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Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Next day. The boy lit his pipe once again and inhaled, when was the last time he spent time with another person? He’d become more and more antisocial recently but he could not figure out why. The constant changing state of being may have some effect, making it harder to structure, standardize and make routine. And it was ages ago he had a real job, nowadays his only (though completely sufficient) income was by selling smaller amounts of drugs he received. And even that went slow. He recently picked up some 25C-NBOH blotters but they were quite hard to sell since the only person buying research chemicals these day was pretentious, not cheap or scared of the law - and pretentious didn’t buy 25C-NBOH. Boy had only tried them once so he wasn’t sure why.

He inhaled the smoke and felt his aura blossom and explode, filling the whole room with his presence. ”Books, i need books.” His mind was ablaze and alive. It grew like vines over an abandoned building, tingling sensations and a euphoric feel of botanical heights. He stretched out over the sofa and inhaled once more. A feeling of clearness washed over him like a waterfall and the music intensified. Inhalation. His thoughts flowed. He suddenly remembered hearing birds earlier (which was quite unusual nowadays). The room had taken on a certain artistic look, reminding of a movie. In someway that seemed typical for cannabis, creating this cinematic perspective on normal scenarios. Maybe that’s a result of the creativity boost? Or maybe even a cause for it? As he proceeded to smoke his thoughts changed and since he still had some ACO- in his system he could feel the creeping sensations once again. The room became smaller and an unbearable feeling struck him. Time slowed down as he watched his body pulsate, his hands were sweaty and shaking in a manic way. He grabbed for his bottle of water as the increasingly hallucinatory chaos spun like a whirlpool. Flashes struck his head like lightning while the water entered his throat. Too many days of psychotic states. If it’s not working, smoke more.

He grabbed for his bag, maybe he was supercharged by the potent weed and just needed some hash to settle down? It was a hit or miss: an opportunity he just couldn’t miss. When it comes these drugs which has no actual risk of overdosing (physically), huge amounts was rather an opportunity than a bad thing. Of course you got to be cautious with strong psychedelics because they’ll shred your mind and self to pieces if you’re reckless enough, but cannabis is different. It’s a lot safer and dosage is really easy since you just smoke until you’re high; as long as you're not eating it. He broke down the brown material in small bits and blended it with some tobacco in a bowl, filled the pipe and leaned back.

First toke. He gasped as he opened his eyes, let the thick smoke exit his lungs slowly and watched as it climbed towards the ceiling. He continued smoking until his running thoughts settled for a move and the idea of going to bed. He stayed somewhere between and didn’t move at all, instead he turned on the old tv in the corner of the room. It had worked: at least he felt sane. The tactile freakout was gone and he decided to stay in the room for at least another hour.

Outside the window, speeders and other flying machines passed by in varying velocities. Even higher, a few bigger, transport-vehicles roamed and on the ground the gray larvae- looking carriers groveled. Peculiar buildings could be seen in the horizon: he’d never thought of them before. They we’re pretty big and shaped as claws and spikes. The way they were placed gave them a megalithic look. His bloodshot eyes stared at the scene for a moment while his thoughts once again drifted. Insects. Ancient knowledge. New age-crap.

He decided that the only thing he’d listen to was jazz. Yes, nothing could beat the schizoid, surreal feel of Coleman’s saxophone. He put on an old tape and placed a chair besides the window. The hypnotic tones from the music threw the whole room into a dark and whimsical scene with all kinds of people and quests. Clues and keys were hidden everywhere, the paranoia was clearly getting worse and his ability to recognize

patterns were intensely improved. After a good fifteen minutes of bizarre speculating boy decided to visit The chemist after all.

The constant development of concepts and storys in his head could not be stopped but boy knew that it would settle when the high did. His thinking had took a more narrative role and when he had made it to his hallway he’d already created ten different scenarios in his head.

A lonely tonal signal, released in outer space to find another existence or being or self. A sudden answer, an imitation of the language from an alien source: a new synapse is created.

A drunken savage raves around in a bar. Possessed by a higher force he shouts and preaches incomprehensible words. His body twists as his words grows and it’s only real use was as a medium for this message that probably wasn’t received by anyone. But was it of any importance? No one even looked at him, but could this be the last chance of actually finding something out?

The paranoid and unreal feeling that occurs when one have been too far away from - what we perceive as - reality for too long. You start to doubt in what ”real” and ”reality” really is. Ordinary things become frightening and if you’ve been deep enough you fall into a dark state filled with uneasy emotions and delusional episodes. The conspiracies grow and you seem to find clues everywhere, everything seems to have a message - a warning - and the fact that you’re constantly - but subtly - hallucination doesn’t makes things more reasonable: when you can’t trust your senses you really start to lose it after a while.

Boy lit a joint as he made it to the door, the thick smoke filled his aura with a gloomy glow. He pushed opened it while taking another puff. The sky was blue and even though it was colder the city seemed more colorful and cheery. Though this feeling was hard to actually take in for boy - he was way too paranoid - he kept on walking and even put on a small, smirky smile. True paranoia is completely indescribable, and boy had been there before. It’s like a dread, contaminating every spot,

infecting your perception like a parasite and suddenly you can’t get a grip of what’s a spy from some organization, trying to glitch up reality and what’s not.

Small gears and clocks, steadily remaining reality as the concept as we define it. Intelligent fractal based organisms only existing in math: without them, there would be no need for drugs. If someone would to manipulate them, or even control them he would certainly be in charge.

Before he went to The chemist he decided to stop by a pill shop to ease some of his symptoms. Headache, nausea, anxiety, stomach pains and a dizzy head: A thousand problems and a thousand pills to solve them, boy thought. The pill shop was brightly white and yellow with some pink details and contained an uncountable amount of clean shelves with every pill you could imagine. He kept on walking until he reached the small area labeled as ”physical conditions”, where he grabbed a few boxes. He then went to the main part of the store, this one with a sign saying PSYCHOACTIVES where he started to fill his bag.

After paying, boy sat down on the concrete while choosing a handful of the pills he’d bought. They went down his throat with a mouth of bottled water. He waited for the effects, hoping to feel a little bit better once he was at Chemist’s place. He had a feeling that Chemist had found something special and he was pretty curious. Although this did happen every once in a while - someone had gotten their hands on a new (or really old) substance that really was a one of a kind, and of course Chemist was the next one to got a hold of it: even though he hadn’t been doing any real chemistry for a 10 years, he still had it in him. - he felt that this was worth to check out. The dreadful feelings had worn off a little and he didn’t worry as much as before the pills, but he had glitching episodes, much stronger and distinguishable from normal hallucinations, that gave him a nauseous reminder of his fears. But he could handle it right now.

The door to chemists house was wide and made of brown wood: not the usual one to see in this city, but no one really

noticed (another example of Chemist, passing without ever drawing anyones eyes to him). Boy opened it and was welcome by the well known smell of spices, smokeables (mostly weed and hashish, but also subtle tones of opium) and a constantly flowing energy, heating the room. The entrance was red and completely filled with smoke. He squinted his eyes as he moved further in to the room. On the floor there was pillows and mattresses, dressed in fancy patterns. His joint glowed and still contained a decent amount of hash which he still smoked on. Rattling and shaking sounds could be heard from the next door as boy walked towards it and opened.

He stepped in and observed the scene. Chemist and a bunch of people - which some of he did recognize - sat around a tree table, smoking from a big pipe. Boy joined them. A thin looking face with worried eyes met his with a dodgy expression.

”Well hey boy, long time no see. You alright?”

The man was Gerald, he’d been in the business longer than anyone else, maybe even longer than Chemist himself. Most people could only manage around 10 years, but Gerald had been active since 30 years ago and he was now 45. He was hardened from old drug conflicts and his left eye didn’t seem to follow much of his instructions anymore. His clothes were tattered and he had a gray stubble, high cheekbones and dirty, gray hair down to his ears. - Boy was tired and had a hard time to comprehend all the words that were spoken around the table, but he managed to answer Gerald and they quickly got in to a discussions about a new drug he had found. He and Chemist worked in different areas: while Chemist worked the streets of London and rarely traveled far, Gerald was always in some foreign country, exploring what’s left from some shaman tribe or just checking out the outlandish drug market. Now, he picked up a small, red pill and handed it to Boy.

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