don't know if it was the sensations or the vitamins, but I was suddenly on cloud nine. Whether there's any truth to this myth or not, I recommend citrus fruit while tripping whole-heartedly. ;)

Caught Up in the Let-down

The comedown is always so sad. It's like, for a few hours something makes sense. Maybe not life, the universe, and everything, but something: why people do what they do, your own neuroticism, the body... and then as you sober up, things go from crystal clear to the opaque solidity of reality. You still have all the same facts present, you remember what you said, but that perfect diagram you had of human interaction as a switchboard where everyone's motives are as clear as the golden paths on a microchip, that's gone. When you're on acid, it seems so silly that you spend so much of your sober time loving trippy things so much, but when you're sober you remember that it's in the hopes of recapturing some little part of that. But you can't, really. So you drop some acid again, a few weeks or months later, expecting to get closer to that mystery, and maybe you do. And then the process starts all over again.

In another way, my comedown was good. My first trip, as I sobered up I realized that I had lost my entire sense of identity-- it was like my body knew all along who I was, and my mind had to slowly remember. It resulted in a lot of weird questioning over the next few days ("Why do I care about this person? Why do I like to do that?" etc) but overall it was a positive experience because it forced me to question the basics of my identity. I guess that sensation has been a staple of my trips since then, but I never really noticed it until I picked up my journal last night to record a few fleeting sensations, and then started rereading the past few weeks (like I often do). I happened to open up to a page where I was writing about one of the happiest experiences of my life. And everything that I read after that seemed to take on that same hue of brightness and hope. I was reading my journal like somebody else would, and I was amused at all the things I wrote. That was a pleasant introduction back into my daily life, which made the rest of it a little easier.

I commented to my close friend, who I was tripping with, that this was my eleventh trip. I only knew that because it occurred to me that my first experience with DMT was my tenth (to use trip in a broad sense). He said that he had heard various reports (from various people who don't trip) that it's impossible to reach ten without having a bad trip, or that after ten you're legally insane (I heard it was seven). Obviously, they're full of shit. I don't feel any more insane than I did yesterday (or a few months ago). Obviously, LSD has had some long term effects (a greater appreciation for color, my decision to just wholeheartedly not give a shit, some great friends I've made, and some of those revelations I talked about in the first paragraph) but honestly, I don't think that I would be doing LSD if I wasn't that kind of person anyway.

Despite the unfortunate comedown. LSD is definitely my favorite drug (shrooms may still be in the running, but require more experimentation). The pricing system is easy, it's easy to conceal, it doesn't require paraphernalia, it doesn't show up in drug tests, it's cheap, and unlike anything else you can buy for 10 bucks,  it can change your life. For some reason, I just feel more comfortable dealing with people and life while I'm on acid than when I'm high, which I'm sure is the opposite of most peoples' experience. Like, going to the bathroom is so much more daunting when you're high. Am I odd? Most likely. ;)

A Question For My Female Readers

I'm not a huge fan of tripping while on my period. I don't like getting any kind of fucked up actually (besides hemp, which helps deal with the cramps) because it makes dealing with he practicalities of having your period so much more daunting. And gross.

But recently-ish (as in, since the last time I tripped on my period, which was like a year ago at least) I found out that LSD causes uterine contractions. Which is kind of cool-- it's synthesized from Ergot, which used to be used to perform abortions. But on the other hand, the last thing I need while I'm tripping is more cramps (sometimes I can barely walk it hurts so bad) or a heavier flow (ick!)

I mean, I'm probably going to do it anyway. I'm not one to pass up a trip, especially with my oldest friend who I've never tripped with. But I was just wondering-- do you find that LSD use affects your period? Don't be shy about the details. :P

Sight-seeing for stoners in Rochester!

This weekend I was sight-seeing in Rochester, NY with Boyfriend and decided to go see a Pink Floyd laser light show at the Strasenburgh Planetarium. If you ever find yourself in Rochester, you need to check it out.

We went high on a bowl that was almost entirely headies-kief, and the show blew my mind. I honestly wasn't sure how cool it would be, being at a place of learning that can often be really dry, but it was really cool. In addition to the regular star projector doing background things (like constellations and flying money), they had lasers (duh) doing some really cool effects, including flying parabolas, spinning mandala-type patterns, and fields of menacing gears. One effect that they did to death was to spin the stars one way and the laser patterns the other way, to increase the dizziness, but even that was really cool when paired with a tunnel to make it look like you were traveling through a worm-hole in space. I had to constantly keep myself from yelling in my enthusiasm, and it was a tough battle. I was also pleased with their music choice; instead of being Pink Floyd's most popular, it was a good mix of the most popular and the best, including a track off The Division Bell, which is my favorite album. I told Boyfriend that I now consider him ready for acid. :) Here's the link to the Planetarium's schedules page, if you want to see what's up. They apparently have a different laser show going on each month. Pink Floyd is only going until the end of the month, but in July they're doing the Beatles!

Other fun places to go non-sober in Rochester include the Strong Museum of Play. Boyfriend and I went sober, unfortunately, because the security near the museum was unfortunately very present. We spent hours playing like children, touring fantasylands, driving planes, playing guitar hero, and pretending to be superheroes. I wish I had the foresight to drop some acid before I went, particularly because of the butterfly garden. It was so special walking through a path decorated in over a thousand living butterflies, some the size of your hand. Unfortunately, butterflies apparently freak out Boyfriend so we had to leave after like five minutes. :/

Also, if it's the right time of the year, the Lilac Festival is really cool. It's outside, free, and the park is huge and beautiful. I used to smoke/trip there a lot-- the appeal is undeniable.

"Hello, my name is not Sunshine."

Yesterday, I got into an argument with a friend. I've always respected her for her intelligence, her analytical ability, her spunk, and her awesome 'fro. The way she is always challenging the ideas that she and the people around her hold close to their hearts is a trait of which I am deeply envious, but I can't pretend it doesn't create friction from time to time. She has recently become even more interested in black activism, and has been giving presentations about hair & black identity, and other interesting stuff like that. In a show of support, I playfully suggested that we find a time machine and go back to the sixties, so she could experience the Civil Rights movement and then we could swing by Woodstock for me.

That really pissed her off, for reasons that she then decided to detail.

She noted that I would have been treated much better than she would have, which is why the Civil Rights movement needed to happen in the first place. The heroes of that time period did what they did so that in the next millennium she could live fear-free, as she does. Respectable & more than valid; I agree entirely.

Another of her reasons, though, was that she feels that anyone who wishes to live in a different time period suffers from an “overly patriotic, white washed” and “limited” perspective gleaned from Euro-centric textbook representations. This is where I felt the need to disagree and express what it is about the sixties that draws me like it does. It's not what you might expect.

I am more than willing to admit that I am an idealist, and not just when it comes to the past. Part of what I do idolize about the sixties is the fashion, the drugs, the youth culture. I like to imagine that there were more people then who would understand me. I often wish for warm-bodied spontaneity, which in my imagination existed in a much higher quantity before the Internet became a household time-sucker. I wish more people around me understood the spiritual and philosophical nature of my drug use, instead of judging me as somebody who's just looking for kicks. I crave a community of care-free youth like me, which I imagine existed in abundance in the 1960s. I know that it's unrealistic, but that's why it's a dream.

But I'm not stupid. I know that the sixties wasn't groovy all around: not everybody upped 'n' changed their name to sunshine. Some serious stuff was happening, some good and some bad. The Civil Rights movement, the Vietnam draft, the moon landing. The government was redefining its relationship with the American people. We were literally rocketing into the future. In a vital way, the culture of the hippies was a reaction to these things, which has not been lost on me. The commitment of the youth to wildness, rebellion, and fun was an almost hysterical retaliation to the inescapable fear of nuclear destruction. In a way, what I long for are those times that are less complacent, less sure. This was a pivotal time in America for a variety of reasons, all of which interest me. Not to mention Star Trek. :)

However, I agree with my friend on one important point: as long as I'm here at the beginning of the new millennium, there's still quite a bit of stuff for activists like me and my friend to do. Now interracial couples can get married, but homosexuals can't. Blacks and women, though we can vote & hold down jobs, still have social attitudes to correct and understanding to create. I know I belong in this time and that I've got work to do, but that doesn't mean that I keep my bell-bottoms and my freak flag in my drawer, no?

The thing the sixties did was to show us the possibilities and the responsibility that we all had. It wasn't the answer. It just gave us a glimpse of the possibility.

-John Lennon