Matthias London

Ketamine-Friday

Ketamine Friday

My sister started rolling three cigarettes when Prince asked into the round, “Alright, then, what’s the deal here?” Careful and considerate as he was, he gave us full authority to decide what would happen this weekend.
“So, tomorrow morning we’re gonna hike Lion’s Head, right?” I answered.
“For the sunrise,” my sister Lumba said, licking and closing the first cigarette.
“For the sunrise,” I reiterated, “Which means we wake up…?”
“At 5:00 a.m.,” Prince said, “We need about an hour to the top, and the sun rises at 6:42 a.m.”
Ouch. “Then, at ten, we’re gonna pick up the car at Bree Street,” I continued – Everyone nodded – “After we picked up the car, we’ll come home and get ready to leave,” – Again, mutual nodding – “That’s all I know as far as the plan is concerned.”

“Then we’ll drive down toward Cape Point, through Chapman’s Peak,” Lumba continued, licking the sticky side of the second cigarette, “and go see the penguins in Simon’s Town.”
“The penguins!”
“And then we’ll land in Long Beach and spend the rest of the day dwelling in the sun. It’ll be a beautiful sunny day,” Prince added. He’d been wanting to have a full day at the beach to recover from a stressful week at work.
“Deal. We can nap a bit there…” I started, and my sister finished my sentence: “and then pull up to the party at night,” – she slurped along the third cigarette and finished it.
“Where we’re going full-on bonkers,” I said.
Amen.

What would happen on Sunday was unplannable. “I hate to say this,” I therefore opened,” but we’ll need Ketamine, MDMA, and some Amphetamine.” The weekend plan was ruff and demanded substantial help. Thoughtful nodding in the room.

Prince said that he had a contact for Ketamine, and I had met that outlandish drunk the previous Saturday on a market who had given me a contact for MDMA, “Pink Shampain,” he had said with his shades hanging only half on his face, “ya dun get dat shit anywhere else in town, truzz me.”

Sometimes, the most spaced-out people are the most trustworthy ones, so we decided to give it a shot. We could come to pick it up the next day. Lumba reminded us that she’d brought washed Amphetamine with her. Prince’s guy delivered just an hour after he contacted him (what a good contact: A decent price for a high-quality product and reliable service. Not often that you find a dealer like that). A team effort yielded satisfactory results, and we were set to get going with the weekend. The only logical thing to do was sleeping in order to wake up early and fresh the next day for the sunrise hike.

I drew three parallel lines that triggered an outcry from behind, “Are you crazy, Mattes? That’s way too much.” Indeed, dosing K correctly was imperative. But diverging levels of tolerance exhibit significantly different somatic experiences under the influence of the same amount of Ketamine. And degrading a Ketamine tolerance takes longer than most tolerance of most other drugs.

So, while the K gently lifted Lumba and Prince, it gave me a sense of frustration. 30 minutes later, I suggested that we could take another hit. They shone at me in excitement, though the line I drew for myself caused visible discomfort. I reassured them that I knew what I was doing. After all, I had a long history of recreational use under various conditions.

I indeed underestimated the strength of the substance. Just 30 seconds into inhaling the pinkie-long strip of white into my right nostril, I felt the dissociating effects taking hold. The room changed form. All of a sudden, it seemed like Lumba and Prince sat extremely far away. As if seeing the world through a fish-eye lens. I heard myself squeak a yeeeeh, but it sounded as though it echoed from far away, from outside of myself. “I think I need to lay down,” I said, or at least I thought to have said so. Lumba and Prince cuddled themselves on both my sides, and I could perceive space and time disembedding before I forgot that I was a person.

It is out of the question that the characteristics of K-land are different for each person and each trip. Many of my trips that had been quite the opposite of clear and coherent were verification enough. What was new was the realization that although Ketamine accelerates a separation from the corporeal self into a dissociated, dreamy realm, the connection to the body remains. So, the particularities of a K-land must be a function of – amongst others – the worldly conditions where the body resides while the soul is sent on its unworldly voyage. How else would the lost soul find its way back into the body when the time to come home approached?

That body and soul under Ketamine dissociation mutually construct each other was further proven by the fact that my body was actually engulfed by love: I had my sister to my left and Prince to my right, in a loose embrace that was held together by a strong bond of care and recognition and affection and respect. No wonder that my metaspatial journey centered around the sentiment of love when my body was experiencing it so purely and honestly. Of course, that only became clear when I came back to myself. None of that appeared to me on my soul’s pilgrimage because who was experiencing that bodily love when my “self” was clearly in another universe, unaware of the “I” within the world of physical sensation?

“Wow guys, that was probably the most beautiful trip I ever had in my life,” Prince said. I carefully focused my vision. Moved different parts of my body, testing if my motoric abilities were still in place. Gently lifted my upper body. Said: “Did you see the tree?”
“Oh my god, you saw it, too?” Lumba asked.
“Yeah, and not only that: It was like I wasn’t myself anymore, I was the tree. And it wasn’t just me.”

That fascinated me. I went into a short monologue about how high doses of Ketamine with bodies that are physically intersecting always emphasize the interconnectedness of things. The first stages of the trip make you experience a stretching out of the body as if the limits of your body suddenly do not apply anymore. “You may be stretched out onto the couch or the bed, or wherever the edges of the body are tangent to. But when you’re embracing someone else who simultaneously experiences the insufficiency of the human body as being stretched out, it amplifies the process of dissociation from the self ten-fold: ‘What is my body and where does it end? What’s this other pulse that is beating there somewhere? Is that me?’ Until eventually, the body loses its place in the self-understanding, because the self is so detached from it that it does not even consider the potentiality of the body anymore. The question of whether what is pulsating there is ‘me’ becomes meaningless. It makes space for other questions to be asked.”

 

“I think I know what it is,” Prince then hurled into the room, “I got it while peeing.”
Lumba laughed. “Obviously, the best ideas ever were written under the shower.”
“There’s a difference between love that you know will not go away and love that you’re afraid will be lost.” – Yes – “That’s what it is. The love that you share with family is love that you know – no matter what: It’s always there.” – Yeah – “But the love that you have with a lover you always fear losing. And that’s the two variations of it.”
“Thank you,” Lumba said with an understanding head nod, “Thank you, that is exactly this” she gleamed at me determinedly, pointing her finger at Prince and bouncing it up and down in perfect tact with the emphasized syllabuses her mouth produced, “Because after I had dropped that question into the trip, I lost myself into: What is the purpose of this? Why am I asking this? Because I’m seeking it. Why am I seeking it? I’m feeling it right now. Then, why do I feel like I don’t have it? Because… I’m scared of losing it. And this is the one love that’s… Oh my god.”

“Can you say that again?” I asked. It seemed like I knew that feeling, but I somehow couldn’t understand. Wasn’t all love supposed to be the same?

“The one is constant, and the other one is changing,” Prince summed up, “that’s the difference.” – Mhhh – “And it makes sense. Remember the other day when we came from… We came from the National Park. I texted you something and you responded ‘Both of us’… Do you remember?” – I did – “And I was thinking about the love that I have for you and how… Lumba is a part of that love. Because I don’t differentiate you as two different people. You know, like, when I looked at you when we were in the ocean, there was a moment when I was looking at you, and you were standing next to each other, and I was like, ‘This is one person.’ And I think that’s why when I sent that message, I sent it as though it was meant for two people. You know, but I didn’t’ know how to explain that at the moment. But now, after this trip, I’m like, now I understand what I was feeling. It’s that collective love of a brother and sister that I happened to be a bystander to. And that was so beautiful. Ugh, you guys are the best,” and we hugged each other dearly and long.

After a while, Prince lightheartedly mumbled “so much as into ‘let’s have a chill Friday night,’” and we all laughed hugely, laughing like we hadn’t laughed in a long time, manic and serene, true, true, true. “Sleep early,” my sister added. It was three a.m., and in two hours, the alarm would ring for the next trip.

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“Then we’ll drive down toward Cape Point, through Chapman’s Peak,” Lumba continued, licking the sticky side of the second cigarette, “and go see the penguins in Simon’s Town.”
“The penguins!”
“And then we’ll land in Long Beach and spend the rest of the day dwelling in the sun. It’ll be a beautiful sunny day,” Prince added. He’d been wanting to have a full day at the beach to recover from a stressful week at work.
“Deal. We can nap a bit there…” I started, and my sister finished my sentence: “and then pull up to the party at night,” – she slurped along the third cigarette and finished it.
“Where we’re going full-on bonkers,” I said.
Amen.

What would happen on Sunday was unplannable. “I hate to say this,” I therefore opened,” but we’ll need Ketamine, MDMA, and some Amphetamine.” The weekend plan was ruff and demanded substantial help. Thoughtful nodding in the room.

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