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LSD

Plus loin, il parle des Yaminahua. Selon eux, ces entités parlent, mais elles parlent un langage tordu-tordant (« language twisting twisting ») qui invite au perspectivisme et à des liages par des correspondances. À peu près rien dans le langage tordu-tordant n’est appelé par son nom habituel. On appelle les jaguars des paniers, les anacondas sont des hamacs et les poissons sont appelés des pécaris. Dans chaque cas, il y un lien obscur mais réel entre les deux termes. Les jaguars sont appelés des paniers parce que certains motifs des paniers sont apparentés à ceux du pelage des jaguars. J’interroge, je gosse, j’avance. La peau et le vêtement peuvent-être envisagés comme des « déictiques » qui produisent des effets de relations. Ils sont interficiels : une interface entre un intérieur et un extérieur, composition cosmique et diplomatie. J’en avais l’idée mais je ne m’en rappelais pas. Pas aussi bien. Pas assez bien. Le LSD perturbe les appareils perceptuels ; ceux de l’expérience et ceux du sujet de l’expérience. Il en montre la nature construite, produite. Là où existent des limites claires entre les éléments constitutifs de l’expérience et son sujet, on dit des corps qu’ils sont fermés : à l’épreuve du monde, le LSD laisse apparaitre des hésitations. Les lignes y deviennent des formes singulières qu’il m’aura fallu longtemps pour sentir. Pour sentir plutôt que pour voir. L’ambigüité et le nocturnal plutôt que la clarté. Pour percevoir une esthétique de la frontière, une matrice du perceptuel, une forme aux bords rendus pulvérulents et qui, plus encore que les contaminations qu’elle autorise, préfigure nos valences émotionnelles et nos idéations. Ma rhétorique, la texture ici, n’est ni linéaire ni aléatoire. Elle est courbe et spiroïde, ovoïde presque. On avance en volute, en fumée. La forme de la blessure ou du deuil. L’approche est à la foi pauvre et luxuriante. Ce n’est pas un stimulant récréatif. On l’utilise pour le rêve, ou pour accompagner l’ivresse de l’exploration. Les lignes brouillées y laissent déborder un ballet d’impressions et de coulures. Le LSD y est discursif. Il y parle au corps et à l’expérience : le visible et la sensation de perspective peuvent y devenir fluidité, proprioception et idéation. Les lignes ne découpent plus, elles ne sont plus linéaires, elles sont symboles, elles ont rapports au flux, appel, vocation, invocation, poudrerie. Sur la peau de Yube on peut trouver tous les dessins possibles, il y en a vingt-cinq, mais chacun de ces dessins est à l’origine d’une multiplicité d’autres, car à la fin, ils appartiennent tous à la même peau du boa. » Quels savoirs savent les savoirs : cela importe. Quels mondes mondent des mondes : cela importe. Quelles histoires disent des histoires : cela importe. « La voie dont on ne peut se moquer n’est pas la vraie voie. » ajoute-il. Ils sont constitués de leur savoir et ils sont les chants. Ce sont des êtres fait de savoir et de chant.

 

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Further on, he speaks of the Yaminahua. According to them, these entities speak, but they speak a twisted-twisting language (“language twisting twisting”) that invites perspectivism and bindings through correspondences. Almost nothing in this twisted-twisting language is called by its usual name. Jaguars are called baskets; anacondas are hammocks; fish are called peccaries. In each case there is a link, obscure, but real, between the two terms. Jaguars are called baskets because certain basket patterns are akin to the jaguar’s coat. I question, I kid around, I move forward. Skin and clothing can be envisioned as “deictics” that produce relational effects. They are interfacial: an interface between an inside and an outside, cosmic composition and diplomacy. I had the idea, but I did not remember it. Not as well. Not well enough. LSD disturbs the perceptual apparatuses: those of experience and those of the subject of experience. It shows their constructed, produced nature. Where clear limits exist between the constitutive elements of experience and its subject, bodies are said to be closed: under the ordeal of the world, LSD lets hesitations appear. Lines become singular forms that it took me a long time to feel, to feel rather than to see. Ambiguity and the nocturnal rather than clarity. To perceive an aesthetics of the boundary, a matrix of the perceptual, a form whose edges are rendered powdery and which, even more than the contaminations it authorizes, prefigures our emotional valences and our ideations. My rhetoric, my texture here, is neither linear nor random. It is curved and spiroïdal, almost ovoid. We advance in volutes, in smoke, the shape of a wound or of mourning. The approach is at once poor and luxuriant. This is not a recreational stimulant. One uses it for the dream, or to accompany the drunkenness of exploration. Blurred lines let a ballet of impressions and drippings overflow. LSD is discursive. It speaks to the body and to experience: the visible and the sensation of perspective can become fluidity, proprioception, ideation. Lines no longer cut; they are no longer linear; they are symbols, they have a relation to flux, to call, vocation, invocation, powdering. “On Yube’s skin one can find every possible design; there are twenty-five of them, but each of these designs is at the origin of a multiplicity of others, because in the end they all belong to the same skin of the boa.” What knowledges know knowledges: that matters. What worlds world worlds: that matters. What stories tell stories: that matters. “The way of which one cannot make fun is not the true way,” he adds. They are constituted by their knowledge, and they are the chants. They are beings made of knowledge and of chant.

 

It’s a strange place to be in

It’s a strange place to be in, don’t you think ? Even though it’s been a few days, the place was already familiar, but at this time, it was the only thing to do ; in the middle of the hallway, sounds and thought were now one cohesive plasma which whould guide my steps for the next few hours. As my body started twitching I had to re-explore the place. Although I was stuck between the flow of passing energy, past and future, this spectator state was fascinating. I was unable to reach some places but I’m sure it was better that way. Ecosystems of thought were living in those rooms and I would’nt dare to disturb this ever-changing dance. And then it hit me, those thoughts were not foreign at all, in fact they were the most clear miror of myself. In this maelstrom of colors and pattern I was starting to draw the silouhette of what makes them me. I felt a conformtable warthm hover my body, it felt like that same plasma was now giving me a place to rest after this long walk. Unfortunalty I didn’t have the chance to say goodbye, by the time I woke up again, it was gone.

Notes to Jan

It presents itself in a vape (DMT), so I did it this way to have an actionable protocol : three hits, five seconds in, breath out. I couldn’t and didn’t want to do more before I get used to it and that was the best idea I had that day. With just three hits, I got shot. Louder than God’s revolver. I was sitting, looking at the sky hoping to see the stars, fooling myself into thinking it’ll be contemplating, peaceful. The sky immediately went low cartoonish definition, reality drifted into abstraction as I felt myself violently sinking. Eyes closed, I saw things far beyond words, eyes open, the world was a mockery. This seems to be a strong signature LSD doesn’t have : shapes come simpler, low def, cartoons, almost videogames like. That was second one. Second two, I died. LSD brings entropy and the trip is a long negotiation. This was death. Overwhelming. Unequivocal. Shapeless. It wasn’t painful, but I could feel my ego on the verge of complete annihilation with no room to navigate the moment. This became the container of my existence, nothing ever existed before, nothing will ever exist after. I was there and there was this. My brain started to interpret every sensory input as near death and emergency-threat signals ; moving my eyes ? My eyeballs were slowly melting. Breathing ? My flesh was collapsing, shapeless. Moving was a long lost concept. Time ? Forgotten. Memory ? Erased. Interestingly, death as a story was the ultimate refuge. Anything but chaos. To me, this lasted for seconds. Looking at my watch, I was gone for 20 minutes. Weirdly enough, I was gone, and not. An observer strand remained. It was relocated and discontinuous. It wasn’t me or that, yet it was sharper than ever. This is very different yet adjacent to Ketamine ego dissolution or even ego death or LSD ego death. Thinking of ego death as a binarism would be foolish. Time disappeared. “I” disappeared, yet “I” was there in a way I couldn’t describe without reducing the experience to a geometry that we’re familiar with. The ego seems to be the alignment of many parts which can independently fall, entirely or partially and not all need to switch off for the self to die out. The same goes with my k-hole experience and the China train. I was experiencing a full k-hole and, yet, still talking. This kind of experience adds another dimension to the whole consciousness and memory-self phenomenology.

When I finally came back, it took me minutes to accept I wasn’t dead and reincarnated. Birds of a Feather, the Billie Eilish version, was playing on an old TV. The death experience is so intense, it surprises me to realize I’m alive. People say there’s something beyond that wall as more DMT forces the brain to generate, something ? With LSD, this happens through a 10-15h discussion between chaos and mirrors. The intensity of the acid trip builds up a noetic dimension that is dose dependent: small doses test the mind, large doses test the soul. This is exactly what I’m chasing ; Stripped away from all the top-down priors and constructs, what else is there ?