I am a grown-ass adult, and I need my digital pacifier.
I’ve forgotten what it feels like to be bored. To do nothing. To stare into the void and daydream.
Instead, I reach for my pacifier. It’s always got something to distract me.
Hello family! I hope you are as well as can be right now.
I’m sending this to my family members who I’ve shared a table with at holidays, and danced to Motown music with post-dinner, and opened White Elephant Christmas gifts together, and known my entire life.
I know some of you may be planning to vote for Trump. I realize any email starting out with that sentence probably makes you not want to read the rest of what I have to say. I get it.
So, I will try to keep this email as much to the point as I can — and not about being a Republican or a Democrat. …
This is the story of the second time I smoked the venom of the Bufo-Alvarius toad. To read about my first experience, click here.
The impetus to retake the most powerful hallucinogen on Earth was two of my closest friends who’d observed changes in me after my first trip. They’d independently noticed that I’d seemed less anxious — less of what they referred to as “Little Phil” (the needy child in me sulking for attention or feeling sorry for myself when life doesn’t go my way) showing up socially.
I thought — well, bottom’s up! Here we go again!
We each signed up for a private session, but as things unfurled, we ended up overlapping at the healer’s apartment and got to watch each other’s experiences. This is my subjective take on what happened — with permission given by my two friends to share. …