A man with a very pure spirit does DXM to 4th plateau and the spirits there marvel at him and bless him for his purity and honesty. After his trip ends, he doesn't quite return to normality. He begins to think things happen in his everyday life when in actual fact they don't happen. He subsequently comes to question his every thought.

A scene is played out showing, for example, our hero going on a date. Afterwards, on what "appears to be" the following evening to him, he interacts with the girl he went out on a date with, but she denies any knowledge of this happening. He then sees a clock and realises - actually no, he couldn't have gone out on a date with her because he hasn't yet asked her out. He stutters, "Uh - didn't I ask you to go out with me the other day..? We did go out on a date last night, didn't we?" Apparently not...

This condition gets worse. Soon our hero is wondering whether or not he done the simplest of things, like drink a beer or go out for a drive. He can visualise himself - how he must have walked to the fridge or got in the car...but the memory doesn't feel as though it fits into any time-line or have any substance to it.

This is pretty spooky right? It is basically how one can feel on higher plateau DXM (a dissociative) or large doses of HBW, and probably many other drugs. Additionally it is sensation - a warping of reality - which a person can experience during psycosis brought on by other means (such as stress, mood imbalance, obsession etc). Lastly, it can occur during or following our dreams. Ever woken up after a vivid dream, or remembered it later during the day, and thought "Wow, I dreamt that so vividly...I could almost believe it was real; that it actually happened"......

This concept is real. If we learn to understand and train this altered consciousness then we can play through senarios in our heads and learn a lot from them. Like lucid dreaming, except we induce it through a state of meditation.

A step above this is the affect of diliriants. I have done DPH on two occaisions and it is a truely incredible experience. This is the really scarey stuff (not to mention its toxicity to your body). But I won't get into that now.


Now I'm going to descend to the realms of the fantastic...I just think this could make a decent, spooky sort of anime XD

What would happen if our original hero somehow began to harness his confusing new power...being able to "think" that an event happened could actually make its happening a truth. Imagine our hero forcing himself to visualise and believe in an alternate reality and it in turn coming to be an actuality - anything from having a date with a girl, to causing the suicide of an enemy...anything could come to be...

So long as he keeps his grip, of course.

There was one table running, the occupants of which ranged from forty to sixty years of age, with a single bearded anomaly who resembled Dolye Brunson right down to the wise, unwavering glow of his eyes. I scrutinised each person carefully, with the meditative efficiency of a bee as it roams an exotic flowerbed.

"We're fucked", I said to Erik. A lone, full table of regulars - possibly some of the richest men in the district - stared back at us as if we were the very girls they might later purchase with our money.

After an impassioned wait we both sat down and bought in for the minimum 1000 peso. With an ante of 25 (there were no blinds) and a standard bet being at least the size of the pot it made sense to play safe and forget about raising non-premium hands. But this didn't seem to matter to most players and chips flew from stack to stack like silver between squabbling magpies. After just three hands I had never felt more comfortable in my life.

By my 3rd Jack Daniels I'd won 1500 in chips and by my 6th I was up another 1k. A flopped ace here.. an overpair there.. As long as I didn't continue bet too much (vs LA) things were going swimmingly.

Well, inevitably the tides change, this tide in particular being the alcohol flowing through my blood. My opponents' habit of overbetting makes any mistake costly, and calling a river with ace high is simply idiotic.

In my final hand (stacks I can't remember, but they were large enough) I rather impatiently raised QJo to get one caller and a flop of Q55. This was an instant push and my opponent gaily flips Q5o; amidst a barrage of cussing scoops the pot.

"What the fuck was that? What the fuck are you doing? Queen five off? What the fuck?" I swore and promised I would be back for my money another day.

My night-time dreams, an off-worldly spectator might consider, are always of some ineffective hope - a desperate journey or striving left unsatisfied by the unforgiving realisation of dawn.

I feel perhaps these are the dreams of all young men freshly removed from the turnstiles of education; the pink deep clouds of solace belong to a time now forever past.

O! to sleep idly within that cot of feathers: a child I ought to be!

How thou becomst, most unholy legions of sex? For it is in essence of the body that we embrace the adolescent craving of man, and not of the mind. And what thoust is it that separates the one from the other, but the wanting and reasoning of such that lends to a better self.

Lo! that love is without lust, lest there be no love at all, and that love of lust is indeed lust in itself. Verily know that love repeats not as the semen squirt'th, but as all eternal memories can allow.

The night air was warm and still. Alhanna lay back against the withered chimney, her long auburn hair bunched behind bare shoulders like a sinewy pillow. "Like a dead animal", she thought as she nested her head into a comfortable position and with a delicate grasp extracted the last grey stump from a packet of cigarettes.

"Oh, Errowid, Errowid...", she whispered. Smoke curled from her lips, arching and tumbling toward the skyline of perpetual city smog. "Why did it have to be monkeys, Eri!? Of all the furry four-limbed little beasts you could have chosen, why the most uncontrollable, the most savage of them all!?"

She shook her head and sighed. The shadows appeared to stir for a moment, as if a face had rotated to meet her gaze. Then another voice spoke out, softer and sweeter like that of a child, but with the solemnity of a monk in sacred prayer.

"Monkeys are cool, Alhanna."

And there was not much more to be said. The mobs would disperse, the fires would die out, and those survivors with their doorsteps intact would find them visited by all kinds of official-looking folk with inquiring minds. This didn't worry the Duo, who were packing their bags before even the first police wagon could crash violently out of control. And in any case, the only doorstep they had was the armful of bricks Alhanna had decided to throw at it.

The docks were generally quiet this time of night, but with fire already licking the horizon there was not a captain awake without some eagerness to leave shore. Getting onboard wasn't entirely smooth-sailing but, "A lesson is learnt with every passing obstacle!", as Alhanna liked to say.

"Make them smile, then make them grin", she addressed her little accomplice with perhaps too much of a smile herself, before lowering the choking victim to the ground. They watched together as the man became a corpse, and then slipped it into the waters like some unidentifiable floating wreckage, or an abandoned gift wrapped in lace and adorned by a crimson bow.

And so the two companions escaped St. Lucia City, leaving the rotting homes and crumbling peaks to rot and crumble and goodness knows else. The journey was a rough one - Alhanna made sure of that. She even sent her student on a few tasks of her own.

"Errowid, eh? Pretty name...pretty unusual at any rate", the sailor leered. It takes fifteen muscles to smile and unfortunately this crooked soul was blessed with none of them. Instead he extended a mouthful of the foulest green slabs, so littered in spots of yellow and brown it put Errowid in mind of the time she shat on the pavings at a garden party. There were even bits of moss in there.

"You must be a stow-away, right? Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. It can be our little secret." Errowid did not look worried. Her uncut, silver locks swayed in motion to the rocking waves. "Good girl, you're safe with me. Come give daddy a hug".

She took a step forward and frowned up at him, withdrawing a pair of tiny pink hands from the pockets of her robe. Her nails looked unusually long in the sparse candle-light of the cabin, and took on a metallic gleam that would put the knives of men to shame. The sailor didn't notice -

"But we simply must do something about your teeth," - until it was too late.

The screams were followed by a heavy thud as the man's severed jaw was deposited on the floorboards. Errowid peered down with the expression of someone after a job well done. The sailor stumbled backwards, clutching at his open throat, and collapsed onto a waiting Alhanna. She shrieked in glee and bore down on his mangled remains, biting and gnawing with a bloodlust mirrored in ruby eyes. Moments later she dropped the twitching carcass with a cackle and grabbed Errowid by the arm. In an instant they were gone, leaving only ripples in blood for the sailors to fear.