Dear Diary

Cruised to the island fort of Ripapa—the gates were padlocked, but we made our way in – and dropped four tabs of acid. Four tabs isn't really as big a deal as you might think. Just a taste really. Depends on the strength of the acid of course, that's the tricky thing. You don't want to take four tabs of some truly powerful shit and then end up spending Christmas in the psych ward. But four tabs of the standard dose isn't a big deal. I honestly don't think people who only take one tab know what tripping means. I mean you're lucky if you get any visuals at all off one tab. FOUR TABS man, that shit will BLOW YOUR MIND OUT YOUR MOTHERFUCKING EYE SOCKET cough cough.

Next time, eight tabs. Personally I'm chasing that old skool sixties trip. Talking leprechauns and such forth. Groovy man, like far out.

The best thing about hallucinogenics is they shake things up. Introduce novel thoughts and concepts. Most of it you lose when you come down of the high, vaporising like escaped prisoners, but a few little sheens and shines and glimmers tend to hang around in the crevices of your head. One idea that struck me as promising was putting my entire browser history online. There's all sorts of deep earth tectonic rumblings about privacy violations now-a-days, but the fact is people want to violate their own privacy, they want to share the cup of themselves as much as possible. If you've ever seen the twitter account of somebody who really gets into it, you'll know what I mean. It's mundane stuff sure, but such a quantity of minutiae and useless personal trivia you can easily reconstruct the entire day-to-day of the person. Son, if you don't put yourself out there you don't get a share of the social pie.

A lot of what I do feels like disrobing, so I figure...

No code to show for it yet, but watch this space. Photos of the fort up on slackninja. Spending the night in a pre-world war one fort was pretty mint all things considered.