Te Reo With Mnemonics: Food Words

to bite – ngau(-a)

A man pulls up a pile of food from a hangi, and starts to gnaw on a meaty bone.

to eat – kai(-nga)

A man dressed as a king sits down in front of a hangi and starts eating the food there.

to chew – ngaungau(-a)

Watching through a pair of binoculars, a policeman sees a teenage girl put a piece of gum in her mouth and start chewing. The policeman picks up his radio and shouts “Now! Now!” as if orchestrating a hostage rescue.

bitter – pūkawa

A cow takes a bite of a flower and its facial expression shows intense bitterness; then it defecates. The bitter taste caused a poo cow.

sweet – reka

On a pile of junked cars and vans at a wrecker‘s yard, a young boy sits and eats sweets, ice-creams and chocolates.

to feed – kainga

Two boys are playing checkers. One moves a piece to the far side and says “King me!” His opponent picks up the board and feeds it to him.

The word ‘tower’ and the Maori word for flavour, tāwara, share a t-w-r- sound

Flavour – tāwara

A teenage boy walks up to a teetering tower made of salami. He takes a bite out of it, and then says “This tower is tower-flavoured.”

Food – kai

A woman walks into a grocery store to buy some food. Instead of regular food, the shelves are full of keys of all descriptions.

fresh – mata

A matador walks up to a table full of food. Under his breath, he mutters “Fresh? Is this food fresh? Fresh enough?”

hunger/hungry – hiakai

Hercules sit does in front of a meal with a rumbling stomach. He tucks into the food in a way that shows a striking level of hunger.

taste – rongo

A man watches as a woman takes a bite out of an apple. She says “It tastes like banana.” “Wrong!” the man replies.

thirst/thirsty – hiainu

Through the bars of a prison cell, a prisoner says to a guard “I’m dying of thirst in here.” The guard replies “A fitting punishment for your heinous crimes.”

*

The above is an excerpt from the upcoming ‘Learn Maori Vocabulary With Mnemonics‘, a book by Jeff Ngatai.

Trip Report: 100mg Methoxetamine

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.

The Fundamental Masculine and Feminine Moralities

People often talk about one singular, monolithic, ideal morality as is God was sitting up in the heavens waiting for us to figure it out. The belief appears to be that if we ever did figure this out, we would all behave according to it and life on Earth would be harmonious forevermore.

This childish magical thinking is, of course, false. The reality is that there are two very different moralities that represent opposite ends of an ethical spectrum upon which all actions fall.

The fundamental masculine morality is to maintain good order, and the fundamental feminine morality is to allow life to naturally express itself.

Maintaining good order and allowing life to naturally express itself might not sound like contradictions necessarily, but they are still poles on an ethical spectrum.

One can convince oneself of this by realising that all threats to good order arise from the natural expression of life, and that all bad order restricts the natural expression of life. Likewise, all good order allows for the natural expression of life, and all unnatural expressions of life lead to bad order.

This means that it is commonplace for adherents of the masculine morality to want to destroy expressions of life that threaten good order, and it is commonplace for adherents of feminine morality to want to destroy bad order that prevents natural expression of life.

For the most part, it’s entirely possible for these two moralities to work together. But sometimes they don’t.

A man might act according to masculine morality when he tends to his garden. A gardener is not at all interested in allowing life to express itself through the form of weeds. His task is to maintain good order by keeping the weeds out, by keeping the plants in correctly spaced rows, to prevent the soil from becoming too wet or too dry etc.

A woman might act according to feminine morality when she raises a child. When raising a child, women are generally not particularly concerned with the degree of order that child has. What she wants is for the child to express itself through growth, to be healthy and strong, to feel joy at being alive, and this is made more difficult by forcing order on it.

Masculine and feminine moralities therefore come into conflict when a given order is considered good by some and bad by others.

In fact, this is how most conflict starts. A king might consider his kingdom’s operation to demonstrate good order, but there may be forces in the kingdom who disagree, and who consider his rulership to be bad order.

These forces will come into conflict because the natural expression of the sentiments of those who disagree with the king’s rule will conflict with the king’s desire to maintain order, and the king will find himself forced to stamp those sentiments out else risk chaos befalling the kingdom.

In the same way that silver is a compromise between clay and iron and more valuable than either on account of its finer balance, so too does the correct course of action in any given situation appear as a balance between the masculine and feminine moralities.

Morally retarded people are those who are unable to find a balance between the masculine and feminine moral orientations, and so they either try and impose maximum order upon everything (penis-worshippers and control freaks) or maximum chaos upon everything (postmodernists and hyperfeminists).

People who go too far down the masculine track start wanting to maintain order for order’s sake. The concept of good order is forgotten.

Our cannabis laws are an excellent example of an excess of masculine moral sentiment. It’s obvious to everyone that the New Zealand cannabis laws are not fit for purpose and must be changed, but those who wish to maintain order for order’s sake are unable to countenance so much as a conversation about the subject.

People who go too far down the feminine track start wanting to introduce chaos for chaos’s sake. The concept of healthy chaos is forgotten. These people essentially “just want to watch the world burn”.

The refugee policy of Europe over the past two decades is an excellent example of an excess of feminine moral sentiment. The refusal to discriminate between the natives and non-natives, usually for what are claimed to be moral reasons, has led to a collapse in good order as all manner of chancers have flooded in to compete with the natives for resources.

The only way out of our predicament will be to find the correct balance between the masculine desire for order and the feminine desire for free expression.

Metaphysically that means choosing the right combination of clay and iron so that the overall structure can be polished into silver.

In other words, the same as it ever was.

Trip Report: 35mg 2C-B-FLY (Doors of Deception)

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.

Poetry K-Hole 5: Hypnos Lost.

Hypnos Lost.

Visions slit our lids and peel
them open to pass the hours,

festooned over the rungs
as supernal sentries,
we are denied entry.

When preludes of a day,
strained
through the stray notes,

hitch in
on a fleet of wings,

they shiver
through the vertebrae of repose –

rousing to a sick revival,
every other function.

But we – wreathed – linger
and perfect the art of existence

by expanding into the full fury
of our innovation,

and without breaking our shape,
we strike at the horizon –

while the departed lie still
in apery of dying.

– Sommer Cullingford