❯ ****Salvia Divinorum...whos tried it???
| 04-10-2007, 12:01 PM | #23 | |
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| 04-10-2007, 12:03 PM | #24 | |
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| 04-10-2007, 04:43 PM | #26 | |
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"While LSD and Salvia's active constituent salvinorin A may have comparative potencies, in the sense that both can produce their effects with low dosage amounts, they are otherwise quite different. LSD is a synthesised drug not found in nature whereas salvinorin only occurs in nature and has yet to be manufactured in a laboratory. The two substances are not chemically similar or related. They are ingested in different ways. They produce different effects, which manifest themselves over different timescales. The effects of Salvia when smoked typically last for only a few minutes as compared to LSD, whose effects can persist for 8-10 hours. News stories typically do not mention this significant difference in timescale and in particular fail to report Salvia's much shorter duration of effect." -Wickepedia
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| 04-10-2007, 04:48 PM | #27 | |
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The people that you think acid "fucked up" were likely "fucked up" already, sort of like when a kid who has an addictive personality tries hard liquor for the first time. I can remember some pretty mild mannered kids in college that turned into raging assholes after a few shots of tequilla. Same thing. Booze or acid (or coke or pot) don't change people, they reveal what was already there. I can't speak to the "Bad trip" bit personally but one of my best friends had one at a dead show and it scared the shit out of him. However, he's still a brilliant, successful person who wouldn't say that bad trip "hurt" him in the long run (though I'm sure he wouldn't choose to repeat it). One caveat to this... any time you are in a seriously altered state (whether high, drunk, tripping, etc.) you need to have a sober person around as a reality check. This helps eliminate the whole "Watch me, I can fly" part and can keep someone who is hammered from making the wrong decision (such as screwing 5 different people in a row when you're on XTC). |
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| 04-10-2007, 06:33 PM | #28 | |
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 just remembering my first time, brings smiles and tears to my eyes hahaha! damn, I CONQUERED that women.:rocks: 
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| 04-10-2007, 09:28 PM | #30 |
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I dont know about the torch lighter but I do use a Bubbler when I do it. I have'nt done it for awhile tho...was just curious if anyone has tried it.
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| 04-10-2007, 09:52 PM | #31 | |
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| 04-10-2007, 10:35 PM | #33 |
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Well I've only done it with a regular lighter and it fked me uppp...I've seen some crazy visions and I have a lot of stories about my experiences.
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| 04-10-2007, 10:43 PM | #34 | |
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http://www.sagewisdom.org/salviashopmf.html |
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| 04-11-2007, 12:02 PM | #36 | |
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| 04-11-2007, 12:42 PM | #37 | |
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Trust me when I say that all of my comments ARE based on my own experience. If you drop acid for 4 consecutive days then yes, you will be a bit frazzled for a while. Who wouldn't be after hallucinating for 8-10 hours a day for 4 straight days. Also, unlike booze or grass, LSD does NOT put you to sleep, quite the opposite. So the effects your describing could be due as much to sleep deprivation in that scenario as anything else. Let me be clear. I am not condoning or championing the use of LSD (or any other drug for that matter). But I'm also against people issuing blanket statements that have little or no basis or experience behind them. |
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| 04-11-2007, 02:21 PM | #38 | |
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It's hopeless you know, beating the "Don't Judge, or step outta your programming for a minute" drums. I've never seen it work. There has been such an enormous Campaign of misinformation, Hype, and Hollywood surrounding many of the hallucinogens that folks really have NO CHANCE of thinking for themselves on the matter unless they take an interest in the subject and do some digging. Funniest damn thing is that a lot of the folks I hear spouting ignorant shit about lsd and a few of the other hallucinogens are the same ones that will eat some X without hesitation regardless of the REAL Evidence of it's dangerous tendencies, and synthetic creation.
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| 04-11-2007, 02:22 PM | #39 |
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I have to appreciate the Irony of Neurorads Avatar though. Hunter would find it amusing.
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| 04-12-2007, 01:05 PM | #40 | |
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My avatar does say a lot more than I'm willing to admit to, in a public forum. "I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence or insanity to anyone, but they've always worked for me." -HST Anyone heading to the Bonnaroo music festival this Spring? |
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| 04-12-2007, 01:15 PM | #41 |
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I miss Hunter's columns for ESPN.
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| 04-13-2007, 10:36 AM | #42 |
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For your entertainment, some relevant and irrelevant HST quotes:
"There is nothing more helpless and irresponsible than a man in the depths of an ether binge." "When the going gets weird, the weird turn pro." "You can turn your back on a person, but never turn your back on a drug, especially when its waving a razor sharp hunting knife in your eye." "I have a theory that the truth is never told during the nine-to-five hours." "Buy the ticket, take the ride." |
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| 04-13-2007, 01:37 PM | #43 |
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Even Better, I read this when it was first published in Cycle World in 1995. I was in College at the time and I fell in love with his writing style.
Song of the Sausage Creature By Hunter S. Thompson from CycleWorld Magazine On my tombstone they will carve, "IT NEVER GOT FAST ENOUGH FOR ME." There are some things nobody needs in this world, and a bright red, hunchback, warp-speed 900cc café racer is one of them -- but I want one anyway, and on some days I actually believe I need one. That is why they are dangerous. Everybody has fast motorcycles these days. Some people go 150 miles an hour on two-lane blacktop roads, but not often. There are too many oncoming trucks and too many radar cops and too many stupid animals in the way. You have to be a little crazy to ride these super-torque high-speed crotch rockets anywhere except a racetrack -- and even there, they will scare the whimpering shit out of you.... There is, after all, not a pig's eye worth of difference between going head-on into a Peterbilt or sideways into the bleachers. On some days you get what you want, and on others, you get what you need. When Cycle World called me to ask if I would road-test the new Harley Road King, I got uppity and said I'd rather have a Ducati superbike. It seemed like a chic decision at the time, and my friends on the superbike circuit got very excited. "Hot damn," they said, "We will take it to the track and blow the bastards away." "Balls," I said. "Never mind the track. The track is for punks. We are Road People. We are Café Racers." The Café Racer is a different breed, and we have our own situations. Pure speed in sixth gear on a 5,000-foot straightaway is one thing, but pure speed in third gear on a gravel-strewn downhill S-turn is quite another. But we like it. A thoroughbred Café Racer will ride all night through a fog storm in freeway traffic to put himself into what somebody told him was the ugliest and tightest decreasing-radius turn since Genghis Khan invented the corkscrew. Café Racing is mainly a matter of taste. It is an atavistic mentality, a peculiar mix of low style, high speed, pure dumbness, and overweening commitment to the Café Life and all its dangerous pleasures.... I am a Café Racer myself, on some days -- and many nights for that matter -- and it is one of my finest addictions.... I am not without scars on my brain and my body, but I can live with them. I still feel a shudder in my spine every time I see a Vincent Black Shadow, or when I walk into a public restroom and hear crippled men whispering about the terrifying Kawasaki Triple.... I have visions of compound femur fractures and large black men in white hospital suits holding me down on a gurney while a nurse called "Bess" sews the flaps of my scalp together with a stitching drill. Ho, ho. Thank God for these flashbacks. The brain is such a wonderful instrument (until God sinks his teeth into it). Some people hear Tiny Tim singing when they go under, and others hear the song of the Sausage Creature. When the Ducati turned up in my driveway, nobody knew what to do with it. I was in New York, covering a polo tournament, and people had threatened my life. My lawyer said I should give myself up and enroll in the Federal Witness Protection Program. Other people said it had something to do with the polo crowd. The motorcycle business was the last straw. It had to be the work of my enemies, or people who wanted to hurt me. It was the vilest kind of bait, and they knew I would go for it. Of course. You want to cripple the bastard? Send him a 130-mph café racer. And include some license plates, so he'll think it's a streetbike. He's queer for anything fast. Which is true. I have been a connoisseur of fast motorcycles all my life. I bought a brand-new 650 BSA Lightning when it was billed as "the fastest motorcycle ever tested by Hot Rod magazine." I have ridden a 500-pound Vincent through traffic on the Ventura Freeway with burning oil on my legs and run the Kawa 750 triple through Beverly Hills at night with a head full of acid.... I have ridden with Sonny Barger and smoked weed in biker bars with Jack Nicholson, Grace Slick, Ron Zigler, and my infamous old friend, Ken Kesey, a legendary Café Racer. Some people will tell you that slow is good -- and it may be, on some days -- but I am here to tell you that fast is better. I've always believed this, in spite of the trouble it's caused me. Being shot out of a cannon will always be better than being squeezed out of a tube. That is why God made fast motorcycles, Bubba.... So when I got back from New York and found a fiery red rocket-style bike in my garage, I realized I was back in the road-testing business. The brand-new Ducati 900 Campione del Mundo Desmodue Supersport double-barreled magnum Café Racer filled me with feelings of lust every time I looked at it. Others felt the same way. My garage quickly became a magnet for drooling superbike groupies. They quarreled and bitched at each other about who would be first to help me evaluate my new toy.... And I did, of course, need a certain spectrum of opinions, besides my own, to properly judge this motorcycle. The Woody Creek Perverse Environmental Testing Facility is a long way from Daytona or even top-fuel challenge sprints on the Pacific Coast Highway, where teams of big-bore Kawasakis and Yamahas are said to race head-on against each other in death-defying games of chicken at 100 miles an hour.... No. Not everybody who buys a high-dollar torque-brute yearns to go out in a ball of fire on a public street in L.A. Some of us are decent people who want to stay out of the emergency room, but still blast through neo-gridlock traffic in residential districts whenever we feel like it.... For that we need fine machinery. Which we had -- no doubt about that. The Ducati people in New Jersey had opted, for reasons of their own, to send me the 900SP for testing -- rather than their 916 crazy-fast, state-of-the-art superbike track racer. It was far too fast, they said -- and prohibitively expensive -- to farm out for testing to a gang of half-mad Colorado cowboys who think they're world-class Café Racers. The Ducati 900 is a finely engineered machine. My neighbors called it beautiful and admired its racing lines. The nasty little bugger looked like it was going 90 miles an hour when it was standing still in my garage. Taking it on the road, though, was a genuinely terrifying experience. I had no sense of speed until I was going 90 and coming up fast on a bunch of pickup trucks going into a wet curve along the river. I went for both brakes, but only the front one worked, and I almost went end over end. I was out of control staring at the tailpipe of a U.S. Mail truck, still stabbing frantically at my rear brake pedal, which I just couldn't find.... I am too tall for these New Age roadracers; they are not built for any rider taller than five-nine, and the rearset brake pedal was not where I thought it would be. Midsize Italian pimps who like to race from one café to another on the boulevards of Rome in a flat-line prone position might like this, but I do not. I was hunched over the tank like a person diving into a pool that got emptied yesterday. Whacko! Bashed into the concrete bottom, flesh ripped off, a Sausage Creature with no teeth, f-cked-up for the rest of its life. We all love Torque, and some of us have taken it straight over the high side from time to time -- and there is always Pain in that.... But there is also Fun, in the deadly element, and Fun is what you get when you screw this monster on. BOOM! Instant takeoff, no screeching or squawking around like a fool with your teeth clamping down on your tongue and your mind completely empty of everything but fear. No. This bugger digs right in and shoots you straight down the pipe, for good or ill. On my first takeoff, I hit second gear and went through the speed limit on a two-lane blacktop highway full of ranch traffic. By the time I went up to third, I was going 75 and the tach was barely above 4,000 rpm.... And that's when it got its second wind. From 4,000 to 6,000 in third will take you from 75 to 95 in two seconds -- and after that, Bubba, you still have fourth, fifth, and sixth. Ho, ho. I never got into sixth, and I didn't get deep into fifth. This is a shameful admission for a full-bore Café Racer, but let me tell you something, old sport: This motorcycle is simply too goddamn fast to ride at speed in any kind of normal road traffic unless you're ready to go straight down the centerline with your nuts on fire and a silent scream in your throat. When aimed in the right direction at high speed, though, it has unnatural capabilities. This I unwittingly discovered as I made my approach to a sharp turn across some railroad tracks, saw that I was going way too fast and that my only chance was to veer right and screw it on totally, in a desparate attempt to leapfrog the curve by going airborne. It was a bold and reckless move, but it was necessary. And it worked: I felt like Evil Knievel as I soared across the tracks with the rain in my eyes and my jaws clamped together in fear. I tried to spit down on the tracks as I passed them, but my mouth was too dry.... I landed hard on the edge of the road and lost my grip for a moment as the Ducati began fishtailing crazily into oncoming traffic. For two or three seconds I came face to face with the Sausage Creature.... But somehow the brute straightened out. I passed a school bus on the right and then got the bike under control long enough to gear down and pull off into an abandoned gravel driveway where I stopped and turned off the engine. My hands had seized up like claws and the rest of my body was numb. I felt nauseous and I cried for my mama, but nobody heard, then I went into a trance for 30 or 40 seconds until I was finally able to light a cigarette and calm down enough to ride home. I was too hysterical to shift gears, so I went the whole way in first at 40 miles an hour. Whoops! What am I saying? Tall stories, ho, ho.... We are motorcycle people; we walk tall and we laugh at whatever's funny. We shit on the chests of the Weird.... But when we ride very fast motorcycles, we ride with immaculate sanity. We might abuse a substance here and there, but only when it's right. The final measure of any rider's skill is the inverse ratio of his preferred Traveling Speed to the number of bad scars on his body. It is that simple: If you ride fast and crash, you are a bad rider. If you go slow and crash, you are a bad rider. And if you are a bad rider, you should not ride motorcycles. The emergence of the superbike has heightened this equation drastically. Motorcycle technology has made such a great leap forward. Take the Ducati. You want optimum cruising speed on this bugger? Try 90 mph in fifth at 5,500 rpm -- and just then, you see a bull moose in the middle of the road. WHACKO. Meet the Sausage Creature. Or maybe not: The Ducati 900 is so finely engineered and balanced and torqued that you can do 90 mph in fifth through a 35-mph zone and get away with it. The bike is not just fast -- it is extremely quick and responsive, and it will do amazing things.... It is a little like riding the original Vincent Black Shadow, which would outrun an F-86 jet fighter on the takeoff runway, but at the end, the F-86 would go airborne and the Vincent would not, and there was no point in trying to turn it. WHAMO! The Sausage Creature strikes again. There is a fundamental difference, however, between the old Vincents and the new breed of superbikes. If you rode the Black Shadow at top speed for any length of time, you would almost certainly die. That is why there are not many life members of the Vincent Black Shadow Society. The Vincent was like a bullet that went straight; the Ducati is like the magic bullet that went sideways and hit JFK and the Governor of Texas at the same time. It was impossible. But so was my terrifying sideways leap across railroad tracks on the 900SP. The bike did it easily with the grace of a fleeing tomcat. The landing was so easy I remember thinking, goddamnit, if I had screwed it on a little more I could have gone a lot further. Maybe this is the new Café Racer macho. My bike is so much faster than yours that I dare you to ride it, you lame little turd. Do you have the balls to ride this BOTTOMLESS PIT OF TORQUE? That is the attitude of the New Age superbike freak, and I am one of them. On some days they are about the most fun you can have with your clothes on. The Vincent just killed you a lot faster than a superbike will. A fool couldn't ride the Vincent Black Shadow more than once, but a fool can ride a Ducati 900 many times, and it will always be bloodcurdling kind of fun. That is the Curse of Speed which has plagued me all my life. I am a slave to it. On my tombstone they will carve, "IT NEVER GOT FAST ENOUGH FOR ME."
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| 04-17-2007, 03:22 PM | #44 | |
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HST had an 'over the top' writing style where he exaggerated quite a bit. He wrote a lot about the Vincent Black Shadow in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. Curious about the Vincent Black Shadow, I checked Wikipedia: The Vincent Black Shadow is mentioned in works by Hunter S. Thompson, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, Kingdom of Fear and "The Great Shark Hunt." In Fear and Loathing, the character Raoul Duke (Hunter S. Thompson's alias) talks about entering a Black Shadow into the Mint 400, a grueling desert motocross race. This is meant as comic irony since not only is the Black Shadow deeply inappropriate for off road use but even at the time of writing (1971), the Black Shadow was considered antiquated and obsolete. Honestly, I doubt he rode a motorcycle after 1985. I've heard stories about his constant, debilitating inebriation. But I absolutely love his Gonzo writing style. If you haven't read it yet (I'm guessing you probably have), find a copy of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. It's about the American Dream. My yellowed avatar pic is from the CD cover of a Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas audiobook, narrated by Harry Dean Stanton. |
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