""There's a whole bunch of entities waiting on the other side, saying "How wonderful that you're here! You come so rarely! We're so delighted to see you!"
They're like jewelled self-dribbling basketballs and there are many of them and they come pounding toward you and they will stop in front of you and vibrate, but then they do a very disconcerting thing, which is they jump into your body and then they jump back out again and the whole thing is going on in a high-speed mode where you're being presented with thousands of details per second and you can't get a hold on [them ...] and these things are saying "Don't give in to astonishment", which is exactly what you want to do. You want to go nuts with how crazy this is, and they say "Don't do that. Pay attention to what we're doing".
What they're doing is making objects with their voices, singing structures into existence. They offer things to you, saying "Look at this! Look at this!" and as your attention goes towards these objects you realise that what you're being shown is impossible. It's not simply intricate, beautiful and hard to manufacture, it's impossible to make these things. The nearest analogy would be the Fabergé eggs, but these things are like the toys that are scattered around the nursery inside a U.F.O., celestial toys, and the toys themselves appear to be somehow alive and can sing other objects into existence, so what's happening is this proliferation of elf gifts, which are moving around singing, and they are saying "Do what we are doing" and they are very insistent, and they say "Do it! Do it! Do it!" and you feel like a bubble inside your body beginning to move up toward your mouth, and when it comes out it isn't sound, it's vision. You discover that you can pump "stuff" out of your mouth by singing, and they're urging you to do this. They say "That's it! That's it! Keep doing it!".
We're now at minute 4.5 [of the trip] and you speak in a kind of glossolalia. There is a spontaneous outpouring of syntax unaccompanied by what is normally called "meaning". After a minute or so of this the whole thing begins to collapse in on itself and they begin to physically move away from you. Usually their final shot is that they wave goodbye and say "Deja vu! Deja vu!"."" -McKenna
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And I dream rather than anything else:
Last night I dreamt that the world had finally settled on violence. Conscriptions were taken for gladiators, and even on the streets a great lawlessness: people were killed for being old, weak and feeble. Joining the gladiatorial ranks was my only hope for having a political say and enjoying rule of law as I said it. Thus, I joined the Voluntary Victims, as we were called. By the time I was awake I had killed several people in hand to hand combat while preaching pacificism
My final fight: I and another girl on horseback on the side of against a voluntary, violence loving group: obese man and a couple. I killed the man but only after he had slit my knee tendons. I thought the girl had killed the couple- all was still but for the horse, and I crippled at the bottom of the stadium, on my back. I heard a terrible rasping, then the woman of the pair bit off my toe and used it to plug the hole in her larynx. So repaired, she said, "I will do to you exactly as that girl did to my husband."
She mounted the horse and took a spear. She rode over me. As she rode the horse over me I reached up and grabbed the bottom of her saddle, lifting myself up under the horse and holding only for my life. She clearly thought the horse had caught my clothing, because she kept riding. I grabbed a knife and started to gut the horse, reaching up with my arm to pull out entrails. She kept riding her screaming mount, assuming as it bucked that I was dying underneath. It collapsed, and she fell, my toe coming out of her windpipe. She died, the crowd roared.
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