Shitting the Sun - first trip to Pluto

APR 5 2015

When the conversation turns to the topic of LSD experiences, people inevitably carry on praises about the colours, the heightened pleasure in music, and the sense of cosmic one-ness felt.

But you see, there's another interesting (and similarly primal) aspect of the aforementioned that no one ever warns about, perhaps as a sort of collective possession of this unspoken understanding that is nonetheless universal among those who've tripped before.  It's almost like a joke continually handed down from the previous generation to the newbies, the punchline thus: 'Because we experienced it alone, you're going to experience it alone too.  Welcome to the club!' 

I speak, of course, of shitting while on acid.

Entering the loo I realized I was alone for the first time since before the Undeniable Tripping Action had begun.  Once I locked the door to our small house’s sole bathroom, I was struck by a sense that was both novel and familiar at once: déjà vu, if you will.  I was immediately aware that I had entered an intricate machine which sent me here from my home world:  In there, time and space are sheared at an extreme.

The room was flying through space very fast, accelerating much more so in one direction than another such that the distance from the doorway to the toilet – ordinarily only two or three steps – was now stretched long enough in which to park a Volkswagen.

I strode across the room and assumed position on the throne.  The room – the “ship,” shall we say – continued to accelerate: I glanced back towards the door, and the square floor tiles had become such severe diamonds from the acceleration that I’d venture to say each one was roughly half the length of a tennis court.

There must have been a high-tension mass compressor embedded in this ship’s toilet, because not long after I sat was there suddenly little doubt I was anywhere but halfway through the process of shitting the sun; that isn’t to say literally our Sun but rather some object of collectively the same mass, a quantity that was even more doubtlessly at the same temperature.


This was surprising, seeing as my only consumption that day had been of previously-frozen taquitos and chilled habañero salsa, nary a pound at most.

 Moments after first pondering the fact that this experience shamelessly obliterated the laws of mass-conservation and thermodynamics as I knew them did the in-flight message automatically play.

           “At these speeds, so many collisions occur with stray neutrinos and similar particles that biological organisms will take on significant mass, particularly in the gastrointestinal tract.  Our airline features entangled-shield toilets.”

Well, I’m glad someone thought of that feature, because it’d sure be a bitch to travel near-luminal speeds without ‘em.  After a few minutes the deed was done, and I rose to wash my hands and get off this ship.  I took a quick glance in the tachyonic inverter and beheld an attractive though ultimately uninteresting man, and after we exchanged a hearty glance I decided not to waste any further time with him.

I strode a few miles to the door; I stretched out, my fleshy digits touching the doorknob, and twisted, actuating an ancient cam system to retract the door's bolt from the jamb's strike plate.  What if it hadn't worked?  Three-eights of an inch of metal could keep a man locked in here for a few hours, which for all he knew could be the rest of his life.

The instant I turned the knob, the uncountable trillions of quantum probability

waveforms collapsed into their conventionally comfortable states

I had seen that trip to Pluto - only momentarily glimpsed it, really, and began to see how what I call “information” is most readily defined as “that which can cause change to something else," whereupon I knew this was something I'd have to pursue to far greater ends in my lifetime.