2100: I take a gelcap with 50mg methoxetamine. I am at home with only my mother and two cats for company. I have just had an excellent week on holiday with some good friends and so my mindset is optimal.
+0.30: I take a second gelcap with 50mg methoxetamine. This makes it a total of 100mg, which is a very heavy dose. The reader ought to note that I weigh 115kg, and so the vast majority of people would not need as strong a dose as 100mg to have a similar experience.
+1.00: It’s starting to come on for real. I turn my head to the side and it seems to take a while for my perception to catch up.
It’s not like how it usually is, where the turn of the head seems to take place at the same time as the change in focus. Somehow there is a sense of viewing everything though a camera.
It’s as if there is some kind of perceptual space in between the sensory action that is detecting the physical world and my consciousness that observes it.
As if my eyes have been removed and replaced with cameras, and these cameras feed input directly to my consciousness somehow.
+1.30: I’m enjoying watching myself do things. There is a strong sense of comedy, as my body appears to be doing things without an exercise of will on my part.
For example, I just went out of my house to go up the stairs to another house, and it’s more like watching an extremely boring movie (although the novelty of one’s life being observed second-hand like a movie makes it interesting).
I realise that I am in a state of dissociation, and there is a mild sense of alarm at the possibility that I might do something without being in control of myself, and come to regret it.
This alarm never becomes anything major, as my body fortunately rolls along without doing anything stupid.
+2.45: It’s interesting to pat a cat in this state because of the dissociation. The cat seemed to me as it usually does, except for one distinction.
I was happy for the cat because I knew the person patting it was a good person who meant no harm. Because this person was going to bring happiness to the cat, I was happy for the cat’s sake.
That it was my cat and that it was me patting it didn’t come into the picture, despite that this is the usual course of events.
I knew it was my cat and I knew that the cat being happy made me happy, it’s just that I was unable to comprehend that it was me making the cat happy. It was as if my consciousness just hung in physical space, a short distance from the man I was watching, and followed him around like a will-o-the-wisp.
+3.30: The dissociation has helped me to realise something. That the person I’m observing in this highly dissociated state is actually a decent fellow.
It’s an interesting state because I don’t usually feel this way about myself, a feature of having clinical depression. But the dissociation has allowed me to view myself as if through the eyes of another. It seems natural to assume that this is a more objective state, having been stripped of all the psychic flotsam that otherwise occupies the mind.
I realise that everyone’s opinion of themselves is, to a large extent, conditioned and therefore has been arrived at by involuntary means.
That I appear to be watching myself, and that this self that I am watching is a decent fellow who I don’t need to be afraid of, doesn’t seem particularly strange in this moment.
+4.00: It has occurred to me that methoxetamine is an excellent anti-depressant. I have not taken my anti-depressants for a week before this trip so as to avoid serotonin syndrome (methoxetamine, like my prescribed sertraline, is a serotonin reuptake inhibitor).
I am feeling pretty happy, but not in a high way. Methoxetamine doesn’t appear to be an especially giggly drug like the classical psychedelics.
The sense of joy rather comes from a removal of the cloud of ignorance that I had about myself. It’s as if I dared to peek behind a perceptual curtain and was rewarded by feeling better about myself.
+5.00: The trip is starting to wind down. One pleasant thing about dissociatives is that the comedown tends to return the user to their familiar, everyday state of doing things in a way that is a relief.
This contrasts with the feeling I get on psychedelics, in which the comedown to familiarity often comes with a sense of disappointment, of being stuck here again.
All in all, I’d highly recommend a solid dose of methoxetamine, however I would only do so under certain caveats.
In particular, this drug is probably a terrible choice for going out partying or in public, on account of that the dissociation makes normal human communication a bit of a crapshoot.
On the flipside, it seemed like an excellent choice for hanging out at home and getting to know yourself better. Thus I would suggest that using it more or less like psilocybin should work out okay.
Also, I get the feeling that methoxetamine should probably be avoided if a person has low self-esteem or hates themselves. This is because the dissociative effect might bring this lack of self-regard starkly to the fore.
2000: Took 17.5mg 2C-B-FLY in gelcap form. I am with two very good friends, R and S, who I am visiting on holiday. We are at R’s place, and we are all in a very positive mood on account of this social encounter, which we had been looking forward to for some time.
R’s place is pretty cool, a quiet house on a section of the coast about an hour North of Wellington, New Zealand. Very chilled, there’s a friendly black cat hanging out with us and R strums some tunes on his bass guitar.
+0.30: Feeling talkative, a bit high, but not really buzzing. Took another 17.5mg on the basis that I had not felt anything negative from the first gelcap.
For anyone else thinking of taking 35mg of 2C-B-FLY, do take into account that I weigh 115kg, am a highly experienced psychedelic drug user, and in retrospect consider this dose very strong. A person unfamiliar with this substance will almost certainly have a better time taking less than 35mg.
+0.40: Laughing a lot, starting to come on. This is consistent with the trip reports I read immediately pre-trip, which seemed to suggest that the real effects began after 45-50 minutes.
+1.15: A very light-hearted buzz. R, S and I are cracking jokes and the laughter is deep and such that I feel lost in it, a kind of laughter that makes me forget all my problems.
It may just be the set and setting, but I have a good sense that 2C-B-FLY is a legitimate entactogen in its own right, as the three of us are having a great time just conversing with heightened perceptions.
+1.45: I am holding court on the nature of God. My contention is that, because God is perfection God necessarily takes the form of infinite and eternal purity. Although this is perfect there are perspectives and dimensions in which it isn’t perfect on account of suboptimal levels of novelty.
God has therefore allowed itself to become degraded in a fractal form. Each of us are a subset of the Great Fractal, the precise morphology of this subset being a unique iteration of a function of the ways in which God has allowed its purity to become concealed behind a veil of impurity.
The exact pattern of this impurity is what gives life its colour, for in a state of perfection such colour does not exist. Therefore, God has achieved a higher purpose than perfection through its own voluntary degradation.
Every single one of us is some kind of glorious cripple, in our freakiness even higher than God.
R seems to agree, and seems impressed with this insight. S seems a bit more skeptical.
+2.00: I go outside for a joint. Coughing my guts out, but I notice that I am feeling extremely positive, like I have an intuitive premonition that I am about to get exactly what I wanted. A sense of anticipation is building from a warmth in my body.
+2.45: Feel almost sober now. This lasts for a while, at least ten minutes, and I am convinced that this means the end of the trip. Mild to moderate disappointment.
+3.30: The trip has now surged back to a new high. I am clearly still peaking, even coming up to four hours after dropping the first cap. R and S agree that they have had similar feelings of the trip being over but they are also feeling new levels of high.
+4.00: I’m outside in winter with a cold wind blowing but feel very warm. It’s as if an internally generated heat from within my very centre is providing easily enough warmth to keep my skin warm.
This feeling is one of my favourite psychedelic vibes. It’s a sense of remembering that ultimately everything is fine in the universe. Considering that this is about 40 hours before the winter solstice at 41 degrees latitude it is reasonably cold in meatspace, so in my head I know I am overcoming my immediate challenges.
+5.30: At the peak of the trip, there is an odd incident with R’s front door. S and I are outside having a joint, when R comes out appearing highly confused.
R tells us that when he went to open the front door from the inside, it was locked, even though S and I were outside, and the door could not have been locked from the outside because there is a key in the lock on the inside.
I genuinely don’t remember opening the door to go outside. I remembered opening it on the other occasions that I went through earlier in the night, because the locking mechanism is complicated and unfamiliar to me and so it required some thought to navigate.
Somehow it seems obvious to me, in this moment, that there are multiple dimensions of time that are only reliably available to consciousnesses greater than ours, but that even lower beings like humans can sometimes operate in five-dimensional space if the circumstances are correct.
For example, I am aware that the reality in which I am standing outside is very, very, very close in the Great Fractal to the reality in which I am standing inside. Therefore, moving from the latter to the former should not require a particularly great effort. Indeed, it could be so little an effort that a sufficiently advanced consciousness could do it on autopilot and not remember.
This necessarily means that whether or not the door was closed is entirely irrelevant. If you can move in five-dimensional space then three-dimensional obstacles such as closed doors cannot properly hinder you, any more than a two-dimensional obstacle such as a gently inclined path could properly hinder a person walking in four-dimensional space.
At the same time, I appreciate that this logic cannot properly be comprehended in a non-psychedelic state, and might well strike me as baffling in the morning.
+6.00: By now I have convinced myself that 2C-B-FLY is a genuinely top shelf psychedelic.
The most interesting thing about it is its unpredictability. There were many times in the first four hours of the trip that I had convinced myself that it had started to wear off.
+8.00: I am talking to R. Although I can make sense of the words he is saying, the face with which he says it keeps distorting. I always see a man of about the same age, his features keep changing – from bald to having short blonde hair, and from that to having a shaven head with a long brown ponytail, like a Hare Krishna.
His eyes and nose are imprecise and seem to keep shifting and streaking away, not dissimilar to the experience of Hunter S. Thompson checking into the Mint Hotel, as depicted in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas.
+9.30: All three of us are still on a pronounced high, but there is a definite sense of brain resources now being depleted and the necessity of sleep is looming. Despite that, the conversation shifts to salvia divinorum, of which we have a small pile.
We take turns in ceremonially smoking fat bowls of salvia from a big pipe, and our consciousnesses leave meatspace entirely. Profoundly intense hallucinatory experiences (and here is not the place to describe them) and I think being on 2C-B-FLY may have potentiated the salvia.
+11.30: Time for bed, not really tripping any more but still on a high from having had an excellent time. Sleep comes quickly.
All in all, the experience is highly reminiscent of a good mescaline + MDMA trip, but without anything close to the body load or nausea that usually comes with either cactus or MDMA.
It had both a psychedelic and an entactogenic effect on me. Perhaps the psychedelic element was slightly muted compared to the entactogenic one. Sometimes I felt like I was drunk at a party because I didn’t give a fuck but in contrast to booze the 2C-B-FLY did not give me any bad physical effects, not during the trip or the day after, when I felt perfectly fine.
It was definitely much better to do this with a few friends than at home by myself. The experience was not much like psilocybin and it was probably even more masculine than LSD, so there didn’t seem to be much value in a introspective silent darkness style use of the substance.
Because of its unpredictability, I definitely would not want to drive or hang out in public on 2C-B-FLY. It shifted gears strongly and swiftly and without warning – which is awesome fun in the right setting, with the right friends and low levels of drama.
The New Zealand Parliament will soon get another chance to bring our cannabis laws into the 21st century, with Julie Anne Genter’s Misuse of Drugs (Medicinal Cannabis and Other Matters) Amendment Bill drawn from the Member’s Bill Ballot this week. This ought to herald the long-awaited national conversation on the subject.
The Bill allows for any Kiwi suffering from “any debilitating condition” to use cannabis or a cannabis product if they have approval from a doctor. It also allows for such patients to cultivate cannabis themselves or to nominate someone to do it for them.
This latter point is extremely important and often underappreciated. One of Peter Dunne’s strategies to keep cannabis illegal by boondoggle has been to restrict supply to extremely expensive overseas sources, such as Sativex (which costs over $1,000 per month), instead of simply allowing people who need it to cultivate it themselves. This Bill would remove this deliberately-placed hurdle.
As Genter points out, the decision to make cannabis illegal was not based on evidence in the first place. Doctors in the 1930s were prescribing medicinal cannabis to patients in New Zealand, as they were all across the world.
The decision to stop doctors from prescribing cannabis was pushed on us by moronic do-gooders forcing their Puritan ideology on the rest of the world.
There was never any science involved, nor any common sense, foresight, empathy, compassion or concern for good order.
From the beginning, cannabis prohibition was based on nothing but a sadistic need to control the masses through causing them suffering, and on the gullibility of legions of morons willing to bleat whatever they heard from an authority figure as if it was the Word of God.
For a person to still not know that cannabis is medicinal they have to be willfully stupid.
The Aotearoa Legalise Cannabis Party first stood in a General Election in 1996. Already in 1996 the party platform had the need for medicinal cannabis as one of its core tenets.
In 1996 it got 1.66% of the vote, so even twenty years ago it was true that one in sixty Kiwis considered cannabis law reform a major issue. After all, California legalised medicinal cannabis that year, so the medicinal properties of cannabis were already known and accepted by experts even then.
Since then, twenty-eight US states have made medicinal cannabis legal and eight have made recreational cannabis legal – and none of them have gone back to prohibition after making the change.
So to deny that cannabis law reform is inevitable is like denying that a heavyweight boxer who has won forty consecutive knockout victories is a title contender.
For a person to continue to believe that the prohibition of medicinal cannabis helps New Zealanders, they have to possess a willful ignorance that borders on malice.
They would have to continue to ignore all the stories from hundreds of medicinal cannabis users, over twenty years, in which they detailed the reduction in suffering that cannabis gave them.
They would have to think nothing of the fact that supporters of medicinal cannabis are winning a victory every month either in New Zealand or in another Western jurisdiction.
They would have to believe that it was fair that any of Martin Crowe, Paul Holmes and Helen Kelly could have been prosecuted and sent to prison for using medicinal cannabis to alleviate pain caused from dying of cancer.
And a person cannot think like that unless they purposefully deny reality for the sake of bringing cruelty into the world.
When the debate about medicinal cannabis does, finally, after over twenty years of campaigning, happen in Parliament, the MPs who oppose it will mark themselves out as particularly sadistic old dinosaurs who need getting rid of.
There was some excitement in the New Zealand cannabis community this week after the news that the Government would remove restrictions on doctors who wanted to prescribe cannabidiol (CBD) in the form of an oil. It was the first admission from the Government, ever, that cannabis actually had medicinal value, and for this reason it was significant.
Those of us who are not enamoured of politicians are naturally eager to point out that, after twenty years of sick Kiwis being completely ignored when it came to the cannabis question, progress is only now being made in the foreshadow of a general election.
Neither are we surprised to see hordes of Green Party hacks swarm the battlefields of social media to play down the magnitude of this change. The consensus tactic appears to be describing the changes as “not medicinal cannabis”, despite the fact that CBD is the component of cannabis that has shown by far the greatest medicinal promise.
After all, it’s important for the Green Party – now that the will of Kiwis for some cannabis law reform is undeniably clear – to craft a narrative of having been at the forefront of cannabis law reform all along.
Politicians being what they are, the Greens will deny at all costs the truth: that they sucked up cannabis law reform votes from 1999 and gave back nothing but contempt, until a few months before Peter Dunne (of all people) changed the law himself, without Green Party input.
All of this shitfighting distracts, and is intended to distract, from the fact that if the Greens do get into Government and change the cannabis laws to something intelligent and reasonable, they will, at the same time, make some other aspect of legislation stupid and unreasonable – and this is the necessary flipside of the deal.
The Government giveth; the Government taketh away. This is the nature of politics. The Government never simply gives freedoms back to the people it manages.
We are losing rights now, and will continue to lose them into the future, because the Government and all parties running for Government are in agreement about taking away our rights to use tobacco.
Many people have been able to predict that we will get legal cannabis at the same time as we lose legal tobacco. The rhetoric from the Government is for a “Smokefree New Zealand” by 2025, and we know that they will pursue this futile goal (previously described by this column as a sadistic idea dreamed up by morons) with the same mindless zealotry that they did the goal of making New Zealand cannabis-free.
And it will be equally as futile. Tobacco may be less fun to smoke than cannabis, but people still do it – not because they are “addicted”, as our moronic mental health establishment would have it, but because tobacco has a strong medicinal effect to people suffering from a wide range of mental problems, in particular psychosis and/or excess anxiety brought about from complications of trauma.
Statists and control freaks everywhere are mewling: “But we used to think tobacco was medicinal, but now science has advanced and now we know better.”
But this was exactly what they said when they made cannabis illegal.
Cannabis has been widely used by humans for centuries, and the propaganda against it early this century was all based on a two-pronged attack: first, deny any and all benefits of the substance, no matter how obvious; and second, attribute any and all detriments to the substance, no matter how peripherally related.
And so, in much the same way that we just had nearly a century of hearing that cannabis causes psychosis and schizophrenia and brain tumours and amotivational syndrome and blah blah blah, and how all of the positive effects that people had noticed from cannabis use were really just delusions brought about by the psychotogenic effects of the plant, now we’re going to hear all the same rubbish about tobacco.
Mental health patients will continue to tell politicians and doctors that tobacco use significantly alleviates their suffering, as it has done for mentally ill people for centuries, and they will increasingly be ignored as the devotion to the righteousness of the crusade against tobacco overrides all logic and reason.
We’re sure we banned the right thing this time!
Of course, at some point in the future we’ll get legal tobacco back, because the suppressed mental health benefits of its use will at some point be rediscovered, and then another campaign of spending decades trying to talk basic commonsense to goat-stubborn morons and brainwashed doctors will begin.
And when that process ends, we will lose legal alcohol, probably on the grounds that it causes too much violence and brain damage. At this point, the massive social and emotional benefits of alcohol will be suppressed and forgotten.
The Government giveth; the Government taketh away.
The Government’s stupidity with regards to cannabis is hard to overstate. Its 40-year long War on Drugs, conducted against the people of New Zealand at their own expense, has destroyed tens of thousands of lives at the cost of billions. Signs are that they are soon to stop lying about cannabis – but the distrust they have caused will linger for decades.
It’s also hard to overstate the loss of trust that comes from realising that you have been lied to for many years about the effects of using cannabis. For many, this trust is impossible to replace.
At first it’s kind of surreal – if you are from a family background that has many cannabis users in it – to learn that so many diseases and negative outcomes are attributed to use of the plant.
It seems obvious that cannabis is of value to people who can’t handle alcohol, and that if they smoke instead of drink then no-one gets beaten up. This seems so obvious that it’s really astonishing that our entire public recreational culture revolves around the violent drug and not the peaceful one.
Most Kiwis have had the experience of being at school and being forced to listen to a Police officer lie to them about the supposed effects of the drug. That sort of thing is relatively easy to brush off – after all, you’d have to be stupid to trust a Police officer in the first place.
At high school you learn the basic lesson of Animal Farm, which is that the ruling class are pigs and they maintain control and order by setting the dogs onto the other animals. So most people are capable of eventually accepting that politicians and cops aren’t really the good guys and never were, and so their lying to you isn’t that big of a betrayal.
It’s harder to brush off when it’s a doctor lying to you.
An ever-growing number of Kiwis have, over recent years, come to bring their discoveries about the application of medicinal cannabis to the attention of their doctor, only to be firmly told that cannabis has no medicinal value, or even negative value.
This sort of thing is much more difficult to cope with because doctors are generally seen as impartial sources that can be relied upon without politics or money interfering. In many ways, doctors have replaced priests as the kind of person that Kiwis have come to confide in in dark times.
Unfortunately, New Zealand doctors will happily lie to their patients when they are ordered to by politicians who are taking money from pharmaceutical, alcohol or tobacco interests who want to use the law to eliminate a competitor.
This is why they stubbornly refuse to concede that cannabis has medicinal value, even thought it was legalised in California in 1996 and has recently been legalised for medicinal use in Argentina, South Africa, Chile, Colombia, Mexico and other places that New Zealand likes to think itself more developed than.
The unexpected consequence of this lying about the medicinal value of cannabis is that many patients, having become aware that their doctors are lying to them, lose all faith in those doctors, and then stop trusting them on all other matters, such as the need for vaccines and so on.
These medical hyperskeptics are disproportionately young, for the reason that it is almost entirely old people who continue to maintain the fiction that the Drug War is fought for the benefit of the New Zealand people. We know this because there is a correlation of -0.55 between median age and voting for the Aotearoa Legalise Cannabis Party in 2014.
The problem with this is that these young adults are precisely the same demographic that does the vast majority of the breeding, and therefore comprise the vast majority of the people tasked with making decisions about the immunisation schedule of infant New Zealanders.
Here the danger is evident. These people, tasked with making important medical decisions for the sake of their children’s wellbeing, cannot have confidence in what their doctor tells them because they know that their doctor has been less than honest on the cannabis subject.
Let’s not understate how incredible it is for a doctor not to know that cannabis is medicinal. It’s just as astonishing as meeting an astronomer who didn’t know that the Earth rotated around the Sun.
If the New Zealand medical profession is serious about preventing an outbreak of a once-eliminated disease, such as the kind that has been kept from breaking out by mass immunisation, then it needs to take care to repair the damage that its credibility has suffered from 21 years of lying about cannabis.
Californians decided that there was enough evidence to make medicinal cannabis legal 21 years ago.
It’s in the public interest of every Kiwi to see to it that our ridiculous drug laws are reformed as soon as possible.
The New Zealand Government, in its limitless beneficence, has decided that we innocent Kiwis need to be protected from the insidious horror drug that is tobacco. The means they have chosen to protect us with is by taxing us more when we purchase cigarettes. Speaking honestly, this strategy could be rightly described as soft prohibition – and it’s just as stupid as hard prohibition.
The logic goes like this. A person’s willingness to buy a good such as tobacco is a function of the price of that good. Because tobacco is not considered medicinal, its use is considered to do nothing but cause disease. So, its use costs taxpayer money in the form of healthcare. Therefore, if you increase tobacco taxes, people will use it less and tax money will be saved on dealing with the effects of the diseases tobacco causes.
The fact that this had led to the absurdity of the Government claiming to impoverish tobacco users for their own benefit hasn’t stopped them from raising the taxes anyway.
The rise in tobacco tax has, predictably, led to a spate of robberies of dairies and other places selling tobacco. As Dan McGlashan has previously written for this newspaper, the majority of regular tobacco smokers were already doing it hard, even before the tax increases.
As this column has previously argued, tobacco ought to rightly be seen as a mental health medicine. The main reason it isn’t is because of the total dominance of materialist dogma in medical and scientific circles – the same materialist dogma that has created our prehistoric mental health system.
It doesn’t take a forensic psychology degree to be able to predict that making an expensive drug even more expensive, when many desperate people rely on it to cope with the stresses of the day, is going to lead to robberies and violence.
Ridiculously, if the Police were to apply the same logic to tobacco that they apply to cannabis, they would say that tobacco itself causes crime and that the dairy robberies are evidence that tobacco should be made illegal.
Obviously, alcohol prohibition failed and cannabis prohibition failed. Not only did they fail, but they did so at the cost of many billions of dollars, the destruction of many millions of lives, and the eradication of any faith that the younger generations may ever had had in the competence or good will of the Government or the Police.
So why on Earth would we want to repeat those two catastrophic errors with tobacco?
The most likely answer is that our politicians are as thick as pigshit and are either too stupid to learn anything from history or too arrogant to think that the laws of reality through which history unfolds apply to them.
Increasing the taxes on tobacco, with the intent of gradually making it prohibited, will increase the amount of violence and crime around the substance to a commensurate degree.
Just like prohibition did with alcohol. Just like prohibition does with cannabis. It will fail, just like prohibition always has done and always will do, because human nature will never concede that a bunch of old control freaks in Wellington have the right to prohibit the people from the free use of medicinal plants.
This won’t stop them from trying, of course. The politicians know that they are not affected by the consequences of the laws they pass. Thus, they know that it won’t be them getting robbed and slashed with machetes – they get their six-figure MP’s salary no matter what.
The real concern is what actions might be taken by those who are getting robbed. Already, dairy owners know that they are widely perceived as a soft target thanks to both not being armed and stocking large amounts of valuable tobacco.
The usual response to this degree of risk of violent robbery is for the dairy owners to start keeping firearms behind the counter.
Politicians in New Zealand don’t have the courage to admit that the Drug War they have conducted against the New Zealand people for 40 years has failed, so we know they will not have the courage to admit that their attempt to make tobacco illegal is also failing.
Probably they will keep raising the taxes until someone gets shot dead. After all, it’s neither them nor their families suffering.