Sorry for the mediocrity of my posts lately. It’s caused by me constantly taking cannabis and mushrooms, it causes my brain to get stuck constantly staring in the same direction. Today with some good Syrian rue in my stomach I want to share something fun.
In general, I’ve always just had an interest in people who live on the absolute margins of society. Long ago I asked a guy in an office complex he was squatting with two massive dogs to take me and a girlfriend on a tour through the building. These are the sort of people I generally like, not pretentious academics and mid-level government officials.
Everyone has his own favorite genre of literature. My favorite genres are horror and trip reports, so I’m particularly fond of Datura trip reports. Youtube is full of such stories, there’s this video from Shrouded Hand I’ve probably shared before, with a couple of good examples. But today I want to look at a true classic of the genre. I’m sharing it here in its entirety, with some comments from yours sincerely (RR) in italics.
Took It in Jail
RR: We immediately see this is promising. Datura in jail. The author, known only to us as spasmelodic, combines a hellish setting (jail) with a hellish drug (Datura). The potential for synergy is immediately apparent to the keen observer.
I was in jail and lucky enough to be put on the litter clean up crew. We would clean the side of the highway twice a week, which was always nice because we would find strange and unlikely things on the side of the road. Wallets, bags of pot, used condoms stuck to the guard rails shadowing the dirty highway we dangerously navigated to peel them away, grimacing as we placed them in little bags. Also we often encountered unidentified bags of little pills which we took regularly after retrieving them from our rectums. I assumed people had thrown drugs out the car window while being stalked by the highway patrol and the wallets had been stolen and tossed aside the highway like the thousands of fast food cups we relieved the nasty landscape of.
RR: The author sets up the stage. This is misery, we can feel his existential dread. In a world where you’re “lucky” if you get to pick up garbage from the side of the highway, what does it mean to be unlucky? There’s a question that goes unanswered: What are the used condoms for? My expectation is they’re used to properly fit drugs in the butt, without immediately absorbing the active ingredients. But then one day, something happens:
One of my jail buddies saw some neat flowers growing on the bank about three yards from the highway and he cursed with joy and gave me an evil grin as he turned to me and said ‘stuff as many leaves as you can into your ass, dude.’ I complied. He insisted, and being a dominant figure in our little circle of jail buddies I saw no other option. I crammed what must have been fourty or more of the leaves into my rectum and bum crack. BAD MOVE.
RR: There is an immediately apparent sadomasochistic homoerotic undertone here. Our author as the passive victim, is naive and unaware of what he is getting himself into. We end with a cliffhanger: BAD MOVE.
On the van ride back to our lovely jail I was talking to people who didn’t seem to be there according to the other occupants of the caged van. I was quite high, yet high is a word that does this state of mind no justice in description. Later I discovered that the rectum is a good way to administer psychoactive substances into the brain. How was I to know at the time? I was on psychiatric meds (Tegretol; ssri antidepressant; Depekote; Seroquel) already so the corrections officers payed no mind to my mumbling to invisible people.
RR: We’re immediately thrown into action. The author is now talking to invisible people. The antidepressants mentioned add believability to the narrative.
I exited the van in glistening chains, while laughing hysterically at an old yet young looking lady making faces at me and then vanishing in a haze that looked like exploding red glitter. She had no face, really. I could never articulate what I saw. Sorry but some things are possibly limited in description through human language. Maybe this is necessary to maintain what we believe to be reality… But thats a whole other story. What I can say is that she looked amazing and like no other woman I had ever seen. So beautiful and um… Feline? Thats not even close, but its the best I can do.
RR: A mystical figure reveals herself, like an otherworldly harbinger of a warning.
When we arrived to our cell pod, the culprit of my intoxication demanded I relenquish the contents of my rectum as he boiled a pot of water with what was then known as a ‘stinger.’ A stinger was a relatively safe elecrical device used in jails at the time to heat ramen noodles and such. Once the pot was bubbling he he threw the leaves in. He had many more leaves than me. He was a larger man and apparently had some extra room in his anus. A career criminal such as he, who had spent time in state prison I assumed had a larger rectum, for suspicious and disturbing reasons. ‘Is that all you got?’ he barked in his deep and domineering voice. ‘Well we can still trip hard so you straight.’ I quote.
RR: Here the relationship between the two characters is further fleshed out. The author craftily implies, without explicitly stating it, that the dominant prisoner has a long history of experience with shoving drugs up his anus. The dominant prisoner even reveals that they can “still trip hard”, implying the dominant prisoner has sufficient experience with this method of intoxicating yourself. There is then a moment of tension, as the dominant prison inmate is disappointed in the amount of Datura leaves our author could stuff up his anus, but he is forgiven. This had me on the edge of my seat.
The idea of drinking something that has been inside someones rectum is disgusting I know, but we would do anything to mentally escape from the hell we were experiencing in jail, so we downed the luke warm brew after he had boiled it for approximately twenty minutes. About 200 leaves in thirty ounces of water split between us we consumed in large, gut wrenching gulps. Keep in mind that I was already high.
RR: The author here explains the context of prison life, in which men will happily eat leaves from another man’s rectum. There is a bit of a plot hole here however: How do 200 leaves fit into the butts of two men? As a Datura enthusiast myself, I struggle to imagine how I’d go about fitting 100 leaves into my arse. The plot hole could have been worse, he could have insisted he shoved the spiny seed pods up his butt, but for either man to shove more than 100 leaves up his butt is hard to believe. This is where I almost succumb to suspension of belief.
There are four theories to consider:
- We are looking at a work of fiction, or at least an embellished narrative.
- The author made a typo and meant 20 leaves.
- The author’s memory failed him.
- The author hallucinated leaves that were not there.
To judge these theories, it’s worth asking ourselves what we know about spasmelodic. And that’s where it gets strange. There is a previous trip report titled “What a Long Self Destructive Trip its Been”, where the author describes his use of antidepressants again, published in 2007 referring to a period form 1991 to 2006. Notably, in this story the author briefly mentions experience with Datura. This lends credibility to the later trip report, which was published in 2016 and describes an experience from 1998. “Took it in Jail” can thus be thought of as a sequel to “What a Long Self Destructive Trip its been”. The author foreshadows an event and then leaves us in the dark for nine years, before publishing his next piece. I’m thus inclined to give our author the benefit of the doubt by rejecting the first theory, but I have no proper explanation for what we are supposed to believe here, it is reminiscent of reading old genealogies of near mythical kings who lived for more than a century. Back to our story:
I have little recollection of what happened before a ten hour nap after consuming the foul beverage. I remember people laughing at me, yet too scared to laugh at the man who had brewed the evil concoction. I apparently was yelling at invisible demons and whatnot when I awoke. Then being tied down in the infirmary while discussing the events of my life with something present beside me. It was explaining the events of my life that led me to the table I was strapped down to.
The urine panel showed no illegal drugs in my system after twenty hours of consuming the ‘tea.’ As I frothed at the mouth while speaking tongues to invisible entities, the staff didn’t know what to do because I was having trouble breathing. ‘What did you take?’ they repeatedly asked in demonic tones while trying to ‘console’ me. All of the people who I assume were actually there had my mother’s face at one point which was quite scary – yet morbidly comforting. ‘I took the world, thats what I took’ I remember repeatedly replying to the the question the infirmary nurses who had asked what I had taken.
RR: This is how doses like this tend to go. You wake up in the hospital, with no recollection of what happened. In case you have any lingering doubt this is real, it dissipated for me when I read his explanation to the nurses: “I took the world.” The plants can leave you under the impression that the whole observable universe exists by their grace.
I had tripped many times and was already suffering from HPPD from LSD use, so I attributed most of the psychosis to that at the time. This buzz was nothing like LSD though. I was dreaming while awake, yet awake in a dream. Sorry but thats the only way I can put it. I was so intoxicated that I was near death so I was taken to a hospital. The doc found out immediately what I had ingested after a comprehensive blood panel. The doc administered things through my I.V (which at the time I thought were extensions of my body) that I am certain saved my life. I never found out what was administered through the I.V but I assume it was an atropine blocking agent.
RR: Having experienced a very small dose of Datura Innoxia myself, I can validate this explanation. It’s as if you’re living inside a dreamworld. I would wake up next to my bed, touching the floor, only to find the floor consisted of cold dirt, then I would wake up again in my own bed.
I had already given in to death at that point. I was told by an entity of shifting faces and voices all of my mistakes in life while in the infirmary in jail, so I gave in to the guilt and what seemed to be cold hands gripping my neck, and decided to die right there. I would have I think, hadn’t the staff of the jail rushed me to the hospital.
RR: In the hero’s journey, this stage would be called “atonement with the father“. It is the height of the spiritual struggle.
Little did I know at the time that my brooding friend who had poisoned us both by forcing me to stuff my rectum with strange leaves from the vicious and beckoning plant was also in the hospital. He later described an experience to me which was so similar to mine that it was eerie. Almost as if the plant was mad at us and decided to give us both the same punishment.
My later inquiry into the nature of this plant was horrifying. It seems that Datura behaves very similarly to many who take it. There is something very supernatural about that plant and this can not be disputed in my opinion. It made me very sick yet also enlightened me. When I was released from my stay I felt like a different person. I had truly made me reflect upon my mistakes and I was ready to do everything possible to avoid making them again. That is the positive spin on the horrifying experience.
In a controlled environment with people who have not retrieved the drug from their anus in jail… Datura can be wonderful I later discovered; however I do not suggest taking it in jail.
RR: You would think the story ends here, but it continues:
The strangest thing happened months later after my experience. I was talking to a friend who regularly uses Datura. I mentioned a word and my friend uttered the same word at the almost the exact moment I did. It is a word you will not find in any lexicon. What could be considered a Hapax. It was a word that was spoken to me several times by whatever entity was present during my trip. I doubt she believed me but it shocked me that we said the same nonexistent word practically simultaneously. Stoners have a tendency to do that from time to time in my experience. We giggled and passed the joint as I tried to forget the strange linguistic phenomenon that had just occured.
The familiarity of experiences I have found in reports is astonishing. I was tied down and unable to run around naked but I was feeling the same things that others have testified in describing their experiences.
I was judged, proscecuted and sentenced to death by her. Thank God (Datura?) that I was saved by a concerned jail staff. I cried, vomited, choked, spat on nurses who were not there and ultimately died to the world as I had known it.
Approximately 200 leaves between two people is a bit much. That much I know.
She is a strange and unkind to people who stuff her into their rectums after disrespecting her by carelessly tearing her apart on the side of a highway where she peacefully waits. As I recall, the plant was very inconspicuous and it is strange that my scary tattoo covered friend knew what it was.
RR: Here we get the moral of the story: Do not shove Datura into your rectum. We’re also left with a lose thread however, that could be picked up in a sequel (hopefully it won’t take years again): Who is this mysterious prisoner, who forces other men to participate in shoving Datura up their butt?
The surrounding Datura plants on the bank of the highway were in different stages of growth. I’m glad he didn’t find any prickly seed pods. That would have been a very painful smuggle job. If he had told me to smuggle the roots of the marvelous plant and subsequently boiled and forced me to ingest them … I probably would not be typing this.
Don’t disrespect her.
Excellent story, very funny and interesting. I often like people who have been in prison, like Billy Hayes, Roman Stepanenko, Varg Freeborn, and other people I have known in real life. You can get excellent insights from them.
Those two blokes rule, your comments are good too.
I’ve never thought of trip reports as a form of literature before, so thanks for that. Gordon Wasson’s trip report is a must read, along with Timothy Leary’s book High Priest, which is filled with reports so good that I feel altered after reading them.
Youtube has audio of Terrence reading the first trip report in the book The Hashish Eater by Ludlow. It’s a fun listen.
Have you ever discussed your metaphysical / religious views here? In light of your psychedelic experiences I would be curious to know.
>Have you ever discussed your metaphysical / religious views here? In light of your psychedelic experiences I would be curious to know.
I am about to.