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Collective Consciousness (Word Association)
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psionic nomad
IsraTrance Senior Member
Started Topics :
253
Posts :
2838
Posted : May 11, 2007 12:28
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darkside of the moon
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sure_smoke_alot
IsraTrance Junior Member
Started Topics :
45
Posts :
6874
Posted : May 11, 2007 12:32
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darkside of the sun - Suria
nice album
 the problem with valuing art is, till u dont understand it, it's worthless but wen u do understand it, it's priceless!! |
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psionic nomad
IsraTrance Senior Member
Started Topics :
253
Posts :
2838
Posted : May 11, 2007 12:38
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sunshine lalalala......
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phazed
IsraTrance Junior Member
Started Topics :
26
Posts :
1642
Posted : May 11, 2007 12:39
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sunny side up
-.-. .... --- --- ... . / .-.. --- ...- . |
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psionic nomad
IsraTrance Senior Member
Started Topics :
253
Posts :
2838
Posted : May 11, 2007 12:41
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up up and away
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Pt.
IsraTrance Senior Member
Started Topics :
236
Posts :
6106
Posted : May 11, 2007 12:53
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Is it a plane?
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phazed
IsraTrance Junior Member
Started Topics :
26
Posts :
1642
Posted : May 11, 2007 13:00
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Is it a man wearing his red undies on top of blue tights??!!
-.-. .... --- --- ... . / .-.. --- ...- . |
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Pt.
IsraTrance Senior Member
Started Topics :
236
Posts :
6106
Posted : May 11, 2007 13:09
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Psychedelic underwear
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psionic nomad
IsraTrance Senior Member
Started Topics :
253
Posts :
2838
Posted : May 11, 2007 13:58
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infected mushroom psychedelic underwear on sale at www.ebay.com....buy it before you loose it ;p |
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Pt.
IsraTrance Senior Member
Started Topics :
236
Posts :
6106
Posted : May 11, 2007 13:59
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Flein Sopp
If I bought it, I would use it as my masturbation towel (ewww...)
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psionic nomad
IsraTrance Senior Member
Started Topics :
253
Posts :
2838
Posted : May 11, 2007 14:05
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Fly-Agaric
yes i know...it is not a healthy proposition at all....masturbation towel lol
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Pt.
IsraTrance Senior Member
Started Topics :
236
Posts :
6106
Posted : May 11, 2007 14:15
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Amanita muscaria
If you rub Duvdev's head, will you get good or bad luck?
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psionic nomad
IsraTrance Senior Member
Started Topics :
253
Posts :
2838
Posted : May 11, 2007 14:26
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psychoactive
i'll say `washed off` luck...but then it depends how quick or slow you do the rubbing bit.
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Pt.
IsraTrance Senior Member
Started Topics :
236
Posts :
6106
Posted : May 11, 2007 14:39
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L.S.D.
Quote:
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On 2007-05-11 14:26, psionic nomad wrote:
...but then it depends how quick or slow you do the rubbing bit.
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 omg
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psionic nomad
IsraTrance Senior Member
Started Topics :
253
Posts :
2838
Posted : May 11, 2007 15:03
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psychedelic
and heres a lil psychedelic story....
once upon a time,
I was in Southern India, in the town of Kodaikanal, 7,000 feet up in the Palni Hills, and I was negotiating with Vijay to get him to take me out on a magic mushroom walk through what remained of the old broad-leafed shoala, rainforest, that had once covered the Hills.
I was in India to do a story on Zafar Futahelli, the father of India’s environmental movement. Futahelli, an elegant and hardworking man in his eighties, had recently formed the Palni Hills Conservation Society, a group whose goal is to reforest the Hills, which are rapidly being deforested to make way for time-share resorts, new monoculture eucalyptus, pine and Australian wattle groves, and for the building materials and cooking fires of the people native to the region.
The Society was working to save the Hills because they are the watershed for the huge Plains of Madouri, the breadbasket of Southern India. Roughly 20 miles wide and 40 miles long, they rise up from the center of the flat Madouri Plains to a height of more than 9,000 feet. Hit twice by monsoons annually, the roots of the old growth rainforest which used to cover them caught and held the rains like a sponge, letting gravity pull the water to the Plains’ streams as needed over the course of the dry seasons.
It was a good system until the resort builders began to clear land recklessly and lumbermen began to convert the ancient forest to monocultures, starting a chain of events that has led to the plains now flooding after monsoons, then drying up shortly afterward. To make up for the recent water shortages farmers on the Plains have begun drilling wells for irrigation, which have lowered the water table on the Plains, in turn killing the Plains’ natural covering. Summer sun bakes the now dry topsoil and seasonal winds blow much of it away. In short, the Plains don't produce like they used to, so a lot of people are eating less throughout Southern India, and many of them are starving. Just another man-made catastrophe which the World Bank will try to solve with billions of dollars tossed in the wrong direction at interest rates India won't have a prayer of repaying.
Futahelli’s plan is simpler: Replant the Hills. Hire the locals displaced by the newcomers to plant millions of trees of the varieties that used to be there, and in 10 years time the Hills can again generate water year round for the Plains. The little funding the project calls for would come from those people buying time-shares at the resorts.
So I was in India to talk to Futahelli and some of the builders, knowing that his solution is too clever to ever be adopted on the scale that’s needed, and after several days of listening to resort builders explain why their untreated human waste simply had to be disposed of in the Hills’ natural marshes—“How bad can the waste from my 145 units be?” one builder asked in the sing-song English of the country. “People must be using the toilet, after all...”—I needed a break.
Which is where Vijay and his paranoias came into the picture. Vijay had been recommended by several people, all of whom said he was a bit peculiar but knew the Hills better than anyone. “We can take some very good walks,” he assured me, when I approached him about being my guide for a magic mushroom walk.
The mushrooms were an unexpected bit of luck. A day earlier, while returning to my tiny hotel room after several hours with some of the opponents of Futahelli’s plan, I had bumped into a shriveled old woman dressed from head to toe in black. She asked me something in a language I didn't understand, and when I started to explain that I didn't get what she said she smiled, reached into the bosom of her dress and withdrew a small package of newspaper. In it were dozens of tiny psilocybin mushrooms.
“Take three and enjoy the countryside,” she said in very understandable English. “Take six and talk with Shiva.”
They were small headed with bluing stalks and had probably been beautiful when fresh, but looked like they’d been picked a couple of days earlier and secreted in her bosom ever since.
“Very good, be assured.”
I asked for six.
“I only sell them in lots of two dozen.”
“Give me two dozen then.”
She smiled, tore off a bit of the newspaper, counted them out and handed them to me. “Watch out for the police. If they catch you with these they will beat you senseless.”
Vijay had no problem with the thought that I would be doing mushrooms on a hike with him. “We can leave this afternoon,” he said. “Go to Berijam and camp there. Of course we will not be getting there until early morning as it is nearly 30 kilometers away and walking at night is very slow and dangerous. Then tomorrow you take your mushrooms, away from the watchful eye of the police.”
“Why not just leave in the morning, go see some of what’s left of the old shoala, and I’ll eat the mushrooms along the way. We can return at dusk.”
“Oh no. Not here! The police will get you for sure.”
“How?”
“Suppose they asked me what you were doing and I told them?”
“You could say we’re hiking,” I suggested.
“Yes, but that would be a sin of omission, and I have just recently become a Christian. No, I would have to tell them that we were having an hallucinogenic walk, which is very illegal here in India.”
“Would you also have to tell them what we’re having for lunch? If you didn’t omit anything we’d have to spend the rest of our lives with the officer.”
“They would not need to know about our lunch. But if we were walking to get lunch, then I would have a spiritual priority to tell them. In this case they are asking why we are walking and we will be walking for the mushrooms. There is the obligation.”
“Hypothetically speaking, what if I tell you that if you snitch I’ll toss you off a cliff?”
“Then my priorities would change. With no physical life I have no more spiritual obligations.”
“Good. So what time is good for you tomorrow?“
“Shall we say 4 AM?” He shook his dreadlocks side to side; for a moment I thought he might topple beneath their weight. “On further thinking, let me suggest 7AM. It is very cold in these hills before then, and I never rise at four.”
And then he was off, an elfinish vision with crazy hair, disappearing into a patch of eucalyptus trees.
The next morning I was up at five. By six I was having coffee at Trichy’s, the only tea stall for miles which also sold a good cup of coffee. Though mist hung from the trees, the morning promised to be clear and beautiful. I breathed the thin, high altitude South Indian air.
Vijay appeared at eight. “A cha,” he said. “I had so much praying to do, which is why I am late. I have been sinning so much.”
I ordered us coffee and asked where he had decided to take me.
“To Pilar Rocks,” he answered. “The most beautiful free standing stones. There are two and each stands unsupported for more than 1,500 meters.”
“Will we pass through the shoala?”
He shook his head side to side. “The shoala is all around them.”
We drank our coffee in silence, then set off along the town’s main road. Despite the damage that had been done, the Palni Hills and the little town of Kodaikanal remained lovely. Prior to its blossoming as a resort area it was known primarily for its exclusive private school for wealthy English and Indian children, and for the summer homes their parents kept there. The homes were nearly all built in British country cottage style, fitted stone with clay tile rooves. If not for the tea stalls and the monkeys that roamed freely about, Kodaikanal might have been a town in the English countryside.
We passed Kodai Lake—surrounded by wretched, two-story brick garden apartments—turned off the road at the famous guru Sai Baba’s summer home, then started up a steep stone stairway leading into the hills surrounding the town. At the top of the stairs we entered an area where locals lived and Indian temples seemed to blossom like flowers, everywhere.
Around us children in school uniforms and factory workers in overalls made their way toward their destinations. By nine the morning mist had burned off and I was in the mood for my mushrooms. I suggested to Vijay that we stop for a moment.
“Not here! Not here!” he said. “Wait until we are in the church.”
I had no idea why we were going to a church but waited as he asked and a short while later we reached an old, unused Presbyterian building high on a promontory bluff overlooking a beautiful valley. We stopped and I took out my mushrooms while he rolled a joint.
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