Cheshire Kitty
“I wish you wouldn’t keep appearing and vanishing so suddenly; you make one quite giddy!”
“All right,” said the Cat; and this time it vanished quite slowly, beginning with the end of the tail, and ending with the grin, which remained some time after the rest of it had gone.
“Well! I’ve often seen a cat without a grin,” thought Alice;
KETAMINE HYDROCHLORIDE is actually:
2-(2-Chlorophenyl 1)-(methylamino)-cyclohexanone hydrochloride
M.W.-274.2 C13H16CINO-HCl LD50 (IPR-MUS):400mg/kg, LD50 (IVN-MUS):77 mg/kg
White solid with a boiling point of of 266 degrees celcius.
Its water solubility is 20g/100ml.
And its not flammable.
It's an anesthetic used primarily for veterinary purposes--although there are unconfirmed stories of its use in the fields of Vietnam, when on-the-spot amputations were required. It blocks nerve paths without depressing respiratory and circulatory functions, and therefore acts as a safe and reliable anesthetic.
Its a dissociative drug, and I'll get into that later, but--PAY ATTENTION PLEASE--it selectively reduces excitation of central mammalian neurons by N-methyl aspartate.
So basically, it fucks you up.
Its hard to explain, but it bends your thoughts into a non-linear, looping sort of format... it pretzels your thoughts into Mobius strips; you see everything inside out and curling all around itself.
Its a powder; you put it up your nose.
But first, it comes in a liquid form, in a lovely little bottle with a yellow label, and you should struggle to open it for a good sweaty hour.
Then you cook it. In the oven.
Now, you might be asking yourself, "How long should I cook my K?"
Experts have been debating this matter for centuries. Some say: Air Dry. Some say: Steam Dry. The Net says: Microwave. I have one friend who insists on an incubator--although I'm just as mystified by that one as you.
Now, I'm not up on your laws of thermodynamics, but I think I have it figured out.
I usually set the oven at 250 degrees.
Then:
Recite the "Once more unto the breach, dear friends" scene from Henry V.
Four minutes of bun-tightening exercises.
Knit, knit, purl. Knit, knit, purl. (Work on that afgan for your mother.)
Then, I have a little medly of show tunes I've cleverly clipped together, to while away the gestation period. I always start with "Rose's Turn" from Gypsy. Then a little Brigadoon, a bit of South Pacific (I recommend "Some Enchanted Evening" over the rather more obvious "I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Outa My Hair"...)
During the Flower Drum Song interlude, I check the oven and tap one foot impatiently, keeping beat to the horn section that is building up to a pulse pounding, mind blowing, show-stopping, no-holds-barred rendition of "Bless Your Beautiful Hide" from Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.
Most likely, it's ready now.
It's magic time. Scrape the Pyrex, grind it into a powder, then... up and away!
Special K.
It's a clean smelling trip up the nose.
You wait twenty seconds.
Then, there is the roar of a jet engine, so you lie back and wait a while longer.
Close your eyes and it's a whole new world.
There's a lot of unfolding. Everything just slides away, like many curtains opening at once.
And your muscles hallucinate--they feel lifted upward, quickly, so your stomach drops. Nothing can prepare you for that up, up, up feeling--when you're on the ceiling, and the ceiling keeps getting higher.
You are borne upon a wave, and pushed upward and forward.
And then: eyes--open.
But they've been open.
You're in a K-hole now.
When you focus, you look around the room--but is it the same room?--do you know this room? It may seem ultraclear, or hot and shadowy, or '50s kitchy... and then it changes.
The set changes...
a quick turn of the floor and...
There's a Moroccan influence, or a slick and modern approach, then it blends back into what it is--until it shifts again.
K is a displacer--you are outside of your head, and everything , everything, is new. You must look at that couch for the first time--define what it is--make a connection--and that's hard.
For some strange reason, that couch looks like a dancing tree frog. Not literally, like an acid hallucination... but subtly, so you can see both, the couch and the tree frog existing at once.
Now if you face the hallucination, and acknowledge it, you can change that frog into, say, a can of corn. The couch is still there, but now it looks like a can of corn.
It's the damnedest thing.
The room changes, quickly, and... where was I?
Eyes closed, because something wondrous is happening. The universe is decoding itself to you, and even though nothing makes sense, it all comes together--and if you try to think about it, it's gone again and you're back on the ceiling sitting on your can of corn.
Welcome to the land of K.
“All right,” said the Cat; and this time it vanished quite slowly, beginning with the end of the tail, and ending with the grin, which remained some time after the rest of it had gone.
“Well! I’ve often seen a cat without a grin,” thought Alice;
KETAMINE HYDROCHLORIDE is actually:
2-(2-Chlorophenyl 1)-(methylamino)-cyclohexanone hydrochloride
M.W.-274.2 C13H16CINO-HCl LD50 (IPR-MUS):400mg/kg, LD50 (IVN-MUS):77 mg/kg
White solid with a boiling point of of 266 degrees celcius.
Its water solubility is 20g/100ml.
And its not flammable.
It's an anesthetic used primarily for veterinary purposes--although there are unconfirmed stories of its use in the fields of Vietnam, when on-the-spot amputations were required. It blocks nerve paths without depressing respiratory and circulatory functions, and therefore acts as a safe and reliable anesthetic.
Its a dissociative drug, and I'll get into that later, but--PAY ATTENTION PLEASE--it selectively reduces excitation of central mammalian neurons by N-methyl aspartate.
So basically, it fucks you up.
Its hard to explain, but it bends your thoughts into a non-linear, looping sort of format... it pretzels your thoughts into Mobius strips; you see everything inside out and curling all around itself.
Its a powder; you put it up your nose.
But first, it comes in a liquid form, in a lovely little bottle with a yellow label, and you should struggle to open it for a good sweaty hour.
Then you cook it. In the oven.
Now, you might be asking yourself, "How long should I cook my K?"
Experts have been debating this matter for centuries. Some say: Air Dry. Some say: Steam Dry. The Net says: Microwave. I have one friend who insists on an incubator--although I'm just as mystified by that one as you.
Now, I'm not up on your laws of thermodynamics, but I think I have it figured out.
I usually set the oven at 250 degrees.
Then:
Recite the "Once more unto the breach, dear friends" scene from Henry V.
Four minutes of bun-tightening exercises.
Knit, knit, purl. Knit, knit, purl. (Work on that afgan for your mother.)
Then, I have a little medly of show tunes I've cleverly clipped together, to while away the gestation period. I always start with "Rose's Turn" from Gypsy. Then a little Brigadoon, a bit of South Pacific (I recommend "Some Enchanted Evening" over the rather more obvious "I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Outa My Hair"...)
During the Flower Drum Song interlude, I check the oven and tap one foot impatiently, keeping beat to the horn section that is building up to a pulse pounding, mind blowing, show-stopping, no-holds-barred rendition of "Bless Your Beautiful Hide" from Seven Brides for Seven Brothers.
Most likely, it's ready now.
It's magic time. Scrape the Pyrex, grind it into a powder, then... up and away!
Special K.
It's a clean smelling trip up the nose.
You wait twenty seconds.
Then, there is the roar of a jet engine, so you lie back and wait a while longer.
Close your eyes and it's a whole new world.
There's a lot of unfolding. Everything just slides away, like many curtains opening at once.
And your muscles hallucinate--they feel lifted upward, quickly, so your stomach drops. Nothing can prepare you for that up, up, up feeling--when you're on the ceiling, and the ceiling keeps getting higher.
You are borne upon a wave, and pushed upward and forward.
And then: eyes--open.
But they've been open.
You're in a K-hole now.
When you focus, you look around the room--but is it the same room?--do you know this room? It may seem ultraclear, or hot and shadowy, or '50s kitchy... and then it changes.
The set changes...
a quick turn of the floor and...
There's a Moroccan influence, or a slick and modern approach, then it blends back into what it is--until it shifts again.
K is a displacer--you are outside of your head, and everything , everything, is new. You must look at that couch for the first time--define what it is--make a connection--and that's hard.
For some strange reason, that couch looks like a dancing tree frog. Not literally, like an acid hallucination... but subtly, so you can see both, the couch and the tree frog existing at once.
Now if you face the hallucination, and acknowledge it, you can change that frog into, say, a can of corn. The couch is still there, but now it looks like a can of corn.
It's the damnedest thing.
The room changes, quickly, and... where was I?
Eyes closed, because something wondrous is happening. The universe is decoding itself to you, and even though nothing makes sense, it all comes together--and if you try to think about it, it's gone again and you're back on the ceiling sitting on your can of corn.
Welcome to the land of K.