Last night I imbibed six mescaline capsules, which is three times as many as I had a few weeks ago, thinking it would utterly launch me into the stratosphere. I took them around nine pm and waited for the come up, and it took quite a while . . . nearly two hours by my reckoning, which a random guy on Reddit assured inquiring minds such as my own that this was Totally Normal. With any hallucinogen, no matter what it may be, it’s always a bit of a mystery when it will affect you and in what way, which you might say is one of the many fun parts about the whole thing.

Before downing the cactus capsules I had taken a shower and shaved as though I were going on a date. I wanted to feel clean for the long strange trip. And so as the sacred dust worked its way through my broken tired world weary body, I lay on my couch in my pajamas, my skin still warm and my hair still damp from the shower, with headphones on and an album playing on my TV, which had been recommended to me by my friend Monty. We had listened to this same album on my birthday in New York City when we were cruising through Starlight Central on MDMA I had got some time ago in San Francisco. This particular album was comforting and built up slowly, and I thought that I needed something like that just then.

NEW AGE OF EARTH is the perfect thing to put on when you’re alone and waiting to ascend for a meeting with benevolent Lord Cactus, as I was. By the time I got to Nightdust, the 22-minute long song that caps off the album, I had drunk three cups of tea and about a liter of water, and had done many pull-ups and had stood outside on my balcony looking down at the lighted windows of my neighbors’ cozy little apartments. It was warm outside with a little breeze, and so I figured I ought to suit up and go for a walk through my neighborhood.

I remember the first time I ever did mushrooms, 16 years ago now, my friends and I sat inside a basement listening to music and waiting for whatever was going to happen to happen, and use having absolutely no idea what that might be. And once we started hallucinating, we decided to go outside into the summer night. I remember this intense distinction of Inside World and Outside World. Walking in and out of a house felt like teleporting to a completely different environment with its own unique properties. There was the safety and consistency of Inside World, whereas Outside World felt like an adventure whichever direction you took, and possibly danger too.

And so saying, I knew last night that I had to see Outside World for a while. It was 63 degrees out, but I wore two layers anyway on account of the peyote making me feel slightly cold. I walked through many of the parks in close proximity to my house, and it hit me then how twisted I was. The strangest sensation was that I felt 15 feet tall and among other giants. Mostly everything else had a sort of mushroomy feel, more so than acid. I dug it. . . .

In Kleistpark I saw teenagers huddling together in the grass or beneath old columns, smoking rolled cigarettes and looking at their phones, and music playing from a little speakers. It made me feel vaguely lonely that I didn’t have any sort of group to go to then.

A long time ago now, when my cousin Jack and I drove all the way Los Angeles on a bust writing assignment, we did mushrooms at 2 am on Santa Monica beach, crossing under the pier and the rainbow ferris wheel into Venice Beach, where we lay down on the sand by the shoreline and watched the pink sky and listened to the ocean. Heading back up to Ocean Boulevard, I spotted five or six people sitting around a bonfire in the sand. I approached them and asked how they were doing, and they didn’t treat me strangely at all. We talked for a little while, and then I said good night and walked with Jack to a nearby park where we befriended another group of strangers. You would be surprised how friendly people can be at night, I suspect because to be out that late, it’s usually intentionally. And so Night People are alike in that way.

It’s like the fella said:

I know the night is not the same as the day: that all things are different, that the things of the night cannot be explained in the day, because they do not then exist, and the night can be a dreadful time for lonely people once their loneliness has started.

Back in the Here and Now, I was stoned to the bone on mescaline, and I felt that same sort of night loneliness that I frequently feel when back on planet earth, probably more times than I could possibly count. However, I endeavored to swerve from the nightmare path that leads to the Dark World, which would have taken me all the way down, such was the fragility of my altered mind. I thought instead of how nice a night it was, and how I was excited to eventually end up back in my warm apartment where I could listen to music and watch movies till the sun came up. I passed through the dimly-lit park and through the wrought-iron gate in the direction of home.

Back in my fortified tower in beautiful Schöneberg, I washed my face and brushed my teeth. I saw that my neighbor Isabel had texted me back from earlier, and I asked her if she wanted a gummy. She said yes, and so I went one floor down to give it to her. She invited me inside and said she had to meet her friend at our U-Bahn station, and I asked if I could come along. And so we went back out again and met her friend Lea halfway. She immediately hugged me and offered me a sip of her beer, which of course I took. I ended up hanging out with them in Isabel’s apartment till four AM. They were very sweet to me and it made me feel less lonely.

Eventually I went back upstairs to my starry purple apartment and peeled off my jeans and put on my pajamas again. I made tea and lit incense and lay down on my back on the floor. I wished that I had plants I could water, and thought that the first thing I will do this week is to get plants to put all over my house. I thought also that it was essential I get a lot of cacti, now that we were such good friends. I felt that so strongly that I have no choice but to follow through on this, lest I disappoint almighty Lord Cactus.

Did I, like my friend Monty instructed, become one with cactus? I do not think I have yet glimpsed Cactus Empyrean as Dante and Beatrix did . . .

. . . but I reckon I can advance further to it by adding a few more capsules. For now I have to let my brain reset, such is case with all hallucinogens. And a few weeks from now when I have got low on all the chemicals in me, I will once again dial the number of King Cactus, Lord Castus—my brother, my captain, my king—and kneel at the foot of his spined throne, seeking wisdom. I can’t wait!

PRAISE THE CACTUS!!! ☆彡

Every night my sister takes her dog on a loop around our beautiful neighborhood, and sometimes I go with them. She took this the other night as we were walking down the long path which connects the cathedral to the nearby fountain, which they uncovered and turned on a few weeks ago now that it’s warm again here. Everyone was out walking their dogs and drinking beer and playing ping pong in the park. I love it . . .

i don’t think i’ve ever posted a meme on my website before, mostly because i don’t like them, but monty sent me this today and . . . damn lol

ok seriously how have i not seen this until now? it’s so good

Last night I took two mescaline capsules, which my friend Steph had given to me before I left San Francisco. Apparently she just bought them legally from some sort of health / supplement store. There’s also a little bit of psilocybin in them, maybe 20%, the other 80% being mescaline . . . an Arnold Palmer of natural hallucinogens. So it’s crushed cactus and mushrooms ground into a green dust and put inside clear vegetable capsules.

I have been looking for mescaline for over a decade. I lived in Texas and California, Cactus Country more or less, and even still it eluded me. It’s just not as popular as LSD or mushrooms, probably because you just can’t get a hold of the stuff. Actual peyote cactus takes like thirty years to grow, but what I got comes from San Pedro cactus, which germinates and yields mescaline buttons much quicker. And now finally I had gotten my hands on the stuff. I would have preferred to eat the buttons whole, though I’ll tell you what, at this point in my life I’ll take what I what I can get, whatever it is . . .

And so it was that on the evening of April 6th, 2024 A.D., I ingested two capsules in the purple gloom my apartment. I washed them down with a cup of black coffee and thought: “Well baby, then aloha.” I sat at my desk and wrote some, and texted my friends, and on and on, while listening to chill music, waiting for the slow come-up, which is always one of the most exciting parts when eating any hallucinogen. It didn’t hit me that I was neck-deep in a dreamlike state till I stepped out onto my street an hour later to take my trash out. To me the high is immediately amplified or made obvious, whether it’s weed or mushrooms, because suddenly you’re in public and in view of other people. I stood there on the sidewalk watching the rainbow halo of irridescence now surrounding the street lights, and inside the apartments across the street, made all the brighter because of the peyote furnace raging inside me. It was a warm night and nearby people were sitting outside of little cafes and walking their dogs. My pupils were big empty zeroes and I felt like a cartoon character just then. I turned around and ran up four flights of stairs to get back to the coziness of my apartment. My stomach had that strange feeling and my fingertips felt cold, so I knew I was dipping my toe in Wacky World. I put on music and went into the kitchen to make green tea.

I’m not going to sit here and describe what a drug feels like other than to say that I felt euphoric and happy and talkative and my body felt warm and rubbery. This was just an EXPLORATORY trip, a trial run, and so I can’t say for sure what happens when you crank the dial and go full-blown cactus crazy. I figure I’ll save that for a long walk on for some weekend in May when it’s 70 degrees at night. But for now I stayed home and ate fruit and drank a gallon of water and called Laura. I played that new Zelda and was totally relaxed just flying around in the sky. At 5 am I put on BOB LE FLAMBEUR and hung out with it till the credits rolled. I had seen Roger Ebert recommend it in one of his reviews. It’s considered the first French New Wave film, and the grandfather of all heist movies. Man! I had a really good time watching that movie.

Bob is a washed up middle-aged up gambler who rolls dice and plays cards in little bars and clubs with his friends till six in the morning. He looks like a noir detective in a hat and a crumpled overcoat and a five o’clock shadow, a cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. Then he takes off his jacket and hat and drives home wearing his nice suit and in his nice car to get back to his beautiful apartment. He sleeps till the afternoon and wakes up to black coffee left by his maid. Once the sun goes down, Bob slicks back his hair and returns to the Parisian red light district to try his luck yet another night. Bob’s friends tend to be younger, and he has a sort of fatherly / mentor relationship with them. Later, Bob concocts the ultimate heist to pull off with his crew. Basically, Bob is cool as hell.

When the movie ended, I saw that the sun had come up behind the sheets hung over my windows, and I reckoned it was time to dream the dreams of the cactus. I brushed my teeth and got into bed and fell asleep immediately. I slept for seven hours and woke in the afternoon. I had no pain in my body whatsoever . . . it felt as though I was flooded with endorphins. I didn’t want to get out of bed, but when I checked the weather, seeing that it was 73 degrees outside, I knew I had to get up and SOAK UP as much of it as I could. So I popped open the tops of all my windows to let the air in and made coffee and sat outside on my balcony overlooking a forested place where little red squirrels with pointy ears live.

Well: Mescaline is great. I had what you might call a WHOLLY POSITIVE EXPERIENCE (WPE). So take that for whatever it’s worth. I’ll keep you ABREAST on my next go around, when I take a mid-level dose . . . or maybe I’ll do a hero’s dose and just dive head-first into the abyss. Why not? I’m not afraid. I already got some idea of what’s down there. And anyway, perhaps instead of plunging into darkness, a mescaline trip of that magnitude is more of an ascension. It’s got to be, and isn’t that nicer to think about? Either way, I will manifest it. I mean, Aldous Huxley wrote a whole book about eating that stuff, and getting real jazzed on it, and look how he turned out. Who’s to say I don’t come out the other side with the seed planted in me to someday grow older to become a Bob The Gambler type of dude. Bob is free and has a lot of friends and is the architect of his own destiny. I can think of worse fates.