From Old French Fairy Tales, Virginia Frances Sterrett I requested an extra session with Aya and drank by myself tonight. This plant has a mind of its own. It could last two hours or it could last eight hours. You could be clutching your guts half-wishing you were dead the entire time or you could feel like a walking orgasm for six hours straight. It might be both at once. Whatever the experience, one consistency is her essence. There is an intelligence in it, a presence with
Huachuma is a rank-tasting, amber-coloured tea made from the psychedelic San Pedro cactus. It’s hard to hold down for the first 60 minutes or so and induces a twelve-hour trip throughout which one can’t really eat. We wake up at 7am, have some herbal tea, and then drink around 8:30. The queasiness is nearly instantaneous and I head to my room as soon as David’s meditation is finished. I sit on the bed, breathing through the nausea, and manage to hold it down until about 9:10.
Hello Helios, by James R. Eads and The Glitch 5:08pm I’m lying on the day bed on the covered porch, writing. We drink at 7pm. I feel the sun on my face, but hear the rain, so I look up to see a rainbow coming to life across the face of Apu Pitsuray, its light-bearing arc painting prisms in the sun showers. Tracy tells me that sunshowers are called huarmi lluvia (women’s rain) in Quechua. The rain stops and the garden fills with hummingbirds. The fear wanes a bit. 6:55pm We ar