Salvia is my new bitch lover. You smoke it like weed, but it's legal. Unlike weed though, one hit of Salvia doesn't make you giggle like a 12-year-old girl while watching Parental Control (which I have mass experience doing,) it lets you know that you are a fragile being, and that it's about to fuck you harder than most prison inmates would. (This is a guess though; I have no field experience when it comes to being fucked in prison, though I have seen The Shawshank Redemption 52 times.)
Basically my adventure that night started out with me turning into a blade of grass. That's right, a fucking blade of grass. It was one in the morning, and I was lying on the ground, thinking that chlorophyll was pumping through my body, and that I had been a blade of grass for roughly 15 years. The weird thing about it was the kid who owned the house said they planted all new grass about 15 years ago. I found that to be creepy.
I must say though, it was a calming feeling to be a blade of grass being tossed around in the wind with other blades of grass. I was just waving around, looking at other blades of grass, not giving a shit because I was grass. From what I've seen, I don't think grass really does anything all day but grow and wait to be cut. Then, out of nowhere, I got this feeling that something isn't right. It's like when you walk into your house and realize someone moved one piece of furniture, but you can't tell what it is. I thought for a second, "What could the problem be? I'm just doing what I always do." But I saw five kids just standing and staring at me. I knew these five kids somehow. They were laughing hysterically.
"Oh fuck, I'm a human being," echoed through my head. According to my friends, when I blade of grass realizes it's not a blade of grass, but a human, it starts to act like Terri Shiavo.
Spit dripped out of my mouth. I attempted to talk but I just moaned and more spit flew out. I was lying in a fetal position, with my eyes wide open, moaning like a dying animal. I tried to move my arms and legs, but seeing how I was a blade of grass, this was impossible. So I did what anyone would do: I attempted to cry. I admit it. Sadly, I would attempt to cry later in this trip also, because I am a bitch.
But the key word is "attempted," because I ended up with no tears—just echoes of laughter bouncing off me. I had to prove I was human. But how does one prove they are human and not a plant? Honestly, I didn't know then, and I sure as fuck don't know now.
My subconscious knew what to do though. I left that backyard entirely and was dropped into my memory, where I strolled around looking for proof I was human. I ended up at the first house I had ever lived in, only the occupants were not family, but random kids from high school, and they were screaming at me in German. I took German as a class for four years, but I didn't understand anything that left their mouths.
So I started walking, and ended up in the hallways of my high school. The people I hate most then surrounded me. "Am I a real boy?" I asked them. They responded in unison: "How do you know what is real?"
I became angry; I was not in the mood to debate philosophy. It made me hate these kids even more. I turned around and was staring into black somehow, and heard a voice tell me to come back to reality. I sat up, and looked around in a haze. My friends were still laughing, unaware I was still tripping face.
I attempted to ask what time it was, but failed. I repeated my jumbled words enough times and finally I was answered with 1:05 A.M. Apparently doing simple math on Salvia is near impossible, and because I used so much brain capacity I went right back into a fucked up trip. I watched my entire field of vision turn into a puzzle. A piece from the sky fell out and landed next to me. This was met by laughter from my friends, because apparently I screamed, "The sky is falling!"
Sample view from a casual observer's perspective.I was fascinated by it. The sky was falling. I watched my friends house fall to pieces, and everything was cool until a piece of my best friend's chest just plopped out and hit the ground with a thump. I stared at my friend; his arms, legs and head just formed out of a space of blackness. This was the second time I thought about crying, but failed again because I closed my eyes and laid on the ground. I kept them closed for ten minutes and shouted, "Fuck, I'm tripping way to fucking hard!" My friends proceeded to erupt with laughter, which didn't help at all.
During these ten minutes, with my eyes closed, I saw shapes and colors I had never seen before. It was like if you mixed black and white, but didn't get gray, you just ended up with something almost orange, but not orange, like it had a hint of green, but with no shade of yellow at all. It still baffles my mind to this day.
I'd do it again though. I have actually. I recovered normally, preached to everyone how insignificant we were, got called a fag, then came to my senses and realized I was being a douche.
All in all, I tripped for 15 minutes. I figure that's why Salvia is legal. You're pretty much stuck in one spot, and if a cop busted up the party, you'd get off the hook once you stopped tripping balls. I'm glad it's legal though. As fucked up as it makes you (it's like doing ten hits of acid at once), you feel amazing afterwards—like smoking three blunts to the face—something I also enjoy.
My plan now is to start doing it in public places—parks and playgrounds—then argue with people about how legal this shit is and to leave me alone. I'm not sure who would want their kids around anyone in that state anyway.