Dexoxadrol

 Age: 27

Weight: 130 lbs

Dosage: 290 mg oral in solution

Setting: My house

 

To my great sadness I found this drug to be extremely unremarkable. I had been so excited to try it. I elaborate on that excitement in the intro, which incidentally ends up being about as long as the actual report, which begins at the timestamp after the big block of text.

Dexoxadrol had me fascinated from the moment I had first learned of its existence. Those who are well familiar with their dissociatives know that the vast majority belong one structural class of molecule, called the arylcyclohexylamines, such as ketamine or PCP. The diarylethylamines, such as diphenidine and ephenidine, constitute another major class of molecule that reliably produces active dissociatives. In time however, I would come to learn about another class of molecule that consistently had dissociative activity, ones that had actually been tested in people! Not only had they been tested in people, but effects reminiscent of my familiar hallucinatory experiences had been recorded. So where were these compounds in the wider landscape of psychoactive drugs?

Dexoxadrol is based on a structure called Dioxolane. It is one of several dissociative drugs derived from the dioxolane scaffold. Another example of a drug in this class is Etoxadrol. Both of these drugs were tested on humans in the 60’s and 70’s, in the context of developing a non-opioid anesthetic. Trials were ultimately abandoned due to reported hallucinatory effects, particularly the development of “nightmares”, though it is not clear if these are disturbances in natural dreaming, or intense dysphoric hallucinatory states. (It should be noted that this came shortly after PCP had fallen out of favor in the medical community, similarly as an anesthetic that had alarming hallucinogenic effects.)

I have previously written about the dioxolanes at length- both their history and their structure-activity relations.  I even made one of my handy flowcharts for potentially designing new compounds in this class.

After these trials were abandoned, dexoxadrol and the dissociative dioxolanes were mostly forgotten and wallowed in obscurity. One could find out about them by digging deep enough on the internet, and there had been a number of studies on analogous compounds in recent years. It never saw medical usage and thus never broke out into the public sphere of recreational drug use like PCP. For decades it simply didn’t exist beyond research institutions until- I was able to obtain a trial batch that had been produced to assess possible interest. The trials had run their course and the synthetic difficulty combined with the poor feedback from trial groups meant that dexoxadrol likely would never see wide availability. I had obtained some of the last scraps of that synthesis well after the matter had already been settled.

So there I had it before me, an extremely fluffy white powder with a static charge. The dioxolanes could present an entirely new frontier in the world of dissociatives, and I had the lead compound of the class in my hands, one of the first people to do so since its original trials nearly half a century prior. I was giddy with excitement!

Unfortunately, I found the drug to be quite lacking. It was certainly an active dissociative, though not a particularly interesting one. It was quite impotent and short acting, suggesting a low affinity for the target NMDA receptor. The report is short, there simply was not much to say in detail.

 

T0:00- Dose taken. The powder is fluffy and statically charged, sticking to the bag and whatever tools I use to manipulate it. This is frustrating to work with and I feel like every time I touch it I am losing some to the environment. I initially try to work it into a capsule but this quickly proves to be untenable. I eventually just aim for 300 mg and get roughly that, dump all of my tools and weigh paper into a cup of water and dissolve it all into solution. I chug it down, it is cold and bitter and makes me shudder. I wash all the materials and the container several times and drink it down to ensure I get every last bit.

 

T0:15- Onset, feeling a bit lightheaded.

 

T0:40- feeling a little more dissociated, but overall the effects have been understated, bordering on placebo.

 

T1:00- Heavy slow dissociation building. There is undeniably something here now.

 

T1:25- It hits heavier and heavier now. This is a tired, sedating dissociation. My breath is shallow, like some great mass is sitting on me. I am pinned to the ground, with no energy or motivation to move. Even lifting my arms begins to feel exhausting and taxing. There aren’t many visuals to note, both with my eyes open or closed. Perhaps there are some pulses running up and down the walls, slow motion shadows of ripples, forming like slow bubbles. I feel like I am melting and being fused together, my joints welded shut in great pools of cold noise. My head is empty and blank, all I can do is really sit there and think “Huh, I am dissociated”. I am numb and dizzy, and ultimately very still. There is no motion to this, no sense of rush or exposure or entrance; it is simple and matter of fact. Before this I was sober. Now I am not. There is not much to it and the transition from one state to the other was nothing but a subtle shift I hardly noticed. All I know is I feel quite different.

I am playing Chivalry: Medieval warfare and watching the Simpsons. Even moving my fingers to play the game feels like too much exertion for me, so I turn it off and sit on the couch. There are no alterations in my perception of the TV show, everything still makes sense and all the jokes still land.

 

T1:30- There are little tactile sensations now, dull and resigned, like some great invisible fingers made from TV static are trying to tickle me through a thick plastic tarp. My skin is otherwise all numb, a still motionless numbness like stale heavy air in a room without windows. I feel like I am sticky, perhaps just from my reluctance to move. I have been embedded in a drizzle of numbing syrup, my fingers feel numb and gooey, penetrated by my cold and still bones. I am slightly nauseous. My consciousness is securely anchored into my body; where the sensation fades, it can reliably fill in the holes. No hole will be coming out of this, my body will not be getting away from me that easily. I feel a little nauseous.

 

T2:00- I lie down and try to listen to music in the dark. My body annoyingly remains completely anchored to my mind. Closed eyed visuals do not manifest much, just the same ripples like sand dunes, steady and open and wide, moving in slow, slow pulses. They are monochrome. There is not much to say about this.

 

T2:15- It feels like the peak of the experience is already fading. I base this largely on the sense of sedation drawing away and energy returning to my limbs. I can get up and move okay, there is not much loss of coordination and proprioception. I am slow and steady, my thoughts are perfectly lucid.

 

T3:30- Back to baseline. That was uneventful.

 

Conclusion:

Dexoxadrol is definitely an active dissociative- the skewed headspace, the numbness and disconnection, all of the elements were there, albeit in conservative portions. It is a heavily sedating dissociation, reminiscent of the slow tiredness of first waking up from a long sleep. It is not particularly useful for anything other than being still. Many dissociatives are similar, but have some sort of engaging sensory space that renders the body irrelevant. This was not the case for dexoxadrol, where the most I was able to experience was dull ripples and indistinct monochrome patterns. The potency was low and the duration was short, even from an oral dose. I was not able to attempt any other routes of administration. I am certain that more interesting effects may be found at higher doses. Unfortunately, however, this trial was the last of my available material, and may perhaps be some of the last of this molecule to exist on earth beyond the walls of accredited chemistry and pharmacology labs. I am doubtful that humble little Dexoxadrol is going to see much demand or appeal.

I would still be curious to try other related compounds such as etoxadrol- after all, dexoxadrol is just one member of its family. Dexoxadrol’s unremarkable effects could very well be an aberration in the broader scheme of things- or conversely it could be standard for the class. There is only one way to find out, and I am eager to learn!  

Lastly, I did not notice any nightmares in the following 24 hour period, waking or otherwise.

DOC

I dedicate this report to the memory of Ann Shulgin. For those of us who seek to document the wide wonderful world of psychedelics, you are a giant upon whose shoulders we stand, and we all owe you our eternal gratitude. 


This is a long one. It was a long experience. It's not particularly exciting, I don't expect anyone to read all of it, but I'll share it here for documentation purposes. 

Age: 26

Weight: 130 lbs

Dosage: 5.4 mg oral in gel cap

Setting: My house

 

DOC needs little introduction, it is not a novel compound by any measure and within certain communities hardly an obscure one. It’s a psychedelic amphetamine, they last forever and are very potent.

On a more personal note, it took me a very long time to find what was already a renowned and attainable compound. I am always curious about SAR and curious about comparing the psychedelic amphetamines to their 2C-x counterparts. 2C-C is one of my favorite psychedelics of all time. I was excited to try its amphetamine cousin. Difficulty in executing this trip mainly just came about from circumstance- I needed an extended amount of time alone in my own home, something difficult to do when I live with my partner and work full time. After I obtained my sample I waited about a year and a half until the stars finally aligned- a warm late spring day, the house to myself for an extended period of time, no responsibilities and the whole long weekend ahead of me. It was finally time. I did not want to take this opportunity lightly so I opted for a fairly high dose. I used an analytical balance to precisely weigh out precisely 5.4 mg. This was placed in a gel cap. I ingested it shortly after waking on the morning of the experience on an empty stomach.

DOC is a challenging and mighty drug. This is demonstrated in the body of the text. It is not something to be taken lightly and perhaps lower doses are more merciful, but I reckon it should only be in the hands of those well versed in the world of psychedelics.

 

T0:00- Dose taken

 

T0:30- Onset, feeling a tad stimulated and jittery, my muscles are very tense. My fiancé leaves for the day, I am alone from here on out.

 

T0:45- DOx compounds, owing to their long duration, are expected to have a long comeup. I am surprised to find myself already entering the experience with speed and ferocity. Muscle cramps and tension grow, like my body is being bound to itself. A great painful nausea has set in and smolders in my abdomen. I take a shower. There is a buzzing feeling in the back of my skull. Light visuals begin to present, faint plays of color and pattern.

 

T1:00- I am tripping pretty damn hard. The nausea overtakes me in the shower and I throw up several times. My stomach is empty and there is nothing to come out but water. It feels like great tight fingers are gripping around my torso. I am so stimulated and nauseous and uncomfortable.  I am in misery. My mind is bright and sprouted with electric flowers. Pastel traceries trickle as slow-motion lightning strikes down my nerves the way the water traces the contours of my skin, iridescent like oil slicks. This is what I asked for is it not? Water and fire and electricity all at once, all tearing through me. I think about the week preceding this, a middling work week of doing chemistry to varying degrees of success. I think about my capabilities and limitations. I think about this being the weekend, I shouldn’t think about work. I feel like overwrought madness, I feel like a skeleton of blue vibration, detached from all of it, cleaned and invigorated.

I turn off the water, I step out. Visuals are great ripples through my field of vision, flashing like reflecting dancing sunlight, spots of bright color, shimmers of glitter, auras around objects. Everything is cast in a gentle blue and teal. I am giddy and jovial, I am having fun, I am also suffering a great deal. I cannot help but feel wonder and joy. It feels like someone has stabbed me in the gut.

 

T1:20- I get dressed in light breezy clothes and roll around. I am hot and sweaty and very uncomfortable. I realize that I didn’t begin to peak early, that that was just the beginning, that this is a heavy dose, that is still growing. Ever growing. I am maybe past the point of discomfort; I would say I am just in pain now. Ouch. Sounds begin to bend and warp, a sure signal that I am indeed in the deep deep throes of it. Flanges and trickles and twinkles, blips and blops. Visuals are relatively subdued but only grow more intense by the second, concentric patterns waving and rippling and pulsing. I am on my bed now, curled up, clutching my abdomen. I do not yet know that this will be my tomb, my altar, for the next indefinite hours. My digestive system is imploding. There is incredible weight to this, like I am facing a final boss.

 

T1:40- The power! The heft! It is like a great sword has been impaled through my skull, crystalline and pulsing with energy, webbing and radiating through my rigid form, I am locked in a trance. I cannot move, my muscles are pulled to their most violent tension; my brain projects from my skull, a ray of patterns freeing my ego from the shattered husk of my physical form. I want to be free, I want to be a ribbon caught in the wind, dancing among the clouds and reflecting the sun, but I am bound, by metal cord to this agonizing body, this tearing crackling thing that contorts under the pressure of its own form, oh poor pitiful sack of bones!

The whole of reality begins to expand and contract, like a great accordion, I am twisted in some strange form face down eyes open to only see the fabric of my bed before me, but I can sense it in every way. In the sounds, in the weight of the air around me, in the passage of time, growing, shrinking, repeating, hefting, breathing. I am at its mercy, I am not me, just one spot in this great image that stretches and bulges and pulls and closes and shrinks. It is like floating on waves in the middle of the ocean, the sun beating down, no land anywhere in sight. It is out of my hands, it is out of my control, I am just here. What can I possibly do? My physical body just lies still, rigid, tense.

It keeps growing. This mighty king of the mountains of a drug.

 

T2:00- I am reduced to a shambling ghost, a faint form hanging around the room, doing nothing. As a body I might as well be dead. As a consciousness I cannot leave that poor pained thing behind, all I can do is linger around it, comfort it as one would try to rekindle a dying fire smothered in its own ash.

I don’t know if I feel hot or cold. I don’t know if I want to lie down or stand up or throw up or if I’m hungry or thirsty or anything. Everything seems to be on alert, every alarm that can be ringing inside of me is. I am facing all of it, in such incredible force. I am something new, alone, the body and its memories are something faint and distant and frayed. I just want to be out. I want to be a spirit liberated.

If I was of another mind or a more spiritual person, I would say there is a sense of presence to this, something coming in and influencing me and my experience. But there is nothing, I am alone, physically and metaphysically, it is a great cold void, a frozen yawning mouth. All there is is me, an internality, bound to this wretched body. There is something in that body, something original and primal, something that hearkens back to the oldest divisions of cells, replications of DNA, I am stuck to this being, suffering as it is, beautiful in its complexity, beautiful in the ways it can suffer. There is an energy in my physicality, there is an essence in my body that is separate from the essence of my mind, they cannot talk, they cannot see each other, but they can intertwine, interact, synthesize into something blossoming glowing and wonderful. I wish my stomach wouldn’t hurt so much.

 

T2:30- My nervous system is inundated with electricity, I am energy in space. This is pure, all-consuming psychedelic power. My body and my mind have come to a peace and can do little more than lie still on my bed, intersecting at their base most impulses, their deepest instincts and faintest vestiges all enjoined. The great electric wind has blown everything else away and left this simplicity, a corpse and its life, laid out like specimens on an autopsy table.

Great seas of visuals drift above me, like lying in a meadow watching great cumulous clouds drift across a deep blue sky. Great radial patterns like snowflakes, drifting and breathing completely free from me; these aren’t my perceptions, these just live here. Flowing traceries, stripes and pulses and breaths of patterns, running and streaming and drifting in all sorts of shades of blue, accented with flashes of neon pink. All of the ambient noises around me reverberate and bounce and resound, growing higher in frequency as they go, trailing off into a spiraling interlocking oblivion.

 

T3:00- The wind picks up outside, carrying the shadow of an afternoon thunderstorm on its back. The thunder shakes the weight of the sky, the great blue comes down in drifts and flits of cleansing rain, soaking the warm earth, blossoming with the love of the sun. I lie still and listen to the clatter of the rain drops on the window, the wind as the beats its bass notes into the heavy glass, the thunder rolls over me yet again and again.

I think of my pain and I think of the incredible pains and tortures people have faced throughout history. Flaying, burning, breaking, 1000 cuts, drawn and quartered, impaled, eviscerated, vivisected, crushed exploded exsanguinated separated slit annihilated massacred and shattered. There is just so much you can do wrong to a body, all of it is horrible. I am blessed to not face that, it is absurd that I induce so much pain on purpose. I could have simply avoided this. But it’s not so bad, all things considered.

 

T3:30- My sweet orange cat comes into the room and cuddles up on me. I am enraptured with petting him, scratching him, letting him walk about me and sniff at me. What an angel I love him so much. All I can do physically is still lie here and writhe. The same visuals still flow down the walls, glaring in intensity. The rain has stopped, the world is saturated in light and sun again, it’s so beautiful outside but I have no intention of going out or doing anything. It is clear that all my body can do right now is lie here and writhe. Any other motion, pushing it to any other extreme, just makes it worse. I must be in my default state. My T pose of laying down.

 

T4:00- Talk to some of my dearest friends in a group chat, the same friends mentioned in many of my reports with whom I have shared so many wonderful experiences with research chemicals. It’s lovely funny witty banter, we have such a nice rapport and love each other so much. Despite being still well within the thick of the peak I am still articulate, able to understand their words and say my own. It feels like the overall intensity of the experience has leveled out, a steady heavy plateau scoured by a roiling derecho. I am cautious to feel this seeming stop to the steady acceleration of the experience thusfar. This equilibrium feels so fragile, like it could shatter and the experience could fall deeper at the slightest disturbance.

Everything is still deeply uncomfortable. It feels like there is a serpent in my stomach. I have a bit of a headache probably from muscle tension and bad posture. Visuals still bubble and swirl, difficult to characterize beyond noting their sheer intensity. My perceptions and swirled and warped and seen through a dizzying sky blue glass, in stepped concentric forms. It’s all vague, but overwhelming too.

 

T5:00- I muse about how funny it is to me that I waited a year and a half for conditions to be right for me to ingest this drug, and now that the opportunity has finally presented itself, I am just subject to monolithic physical suffering.

Someone on twitter quotes a passage from DOC’s entry in PiHKAL:

 

‘One must learn to keep one’s sense of humor. The immortal humorist Wavy Gravy once said, “If you can’t laugh at life, it just isn’t funny anymore.”’

 

Yes, Wavy Gravy, so true. Clutching at myself, trying to keep my vomit down, writhing in pain,

What else is there to do but laugh?

I decide to read the rest of the entry- now that I have a little bit of experience with synthesizing drugs, the chemistry section is no longer a formidable impenetrable wall of text. I recognize the reagents, the techniques, the purpose of each step of the process. Shulgin went about chemistry like an artisan, every move intentional and purposeful, an artist executing his craft. Shulgin’s descriptions of rote monotone chemical procedure is littered with sparks of wonder and love for what he does. I’m drawn to certain excerpts like:

“The clear solution was quickly filtered to give a clear, pale amber mother liquor, which soon started depositing lustrous white crystals.”

 

Chemistry was a craft, and I had already in a few short months grown lazy and complacent, treating it as a chore, as the tedium of work. Surely work would be more boring if I took no pride in it and viewed it as something dreary I only did out of obligation. It is something that is more exciting if I see it as something beautiful and miraculous and humbling and powerful. It is magic, it is a craft and an art and a science requiring an immense amount of learning, and I was only at the beginning of this journey, a mere apprentice with the golden opportunity to learn from experienced masters of this craft. I smoke a bit of cannabis to settle my stomach and ease the bodyload.

I aimlessly browse social media. I snoop on a lot of right-wing libertarian circles adjacent to the knife collecting hobby or firearms. Across those and my more familiar left wing spaces is astonishing agreement over a shocking recent event- the massacre of children at Robb Elementary in Uvalde, Texas, which had happened just 4 days prior to this experience. In that short time, the narrative of shock and horror had given way to an infuriating deepening scrutiny over the police response, or lack thereof. I think about the meanings of courage and cowardice, fundamental values and antithetical concepts in our world, how breaking the basic codes of courage and cowardice could bring about a social rejection worse than death. But perhaps nothing of consequence would happen, they would just quietly return to their lives and the world would forget- as of this writing that appears to be what is happening, pending even worse news.
I am back to thinking about chemistry, about living out a life as a professional chemist, different from anything I’ve ever intended. I only have about 3 months of experience under my belt. It is probably unwise to think further into the future until I have built up much more experience. I read about lab safety, particularly the case of Sheri Sangji, the research assistant at UCLA who died from severe burns suffered from a spill involving the extremely pyrophoric (combusts when exposed to air) chemical t-butyllithium.

Such continues this portion of the peak- a lot of thinking and contemplating, turning ideas and events over in my mind like studying an interesting little stone with my hands. It’s lovely, stimulating and delightful and brings interest to the otherwise dull task of lying on my bed wincing in pain.

 

T8:00 – The experience rages on. I am slowly coming off the peak now, at last at 8 hours. I determine this in being even more lucid and able to read and talk to others. I have been doing little but lying around listening to music and browsing the internet for the last few hours. The bodyload has subsided mercifully, to the point where I can comfortably get up and walk around. I no longer feel paralyzed by this beast of a substance. I briefly stepped into my backyard, soaked by the earlier rain, and breathed in the moist and humid air. The ambient sounds of my neighborhood echoed around me, reverberating and repeating into a fractal infinity- sirens, dirtbikes, children playing, dogs barking, planes overhead, all the richly textured soundscape of the city. The sun was getting low in the sky, its golden light diffuse in the steady cloud cover above. I smoked a bit of weed and breathed in the humid air, the visuals retreating like earthworms from the sun as the drug slowly steamed off of my hyperthermal body. I still felt a bit uncomfortable though and opted for the continuing dull familiarity of the soft surfaces inside of my house. I decide I want to watch a movie, to further pass the time into the comedown. Especially now that I don’t feel as though it would be overwhelming.

 

T8:23- I decide to watch “A Scanner Darkly”, Richard Linklater’s rotoscope animated adaptation of the Philip K. Dick novel. I’ve never read the book. It’s a film dripping with anxiety, paranoia, disorientation; It is like stumbling around after staring directly into a bright fluorescent lamp, it gives off an odor of stale smoke and gasoline, it is cynical and grim and relentless. Some scenes remind me of my former life in my early 20s, lounging around a horrendously messy house with my best friends and roommates at odd hours, doing strange drugs and having baffling whacked out conversations. We were kinder to each other, substantially less paranoid, but just about the same degree off-kilter from reality, as a collective unit. The movie is replete with twitches and swirling hallucinatory ticks that make it hard to determine what is coming from my perception and what is built-in. I enjoy it a great deal though. A dystopia peering through a screen to another dystopia.

 

T10:20- Movie’s done. I am 10 hours into this experience. How do I feel? I am tripping.  I am not peaking but I am definitely tripping. It is 10 at night, the sun is fully down. I ate a little capsule at 11 this morning and I am still feeling the consequences- Wavy Gravy was right, it is pretty funny. It will always be pretty funny.

I need to do something different, I need to go for a walk; I can get up and move around, the world tilts and twists and cracks around me, but I have a mission. WAL-MART! I am going to walk the path along the roaring highway to the nearby Walmart on the sallow waterfront, buy myself some instant stuff to make for dinner, head home. I live in the heart of a major dense city, but I also live within walking distance of a wasteland of big box stores, occupying what used to be shipyards, IV lines linked directly to the major highways and arterials of the city. A flatland of undulating asphalt seas, titanic boxes crowned with A/C units, veiled in white fluorescent mist of the beams glaring over their vast parking lots. It felt like a different dimension.

I strike out from my house, a light jacket, a spot of makeup; it is disorienting to step outside, it is an achievement from having my writhing grub of a form glued to a bed all day. The sky is vast above me, the shadows hide my wild eyes, there are electric twitches at my temples and a neverending sense of energy and unease. Visuals play at my periphery but I don’t give them much mind. I feel like I am taking an expedition into an alien world, doused in gloom and glow and dark and blue and wet; something from the dim gelatinous side of the universe. Fireworks piece the sky in the distance. Rain struggles down in a barely discernible mist. The lights are reflecting off the wet asphalt, dazzling and distracting me as I hurry along. I pass under one of the greatest North-South highway arterials in the region, there is a big box truck abandoned there, covered in graffiti. I am paranoid and looking over my shoulder, there is a spring in my step, the DOC sticks energy into my veins, blue and fluorescent, sputtering at my fingertips, splashing into the May night drizzle. I weave into a park along the waterfront, abandoned piers and docks crumbling and overgrown and stinking of oily city river mud. Wood and slimy concrete and the spray of coca-cola colored water under the misty stars; there are occasional settlements here, ranging from tents to established properties built from pallets and scrap wood and metal, all caked in that sweet river mud. I brought DIY self-extinguishing isopropyl powered heaters here once in the winter, to a settlement on one of the piers that had been named “Tortuga”. Now it had been swept, fenced off, the people pushed out so the same nothing could continue undisturbed, a pristine abandoned property, for no one. Signs to that affect were thoroughly vandalized, encouraging people to dissolve into the pinelands across the river, the thralls of shadowy forests where one could truly disappear if they had decided to abandon our decadent sinking ship. Shadows stood tall around me as I stalked the trails, checking my shoulders, keeping quiet, trying not to disturb anyone. It was dark, not the pitch black of a new moon but the darkness of the shadows, of great bright lights all around, glowering brighter than we are meant to glower, beaming and burning through the landscape, shooting pillars into the misty sky, but ultimately dying in the heavy rain soaked boughs of the trees, crashing on the rocks of the buildings they were to defend, casting into the night: shadows, inky, infinite, dark, darker than it was ever meant to be. I could slither and dodge amongst these, invisible in my black clothes, comfortable to feel the way an insect must feel visiting one of the aircraft warning lights on top of a towering steel suspension bridge.

I make it to the back of my mighty Walmart, a few people with shopping carts caravan supplies back to their camps along the trail. I slink out of the shadows into artificial daylight, a sterile white glow as a mocking simulacrum of the sun. The space is immense, cool, quiet. For the first time in this experience I am in close contact with other people, they are odd beings that flit in and out of my life, I can perceive them as little more than passing cars, drifting lights that filter around me. I cannot engage, it makes no sense to me. I am on an expedition plumbing this virtual reality. I grab a cart and browse the groceries. Families flow around me on all sides, their carts laden with essentials, children running around and hanging off, like nomadic caravans filtering through the industrial remnants of the world. Saturday night is the only time that many of these families can manage to stock up on what they need to live. This is the most affordable place to get it. Its all in one place, one trip. We are all indentured to this great box. I find pouches of instant rice and beans- 90 seconds in a microwave and you have a passable meal, dense enough to feel full, and most of it is usable proteins and carbohydrates. Yes I will eat the nutrient pouch.

I wander around in a daze, pushing my cart, various night people flitting around me like birds. I stop at the magazine aisle- survivalist magazines tell me what to do in the event of a fire in a high rise, how to prepare for supply chain disruptions, how to defend your house in a city where everyone could be an enemy. They could be friends too! But the magazine doesn’t mention that.

So much flows around me. So much flows into me, so much flows directly materially into my hands, as metals paints plastics all of it is in motion, in waste, production and fire and toxins and the vast cloud of terror we are inflicting on our world, the pilings of money, the arterial flow from the rivers to the roads to the tracks writhing and bending across our landscape, the trees butchered to railroad ties, steel conquering grass, grass conquering gravel, the tepid rains outside slowly rusting away the great steel beams placed in the jetties outside, built a hundred years ago to feed the waterborne trade of goods into this dense chunk of human population. And here we still are, me getting my lazy nutrition pouches, this hub of resources on the waterfront, (The water is just a formality! Trucks do the job better), the constant flow of things from places we can never imagine, coming to places that are unimaginable to the people who extract our resources. The constant ebb and flow and pulse of this great beating body; how fragile it could be, how it could so easily be disrupted; that one truck under the highway earlier; it could just go up in flames, one broken window, one road flare, that’s all it takes to have smoke and heat shutter one of the most important arteries of this nation. This whole depository of the worlds’ production, this final resting place of so many of our beautiful planet’s resources, it felt so undignified, it stank, I felt sick, I wanted to be the one who slunk out, no phone in my pocket, staying close to the curb to avoid the cameras, dead of the night, smoke and fire; to put my hand around the throat of this whole craven mess! But we needed it. I needed it, I was spending my money (or government benefits) here after all. Such antisocial misanthropic thrashings served nothing but my own privileged catharsis. We were stuck here, for better or worse.

I waited in line with tired families in soft clothes. So many different languages danced around me. My interactions with the cashier were not noteworthy. I had enough wherewithal to manage that and appear outwardly sober. I gave some of my groceries to a panhandler outside and set off for home, this time electing to walk along the busy high-speed roadway.

T12:00- It’s drizzling a bit out, it is humid and muggy. I rolled a joint before I left but I cannot find it in any of my pockets. It would be such a simple pleasure right now, stir up the remaining dust in this experience and give me something exciting. But it seems it fell out or I lost it. There is little left to the trip now, just a steady tail. I am definitely not sober, but there is little left to which I would ascribe a hallucinatory quality. It is just a smooth stimulation, a warm associative cognition and an understated euphoria, with the same subtle discomfort and tension in my muscles. A convoy of dirtbikes rolls by blasting Mexican hip hop, shuddering my whole world with sound waves. It punctuates the reverberating background noise of cars tearing across the wet asphalt. My bags are heavy and I have to stop and sit several times. Despite the stimulation I am still the same frail body with the same weak stamina.

 

T12:30- I reach home, I am extremely sweaty. I find my joint on the table by the door. Oops. I step into the backyard and smoke it. The visuals breathe with a renewed light, but it’s a dying whimper and the experience soon passes into merely being stoned form the cannabis. I tear off my sweaty clothes and immediately jump in the shower. The shower is a soothing sensation. I keep the water barely lukewarm, my body feels uncomfortably warm at baseline already.

 

T13:30- The nausea has subsided enough to eat a meal. I just whip up one of the instant rice and beans that I collected while out foraging. It goes down simply. There is still a lingering sensation in my mind though the experience has largely left my body.

 

T15:00- I have just been lounging around playing videogames and talking to my friends. Talking to people is still articulate and stimulating. There are still hints of psychedelia in how my words translate between my mind and my fingers- more cohesive, more concise, more elegant. Beyond that, it is hard to discern the drug is still there.

 

T18:00- Fully back to baseline. It is very late at night now. I stay up a few more hours and then go to sleep.

 

Conclusion: There is little I can say about DOC that hasn’t been said already. I unfortunately do not have much time in my life anymore to dedicate to long experiences such as this and must take advantage of such opportunities when they come. I am grateful that I got to experience this, grateful for the humor and grateful for the intensity and testing the limits of my endurance. DOC for me at this dose was immense, intense and domineering. The comeup alone stood tall over many of my psychedelic experiences, paralyzing me with raw psychedelic energy. The bodyload was colossal, oftentimes there was little I could do but lay there and writhe, my abdomen cramping and roiling with nausea and my muscles twitching and tense. Much of the experience was simply spent lying on my bed. There wasn’t much else I could do. I was in no condition to be outside or up and walking around. The headspace was fascinating and beautiful and cryptic and enigmatic and profound and stimulating, it is something beautiful and worthwhile. Visuals and auditory effects are present and vibrant yet manage to fade into the background of the overall intensity of the experience. The experience plateaus for a solid 5 hour or so peak after a long dizzying comeup, before a steady stimulating comedown for many many hours. This is not a drug to be taken lightly and it should only be explored by those who have already run a diverse gauntlet of hallucinogenic experiences.

5+ mg is a hefty dose that I would not recommend, even for a seasoned explorer of psychedelics. Perhaps there is a gentler character that reveals itself at lower doses though I am not in a hurry to determine that.

 

 

2-FXE

Do I call this "FXE"? "2-FXE"? do whatever you want man. Clearing up some confusion about the nomenclature of "FXE". This is labeled as "FXE" in the sidebar just so its easier for people to find, though I strongly urge using the name "2-FXE" for clarity.

Age: 26

Weight: 130 lbs

Dosage: 170 mg intranasal

Setting: My house

 

It is worth considering that the 170 mg dose I took here would be considered quite a heavy dose; my personal preference with dissociatives is for higher doses and more exploratory experiences. I would urge people exploring this compound for the first time to aim much lower.

FXE has a rocky history- The first time it came onto the scene it was offered as “FXE + 8% stimulant”. This was a very perplexing formulation- why not offer it as a pure product? The vendor would later reveal that the FXE had difficultly crystallizing and needed some sort of seed crystal to form on. Why they used another psychoactive compound and not something inert is beyond me. The stimulant used was A-D2PV, an interesting compound that actually technically belongs to the diarylethylamine class, its structure resembling Diphenidine. The presence of a beta-ketone however turns it into a cathinone-like stimulant. Most who have bioassayed A-D2PV do not have high praise for it.

Thus this batch of mixed FXE and A-D2PV was unleashed on the world, presenting as large brown rocks (The color almost certainly came from A-D2PV, we actually made a batch in the lab and the freebase indeed has a deep amber color). A-D2PV, bearing the pyrollidine group, smelled like acrid semen, similar to the pyrovalerone family of stimulants, and indeed this impure batch did too. I did run one trial with this batch, at ~80 mg, and the odor and flavor and presence of the stimulant made itself known. It was unpleasant to me. I had to find a way to separate the two compounds. I made some feeble attempts with washing with 99% isopropyl alcohol with middling success, but put the project on backburner.

But then- lo and behold- someone else stepped up to the plate and began offering “pure” FXE. I do not know if it was a new synthesis or just someone cleaning the other batch on a large scale, but I jumped at the opportunity. This time around, the crystals were clear and vitreous, beautiful to behold. I confirmed their identity on GC and MS and proceeded with my experiments. My GC/MS results for the first batch can be found here, and the purified batch can be found here.

FXE is otherwise known as 3-F-2'-Oxo-PCE, and represents the first time we see a 3-substituted halogen paired with a 2’-oxo group on the cyclohexane. We have seen other 3-halogenated arylcyclohexylaines like 3-F-PCP and 3-Cl-PCP that were certainly active. FXE is an exciting development in that same vein, and opens the door to a whole load of possibilities – I think 3-Cl-2’-Oxo-PCE would show a lot of promise! Pairing the halogen with an unsubstituted cyclohexane (eg; 3-F-PCE, 3-Cl-PCE) could also yield very interesting compounds. As a general rule, when a halogen is added to an arylcyclohexylamine in any position you see a steep drop in potency, and FXE is no exception.

FXE is fantastic material. Bright, stimulating, comfortable, with a remarkable degree of cognitive enhancement, bordering on being psychedelic. It is short, fast, heavy, and bursting with energy. I tested it at doses starting at 40 mg and working upwards. I found 80-100 mg to be a sweet spot functional sociable dose. The total duration of this compound ranges from 3-5 hours depending on dose, with a rapid onset and a short peak, with a pleasant afterglow. This is better enumerated in the conclusion.

 

T0:00- Big rock crushed into fine powder. Not unpleasant to snort, fairly painless with no distinct flavor or odor beyond  a tinge of petroleum bitterness.

 

T0:03- Rapid onset, extremities already feel numb.

 

T0:10- The dizziness and dissociation builds. The numbness climbs up my body to the crown of my skull. The air around me feels heavy and wavy. It is like I can feel the impact of the untold x-illions of atoms of gas bouncing off of my skin, this air I see just a block of wiggling particles. I am surprised at how quickly this is taking hold, I already feel like I am well into the dissociative experience. I am uncoordinated and clumsy, my proprioception has already left the building and I am left to figure out how to manage the momentum of my limbs on my own.

I begin to see visuals, faint and indistinct but there are certain flashing symmetrical bands of patterns on surfaces around me, mirroring themselves and drifting about laterally in faint yellows and orangs and reds. I see patterns flashing on the walls, hexagons, like organic molecules, perhaps an artifact of seeing molecular diagrams all day before this.

 

T0:15- My fingers feel like gummies, flopping about my keyboard littering my notes with typos. My head feels like it is going to just flop over and droop onto the floor. This is great fun, I feel jovial and in good spirits. There are striped bands of deep blues and hearty reds spinning and streaming faintly across my vision, tracing the surfaces around me. Textures on the walls begin to flow, like water running down a window, glitchy static in pink and turquoise. Concentric forms appear in my vision and ripple and bubble with seemingly no rhyme or reason. Typing is getting harder, I feel pleasant and content. There is music playing, the vocals are practically dripping with overwrought emotion, as though I can hear the singer’s vocal cords tugging directly at their heart, a lovely bit of enhancement.

 

T0:20- Really peaking now, I am truly immersed in the thick of it. The waves have crashed over my head and I don’t have even a moment to catch my breath. I am completely absorbed by it, enveloped in its twisting throes. I am lucid, I can think quite clearly “wow I am very dissociated”. It is remarkable how lucid I am despite the intensity of this. A fascinating compound. I feel like I am on a rocking boat- moving at all presents an enormous challenge. I am immersed in faint cascades of pink and bright green.

It feels like there is a great whirlpool next to me, a gravity well sucking me in, my physical form and consciousness swirling around this maelstrom, being dragged into some great glowing depth. I feel its pull, I feel like my nerves are being magnetized in one direction and it is wonderful. I am fully conscious and fully aware of this sensation and the novelty fills me with giddiness. It is odd because dissociatives usually have this “gravity well” effect centered on the user- in this case the great dark swallowing pit was some unknowable spherical mass about six feet to my right. It drags me, twists me, I surrender my body and my physical form to the sensation of being twisted around and spun slowly and slowly. I am pelted like a hailstorm with little nuggets of numbing static. My fingers have gone from uncontrollably gummy to uncontrollably stiff, typing is always a challenge.

My face is turned to a smile, there is a genuine inherent euphoria here and I love it, I love the sensation of being swirled around and losing myself, I love this sensation of gentle energy working its way up my nerves, I love the flashes of visuals and the whole world of dissociatives that we know and that we are yet to know. I am in a great pool gazing at the stars.

Visuals are timid, escaping distinction and definition, they are geometric and hexagonal, constantly flashing and constantly drifting, spilling leaking and splashing but always flowing downwards, like watching the water against a fish tank being rocked back and forth, in slick polychrome static drizzles. There are waves and pulses and auras around discreet objects. I vape a bit of cannabis.

 

T0:30- I decide to immerse myself. I plug in my headphones, close my eyes and lie down on my couch. I surrender myself to the compound. I queue up Burial’s seminal LP “Untrue”. The internal hole space of this compound is vast, it is dark, it is punctuated with streamers of light and trails of color. Everything is spinning, I feel as though I am navigating this realm still bound to my couch. I am not just myself, I am myself and whatever my body is touching, bound to this platform as it traverses the realm. It is an odd sort of distinction of where my physical form ends with respect to all other physical forms around me. There is a sense of motion, of flying, of spinning, great geometric forms in the deep violet sky deconstruct and reconstruct above me, it is a vast deep yawning beauty, a lush depth, velvet and pearlescent. It does not appear to be synesthetic, it just exists on its own, heavy and solid.
While strapped into this ride under this great inky dome, I still think, I think articulately, like my inner voice can speak uninhibited. I am thinking and thinking. Thinking about my life, my work, my relationships and love, it feels like viewing my life from the sky at night, from the eyes of a black vulture whose feathers swallow the moonlight. It is such a lovely vacation, this world of the night, where I can think and play freely. There is so much fun and excitement in being free in this realm. I think and think and fantasize and imagine, I imagine myself achieving great things, receiving great praise and recognition, discovering things that bring benefit to the masses. It’s all so self-indulgent. This is the opposite of ego death. But I love it. I just want to think and imagine what will make me feel best, I want to take refuge in potential futures I can hope to inhabit, I want to be good and beautiful and loved, appreciated and respected. The drug tells me that yes, you can get it, this is what it is like, you can imagine it and I shall provide for you. What a pleasure to have my idle fantasies crystallize before my eyes! But it is phantoms, it is illusions, there is not a moment where deep down I don’t know this. I am tasting this forbidden fruit while solidly rooted into my own ground, such satisfaction will always be mere fantasy. I am too lucid, there is nothing silencing the cynical little voice in my brain that reminds me that I am just a guest in this compound’s palace of luster and shimmer. I can still rationalize that I am ultimately the same bum on the couch who shrugged off all other potential social contact on this night to snort white crystals alone in the dark.

 

T0:40- I arise from this hole and gather myself. There is such a sense of heaviness that I automatically expected I would arise on the floor, having sunken through the couch. It was exciting and exhilarating, I hadn’t grown bored. I just wanted to see what else was going on. I am still so lucid, I can still hear myself think so loudly. I can even get up and move if I need to, with great difficulty. I am drawn to introspection and reflection, everything seems to come back to that and I wonder if there is therapeutic value in that. This is a very ego-driven substance. I am still in the dark but I open up my laptop. Despite being so dissociated I am still able to read and understand text.

 

T1:00- The next phase of this compound is a steady burn, a sterile light-blue glow, a seething burn of energy and joy and above all else, curiosity. I am in a daze under a great violet sun. I want to go on my laptop, read about the world around me, I feel ravenous to take in information and to be filled with all the energy that information carries. It is almost psychedelic, in how my thoughts and associations flow so freely into one another, in how perfectly they form and combine. This is like a cold plastic psychedelic. I feel locked in place, like an action figure in its packaging, and I am okay with that. The world is so big and wide and I want to learn and experience as much of it as possible from within my plasticine confines. Level streams of energy run over my face and my lungs like strips of silk.

 

T1:15- Beginning my descent, much of the physical dissociation is receding now. I am mostly just feeling a sense of buzzing numbness in my head and my gums. There is a still a great deal of remarkably lucid cognitive stimulation.

 

T1:40- My curiosity is insatiable- every nugget of information I stumble upon becomes a deep rabbit hole of reading and taking in as much information as possible, even the most mundane little things on the internet, the most one-off mentions of anything I scroll by on social media attract immense fascination. Some of the subjects of interest are the Vietnam and Indo-China war, particularly the biography of Võ Nguyên Giáp, Cave paintings, an incident in Brazil where a woman killed an armed robber named Elivelton Neves Moreira outside of a school, solvent welding of PVC pipes, the war in Ukraine, the show ‘Wheeler Dealers’, counterfeit pharmaceutical ketamine and the global illicit ketamine trade, the “Zonian” people of the Panama Canal, Jerusalem’s old city. All of it is for a moment intensely fascinating to me, something worth pursuing until my brain wears itself out. I hardly notice most other aspects of the experience fade away as I am so deeply engaged in reading and thinking. It feels as though my brain is forming associations and conclusions easier than normal.

 

T2:30- It feels like something is clanging around and reverberating in my skull, a conscious active dissociation, still faint, the lingering vestiges of the experience. I decide to pass the time by playing the game Yume Nikki, a quiet and slow and cryptic game where I explore the vast eerie reaches of the main character’s dreams.

,

T3:30- After playing for about an hour, I go back to ravenously reading things online. My thoughts are still active and I there is a buzzing sense of stimulation in my head, with a bit of lingering lightheadedness and dizziness, the only remaining and clearly discernible aspects of the experience.

 

T5:00- Fully back to baseline.

 

Conclusion: FXE is a lot of fun, having tried it in its purified form, it is quickly earning a place among the pantheon of my favorite dissociatives. It is euphoric, creative, fairly visual, and quite psychedelic offering a great deal of stimulating cognitive enhancement. It fills me with a ravenous curiosity and a compulsion to read and draw connections between the information I gather. At lower doses, from 70-120 mg, it is a fantastic social substance; I found myself articulate and motivated to write and talk to people. The physical dissociation grows heavier as the dose increases, as do visuals and the overall sensation of detachment and exploration. It is fairly forgiving with dosage, seeming as though there is no real steep increase in effects past a certain threshold. I did not attempt doses higher than 170 mg, though I would expect that higher doses would just see a heavier physical dissociation and a slightly longer duration. At all doses, a sense of cognitive lucidity was maintained, allowing for concise articulation and processing of the experience. This is perhaps quite valuable for introspection and meditation. The onset is very rapid for a dissociative, and the overall experience is fairly brief, which may lend it to redosing, which I have done without there being much issue with effects compounding. While cognitively stimulating, with a certain push behind thought processes, it is not manic in the sense of the other lucid dissociatives like 3-MeO-PCP or 3-MeO-PCE. I have only tried intranasal, I do not know about its potency or efficacy through other routes of administration lie oral, rectal, or intramuscular. I have found it combines well with other dissociatives, both the functional manic stimulating ones and the heavier more sedating ones, adding more heft and visual flair to those experiences. This is a substance that I am eager to explore further, and I am glad that it is now available separate from A-D2PV.

2B-DCK

Age: 26

Weight: 130 lbs

Dosage: 600 mg intranasal

Setting: My house

 

Preface:

So of course I was super excited when I first saw this compound on the market. This was the first brominated arylcyclohexylamine to hit the market, and its activity would help us answer some questions about the role of different halogens on the activity of ACH’s. We start at the top of the periodic table, with 2F-DCK bearing a fluorine, then Ketamine bearing a chlorine, and now 2B-DCK bearing a bromine. This clear progression down the halogen column will let us see a clear correlation between the choice of halogen and the activity of the resulting compound!

Seeing as 2F-DCK is slightly more potent than ketamine, my initial inference is that 2B-DCK would in turn be less potent than ketamine. This unfortunately proved to be the case- 2B-DCK is significantly less potent than ketamine with a shorter duration, all suggesting a lower affinity for the NMDA receptor. Perhaps that big bulky bromine just starts to get in the way of binding to the NMDA channel. It could then be inferred that this pattern holds true for other Arylcyclohexylamines, at both the 2- and 3- positions.

So the conclusion that can be drawn from this- there is a drop in activity as you substitute ACH’s with halogens, directly correlating with the bulk of that halogen, which naturally increases as you move down the periodic table. Thus the highest activity is in Fluorine compounds, followed by Chlorine, Bromine, then, presumably, Iodine. The only other reference point for this is with the PCP series, where we have 3F-PCP, 3-Cl-PCP, and one alleged report of 3-Br-PCP. 3F-PCP is significantly less potent than base PCP, and more potent than 3-Cl-PCP. 3-Br-PCP is purported to be inactive (though I dispute this claim and I think it warrants further investigation- sure 3-Br-PCP probably quite impotent and not very exciting but I would be very surprised if it were entirely inactive). Interestingly, in terms of developing compounds, chlorinated compounds seem to strike a perfect balance between dropping activity and interesting, unique effects. Ketamine is of course well renowned and well-loved worldwide and 3-Cl-PCP is one of the most fascinating dissociatives I have encountered- both are pretty impotent but the effects are interesting enough to warrant exploration. Advancing the next step down to the bromine however likely has diminishing returns.

What can I say about 2B-DCK specifically? Not much honesty. It is more painful to snort than 2F-DCK or Ketamine. Snorting 600 mg of it is just an awful experience. Rectal or intramuscular administration is probably best for this. It has a very rapid onset and a very short duration, with a peak lasting for only about half an hour and overall effects dissipating entirely in a little over 2 hours. The experience is fairly nondescript and empty, it is not particularly visual or exploratory or novel, it is an empty neutral dissociation with a bit of warmth and a hint of psychedelia on the tail end. This may be nice for people who prefer lower doses of ketamine, but as someone who always likes to shoot for the dissociative hole at high doses, this just doesn’t do it for me. I am doubtful I will revisit this compound much after this.

 

T0:00- Crystalline sample is crushed into a fine powder and cut into a big pile. I begin cutting off lines and snorting it while I am playing Chivalry: Medieval Warfare and watching The Simpsons, alternating large excruciating sweeps with smaller bumps. It is incredibly unpleasant to snort, it stings a good bit more than other ketamine analogues I’ve tried and tastes pretty dreadful. Overall, it took me about 20 minutes to take it all down. Maybe I’m a wimp, I would prefer not to do this anymore though.

 

T0:15- Still working down the pile. This is the onset of effects- a soft dizziness, numbness in my fingers, a sensation of my body becoming floppy and heavy and difficult to control. The game is making less and less sense to me and my fine motor coordination is becoming increasingly stunted, making play quite difficult. The Simpsons is becoming an annoying stimulus, hard to pay attention to, but thankfully the episode is ending.

 

T0:20- Finished snorting the pile. My nose doesn’t feel too good; I wash it with a saline rinse. I feel like I have rapidly dropped into a hole, that it slinked up and ambushed me before I could even discern what was happening. It tugs at me, I am moving so slowly, it is like a dream where I get in a fight but all my movements are gelatinous and inhibited as though I am under water. I close out of the game and climb up onto the couch and flop down, content not to move at all.

There is a rush in how sudden this is, but at the same time, it is something warm, smooth, and gentle, like I have dropped into a hot tub, sleek and streamlined, leaving no splash in my wake. I would generally characterize Ketamine and 2F-DCK as being “cold”, lacking an internal energy. This is a warm sensation though, burning quietly like a glowing ember, passing the soft warmth of the lapping of a tropical sea through my limbs and into my extremities, turning them into a body-temperature jelly. The light and energy is quiet, it is like I am sitting on a throne of low flames, their energy imparting haloes of a golden-orange glow around me, this is nothing electric or stimulating, just simply warm.

The world feels blurry, wavy and disconnected, a function of warbling heat waves more so than the actual air carrying the light to my eyes. There is a sudden sense of this world I’m in being fake and virtual, and there is a lax resignation in the drug to just not even care about that fact at all or give it any regard. I am content to just lie here and space out and exist in this fast and novel sensation of being numb and gooey, the sense of motion when I am sitting very still, like my essence is lazily spinning down a vast drain. It is hard to read or write, my notes are near-incomprehensible with typos and gibberish, the letters on my screen border on being empty meaningless symbols that my brain has disconnected with any literacy I have ever learned. Visuals begin to appear, they are cubic and quadrilateral, patterned squares, bordered by patterns, reminiscent of the Thwomp of the Mario franchise or the Portal’s Weighted Companion Cube, cast in a translucent violet and blue.

 

T0:29- I am so dissed, I feel like a circle, my teeth are numb and I sense that I am on the verge of just drooling on myself. It feels silly to be in such a state- and yet, I can be aware of how silly it feels. Despite the intense physical sensation, my mind feels fairly lucid, I can make perfect sense of how off-base I am. I decide to lie down and put in my headphones and listen to music in the dark: Oneohtrix Point Never’s ‘R Plus Seven’.

 

T0:37- I get bored after a little under ten minutes in that I can start to feel my body again and in that I already feel like I am coming down from the experience. It is hard to focus on the intensity of a dissociative experience when I can still feel my body. Perhaps I should have attempted this part of the experience 15 minutes ago.

What I can discern of the hole is a grimy noir, dark and rain soaked and lit by neon and streetlights, in constant and steady motion. Wet pavement reflecting the ambient buzz of colored lights cutting through the gloom, red and orange and pink. It is a hollow space that echoes with drips and drops like a great yawning cavern, it is graced by a warm wind and dizzying foggy sky. I traverse it in a steady line like I am riding a train or a streetcar. The world ambles by at a constant pace, never stopping or jerking or twisting or turning or changing directions, just stillness in motion, slow, smooth motion.

The closed eyed visual space is vague and none too intricate. Light dancing on basic geometric forms, the same squares and cubes that vaguely presented with my eyes open as well. There are no intricate patterns, nothing more complex than right angles and blocks of color, stacked and arranged in regular grids. It’s not particularly engaging or interesting. My mind is too lucid, I cannot lose myself in the whimsy and wonder of this experience, all I can think about is how I can still move my body freely if I want to, freely enter and control it, that same physical body connected to the same physical world where all my physical world obligations and worries lied, none of that wondrous liberatory dissociation I am always in such ravenous pursuit of. Maybe I would find that at a higher dose, but I have no interest in taking any more, in snorting that much more powder just for the off-chance of turning a dull experience into something revelatory. I wonder if there is anything revelatory to be found here at all. I feel bounded, trapped within the very real and visible limits of this drug, none of the bottomless potential energy that some dissociatives can present. I unplug my headphones and just sit in the dark in silence. There is some warbling and phasing of ambient noises, but it is slight and easy to ignore. All I can do is just sit here, space out, resign myself to blankness and emptiness as the closest I can get to some dissociative escapism. The faint visuals are cast on the walls, aimlessly and quietly drifting down like cascades of water.

Despite the lucidity and being aware of my body, I am still quite incapacitated and uncoordinated. Getting up, walking around, moving, are all exceptionally difficult. My limbs aren’t going where I want them too, my sense of proprioception is completely out of whack. There is some dissociative heft to this compound, even if it is only at high doses.

 

T0:43- I break into fits of sneezing, I find that I am rapidly regaining control of my motor functions. Perhaps the shock of sneezing so much has really thrust me back into my body. I am still appreciably fuzzy and floppy, but the experience is well beyond the peak now. I am a leaf, slowly drifting and flitting to the ground. There are new visuals on my ceiling, presenting with the same reserved clarity that the visuals were before, ripples and streamers, in fluid and graceful segmented motion like swimming Polychaetes. While the visual aspect has remained the same, the physical dissociation decreases substantially with each passing moment.

 

T1:04- Feeling more and more grounded, edging closer to sobriety. My motor control has mostly returned, the only physical sensation that remains is a lingering sense of lightheadedness and numbness in my extremities.

 

T1:17- Dizzy and mostly down, there is a little bit of stimulation remaining now that most of the dissociative remnants have blown away in the wind, presenting in a curiosity and a desire to go about reading things. Little bits and pieces of information I read on social media become sticking points for internet holes, reading Wikipedia pages and news articles.

 

T1:40- There is a nice afterglow here. All sense of dissociation is purely cognitive at this point. I would describe the headspace as bordering on psychedelic, more so than ketamine or 2F-DCK, it is that sense of free flow and association between thoughts, of increased desire to read and take in information, of moments sticking in my memory more. There is a bit of euphoria to this.

 

T2:30- Fully back to baseline.

 

Conclusion: This drug is in theory pretty interesting, but in practice it presented some fairly boring trials that I feel would’ve been better spent on some other dissociative. It is not particularly fascinating or exciting, but it definitely is a dissociative with a good bit of heft, for the time it lasts. Consuming it is a pain, I am content to never have to snort that amount of powder again. I wonder if my nasal cavities became saturated after a point, putting an upper limit on how much of this drug I can take. Perhaps I should use both nostrils. I may at the very least try it orally at some point in the future- 2F-DCK has good oral bioavailability. If there is a clear correlation in effects with heavier halogens though, I am doubtful 2B-DCK will have any oral bioavailability, considering how little ketamine has. Rectal administration is probably more worthwhile than intranasal too.

The experience itself is lackluster. The onset is rapid, the peak is under an hour, and the experience has dissipated entirely in less than 3 hours. It is a heavy empty dissociation similar to other ketamine analogues, with a nice rush on the comeup. There is a warmth to the quality of this one- interesting, though not especially remarkable. There is some visual character, though the visuals are faint. They are cubic and geometric and fairly simple, cast in dull warm tones accented with deep blues. The headspace is remarkably lucid, more than an equivalent dose of 2F-DCK or Ketamine would be. Motor skills were thoroughly incapacitated at the peak, though there was never a full sense of detachment from my body. Thought processes remained fairly normal throughout, though perhaps with a bit of underlying psychedelic stimulation. There is something there in terms of intensity- something had me satisfied enough that I didn’t even feel the need to touch cannabis during the experience. I’m glad I got to try this drug and it was interesting for its relation to similar compounds, though I don’t see much purpose in exploring it further. If I want something short and hefty I will have its siblings that bear lighter halogens