I Saved a Piece of Pasta and Named It Freddy

BK-2C-B

Citation: John. "I Saved a Piece of Pasta and Named It Freddy: An Experience with BK-2C-B (exp105075)". Erowid.org . Jan 6, 2015. erowid.org/exp/105075

DOSE:

T+ 0:00 60 mg oral BK-2C-B (powder / crystals) T+ 1:00 40 mg oral BK-2C-B (powder / crystals) T+ 3:00 50 mg oral BK-2C-B (powder / crystals)

BODY WEIGHT: 60 kg

This happened a couple weeks ago, on a Sunday. First of all, I didn't have a scale so I eyeballed all doses and parachuted them in a rolling paper. Here is what I think I took :11:00AM : 60mg - Felt no effects12:00AM : 40mg - Felt no effects14:00PM : 50mg - Felt nothing until 6PM.This story is written as I was tripping, I spend almost the entire trip writing this trip report. I typed everything out that popped into my mind with exception of some negative thoughts I had between around 9PM and 10PM, I removed them quickly because I feared it would send me into a bad trip.This is a non-edited version that I wrote in notepad, without a spellcheck, so it's full of typos. I did edit it later on but I decided the original would be best fit for online. It was an insane experience. I started writing this at approx 6:20PM. Over 4 hours after I had taken my last dose. The story is very long, and kinda boring in the beginning, and lasts until noon the next day, when the trip ended. This was my first psychedelic experience, it was also my first time writing anything.I'm freezing, it's about 20 celcius in the living room, I have 3 sweaters on. I took some drugs... They make me hardly feel anything but terrible, I feel like I'm in a living nightmare. Its 6:30pm and nows its starting to get fun. The fire is on in the kitchen, some tortilini on the makin. I hope, still waiting for the water to boil so I can drop that shit in. I just watched The child murders at Robin Hood Hills, for like the 3rd time, and now I have a southern inner dialog, and its a woman.I feel terrible, physically. I think some organs are breaking down or somethin. Mentally, I am stable, brb waiting boilin. The thing is. This drug makes me feel like shit for the first couple hours, and then suddenly, nothing happens. But when I try to execute orders I feel like it's stripped of its original come se dice.... IDK. OK, 3 minutes later and I think the couch is not to be trusted. I feel like the drug is having some sort of metal effect here, I see the small knittings on the couch moving, and seem more interested in typing this shit out and focusing on my words than to eat my god damn dinnner!Q!!!!I am now about halfway thru my dinner, I don't really like it, and I'm not sure this is how I'm supposed to eat it. Jesus I'm so happy there is no one in the house now, otherwise I would be having a bad trip, not to mention I look like... 1.my pupils are very wide 2.my eyes are bloodshot 3.I feel like I weight 200 pounds. The tortilini is cold by now, but I'm still eatin it. Eating this tortilini is horrible, its cold as shit, its dry as shit. I think it has like spinach filling, but still tastes like shit. I never know it could take so look for 1 bite of tortilini to be swallowed, even the damn name is annoying, tortilini, thats a terrible word tortilini, ok its not that bad. Holyyy shit I feel relieved, my build up bodily gases just released and my intestense feel fine now. Holy shit. I cant believe a single fart could solve so many problems.I'm still eating my dinner, I bagan to accept it, but I'm eating it more like a snack now. It has a different status now, so I guess its ok. Alright, so I finished the tortilini about 20 minute ago, still in the process of eating it, but thats besides the point. Some of it is still warm, some parts of the tortilini piece could be either hot or cold, the longer I wait, the longer the tortilini becomes. I'm keeping that one. Why do I want this tortilini to stop? Well let me anwser that for you. 1.You are full, no longer want to eat. 2.The tortilini is disgusting and you just want it to stop 3.You want to cigarette after this meal. All three are reasonable options, and maybe it should be more like a tick box, so I could have all three of them instead of just picking one. Ok I see the carpet has gained some movement, but my tortilini is still cold.It has almost been a whole hour, since I started this process of making this cursed tortilini. It said on the box it was for 2 persons, and I have actually now eaten about 80% of the whole thing. This could support point 1. I am no longer full. Also, as time increases so does my interest for nicotine. But I feel like I'm depended on the tortilini now. It has become a routine, we belong together. I have accepted it. I don't know if I could even go outside for a smoke without my tortilini and this laptop. No, I can't stop me as I've come this far, I have to finish all the tortilini. Note : I took this drug OH MY GOD. Its 7:20pm. I feel like this is very theraputic.Jesus I think this tortilini is starting to grow mold. Fuck. FUCK this tortilini shit, I'm actually afraid to move on, afraid to finish my tortilini and go to the next step, which is smoking a cigarette outside, I feel like I'm not ready for that yet. I thought for a moment I didnt write that yet, but I did. Well, there now are 3 tortilini pieces left, one has lost it spinnach filling, which makes it just pasta. So there is 2 tortilini pieces left, I just ate one but theres one big one left (with execption of the one that lost its filling) this one has merged together with another piece, so I don't know what it going on. I separated them, and ate one piece. So now there is technically one piece of tortilini left. But I'm full.OK 1 minute left till the 1 hour mark. Fuck it, ate the last one, I'm chewing it with more passion and fury, and I feel was appropriatte. 1 HOUR MARK. I'm DONE. 7:44pm. I finished my cigarette, cleaned up my dishes, with execption of my plate with the tortilini, which is actually not tortilini but just pasta since it has lost its spinnach filling. I really want to take a group photo of my ''tortilini'' and me. I just examined it, and it looks like it has been cut open which is unusual. I feel like this last piece of tortilini, I've lost my spinnach filling. The whole room is moving now, but I still have my tortilini by my side. <7:53: I feel like I've surpassed my prime, I feel like this is my peak. 8:02PM I feel dishonest because I modified the sentence before this, I added ''I feel like this is my peak'' because I think my peak at that time, meaning I am now, no longer at my peak. I modified it at 8:03 ten minutes after the statement before. Wait does that make sense? Ohh 8:05. I feel like 8:30 is another milestone, It seems so perfect.8:30 sounds good. It just a good time, maybe it's the best time. I am sweating on my hands. And I'm still wearing 3 sweaters. I feel cold as hell which is unsual when you have 3 sweaters on, well thats actually not true, I have only 2 sweaters on. A red one, and a blue one. 8:30 would also be my 2 hour mark, anyway, the red one has a history, but the blue one has not. The blue one is up top with the red sweater right underneath.8:10PM: Before I get into a more elabourate story about my clothing, I want to say that I dread the not too near future, like tomorrow morning, how how I'm gonna be able to sleep tonight. I've been reading what I just wrote and I've had a good laugh. It is now 8:16. Back to the clothing, actually, lets go way back. Start at what I'm wearing closest to my body and then go from there. 1.A black t-shirt. A little bit too small, attemps of tucking the shirt in have resulted in disappointments at least 2 times today, so I don't bother right now. Actually, I'm gonna try it again. Ok. Its 8:19 and my shirt is tucked in. Alright I just opened up my blue sweater, which still has a working zipper, which brings me to the red sweater, which does not have a working zipper. As a matter of fact it doesn't have a zipper at all, it used to have one, but it was lost. So now this red sweater can not be closed. But I feel connected to this sweater, even though I have better ones, I still keep this one. My blue sweater is open, and has been open for what I believe were 10 minutes, it exposes my black t-shirt.I see tortilini as a thing of my past. I'm currently imagining someone walking into the living room right now, seeing me in the center of the couch, on my left, an ALMOST empty plate, with an ex-tortilini piece of pasta. On my right, a guitar. Well actually it wouldnt even be that strange. I look up my screen a see a whole wall of text, I notice patterns in it. But I'm kind of proun.8:30PM. WOW. The time has come. The next milestone would be 9PM. I feel like I should feel sad, normally I would feel sad, but when I write about feeling sad I don't really feel sad. I see all kinds of strange things, visual things. I feel vulnerable, like I could be setting off a disaster if I did something irrisponsable. I'm afraid if I stop writing, what will come next? Will I be overwhelmed by feelings of depression? Maybe ... I mean, I've been typing all of this shit ^^^ since the trip started, this has become my home now. I have done nothing else, but I've done more than I've ever done in my whole life. I still have not decided what to do with this ex-tortilini piece of pasta, should I keep it in a plastic bag? Am I actually thinking of keeping this? If I was a normal responsable human being, I would either eat it, or throw it away. I like to go with the third option, I decide to keep it. I examined it, it has some traces of spinnach on it, and it's sticky. I lit it with my lighter for about 8 seconds, and it's still sticky, but it has reduced in size.Time to report the time. It's 8:44 PM Maybe I should find out, how to un-sticky a piece of ex-tortilini, but what if someone would find out. Looked at my browser history and saw weird things like this. I have a runny nose, which I don't usually have. I'm afraid of change, short term change, what if someone would walk into this room and started asking me questions. I would probably be fine. Actually, I just looked at my current setup, my guitar (it's actually not my guitar but my land lady's guitar) is still on my right side. On the left side, on the other hand. There is a new addition, which could make it look more suspicious. There is a lighter added to the mix, and a burned piece of tortilini that has lost it's filling. Now, look at the whole picture, I cooked this like. Wow. 2 hours ago? 2 hours ago. Ok.Time report: 8:55 PM. I like that one. I just took a picture with me and Freddy. I decided to call my ex-tortilini, Freddy. Seems like a reasonable name for a piece of pasta. I just looked at the carpet, and yes, I am still tripping 100%. I have decided to give Freddy a home by 9PM tonight. Jesus no. What if someone would walk in here, as a normal human, perform a friendly gesture and wash my plate, wash freddy down the fucking drain. Yes, that should actually be more of a reason why I should get rid of Freddy as soon as possible. Freddy is a risk. A liability, he could ruin everything. Freddy is now in a rubber glove, which I then put in my pocket on my jeans. I feel like a huge weight has been lifted of my shoulders. I no longer have to worry about someone walking into the room and seeing a burned piece of pasta on an empty plate, which a maniac sitting right next to it that named it Freddy. Well, they wouldn't know that I named it Freddy, but they might sense that I have some connection to it.I should clean up this plate, remove all the evidence that could somehow lead to a piece of pasta in a rubber glove named Freddy. I cleaned up all the evidence, just before my housemate came downstairs, I'm safely on the couch. But I just had a little glance in the mirror and asked myself if I could look any more suspicous than this. But the answer to this question, is, no. This is about as far as it gets, a drug fueled maniac that has a named piece of pasta in his pocket. Anna, my housemate, is now watching tv, she is sitting at a table aprox. 8 feet away from me. I put in my earphones to dis-ingage coversation, but I'm not listening to anything, I see Janis Joplin - Me and my Bobby McGee on VLC media player at the bottom of my screen, I have no windows explorer open, so I can't pick any music. I decided to play the Janis Joplin tune, which was way too loud and coming to an end. I has been a while since I did a time report.It is now 9:22PM. VLC media player automatically played a song, the ones that I have been recently been playing. I still don't feel at ease, Anna is still in the room. I have a feeling she is a little attracted to me, well, she is like 40 years old, and speaks english with a huge spanish accent. I feel the nicotine cravings coming up already, I could go for a smoke, but then theres Anna, she occasially smokes. What if I go out for a smoke, she goes for a smoke, what would happen? Disaster, that would happen. She would find out. OK, she is now sitting approx 2 feet away, I'm afraid to look at her. One glance, one glance could ruin it all and render poor Freddy homeless, in the trash. Think about it. Someone else has joined the mix and is now sitting right next to me. My typing skills have decreased as my fear has increased, I have increased transpiration. I feel like I'm on the brink of disaster.9:31PM: Keep it together. They must have noticed, a sweating guy with 2 sweaters on, his eyes bloodshot red, pupils have eaten the iris. I used to have blue eyes, they are now black. Listening to John Prine is absolutely not helping me, it's making me feel trapped. I need something more like Neil Young. Ok, I just had a terrible experience trying to find Neil Young. I have to retreat. No, I got it. I will keep this fort strong, as long as I have to. Ok, now Steve left, and so did my blue sweater. It was getting way too hot. I would argue that I am more tripping than before, but maybe I'm just more paranoid. I can look at the TV and feel fine, like there is nothing going on, but in here, on my laptop, that's a whole different story. It's a battle trying to keep this story alive. I'm not in a good mood anymore, I am now in survival mode. I have a mortal enemy. Anna. Ok.It is now 9:52PM. 10:04 PM. Writing has become slightly difficult. Lots of visual stuff going around. I need a subject, I need focus. Or maybe. A movie. What if I could just do what I normally do, watch a movie. Not worry about a god damn piece of pasta called Freddy that used to be my dinner. Just did a little re read of the story. Feeling alright, typing is kinda difficult if I have to be honest, but its mostly the visual stuff. I just realized I should retreat to the caravan of safity. Yes. I have everything I need in there, I have heat. A portable fucking heater. No more worrying about sweaters and zippers. Am I being selfish? Maybe this is not what Freddy wants. Fuck Freddy. OK. Mission => go to caravan. I'll report back soon. 11:13PM Well, safe and sound in my caravan here. Nice n warm. Visuals have decreased, but only a little. Creativity has gone down. I'm not really thinking about Freddy anymore. I'm more relaxing now, feeling really tired. I feel like my mission has come to an end, Freddy is still here with me, in his rubber glove.Ok, big change, I left an open space of whiteness. Because I want to summary the trip. IT WAS INSANE. Holy shit. WHAT THE FUCK. Typing this whole thing is what kept me alive during this trip. Why am I even summarizing this, I'm still going strong. Visuals have kept on going, but I'm more mentally stable now. I'm keeping it togeter, but my will to write has been down. It's 11:34PM. I have decided to call it a day. Maybe I'll come back. Jesus, what about tomorrow... I have never written before in my life and now all this shit.12:35 AM: Yes, AM now. God damn trip has lasted long enough now. But I'll drag this motherfucker down with me, I'll squeeze it out.12:58AM: quick re-read. Well actually it was not that quick since the story has become quite large.1:11AM: I'm cold. I really have to take a piss, but there is one thing I'd like to point out. I don't know what's going on with my bowel system but I have really weird gasual movement, which the occasianal fart, which offers only temporary relief. I made a plan. I'll roll up a cigarette, take a leak, down an Etizolam. And see what happens.1:14: still here. I did not follow up on that plan, lacking motivation and I'm realllyy tired.1:33AM: Took a leak, had a smoke. Visuals dramatically down. Also took an Etizolam. All in all, this was a strange experience. I don't even know what I'm gonna do with it. Blue sweater is back on, and has been on for around 15 minutes, it has a fully working zipper, but I'm not using it. One thing I might have learned it is, there is no easy way to go.1:47 AM: I'm basically just looking at the screen now. Maybe I need to come up with a plan, Freddy has been out of the picture for a long time. Maybe Freddy could help to spice the story up again. I now have a rubber glove in my hand, which contains Freddy. I took him out, and smelled him, I was expecting him to smell not so good, but he actually smells kinda nice. 1:55 AM, attempts to blow up the rubber glove, thus providing Freddy with a more confertable glove, had been unsuccesfull and this mission is terminated.2:00AM: not actually 2 but I didn't have the patience to wait one minute. Still slight visuals, but getting really exhausted. Turning off the light. BBAAAAAAMMMM.8:20 AM: Motherfucker, and guess what, I feel better than I expected I would feel, which is actually still horrible, but, hmm. Second thing I'd like to point out that I am still fucking tripping. I took this drug at around 10:30AM, yesterday. I just rememebered my gasoal bowel movements and yes, maybe there could actually be something wrong with my intensense. I just looked to my right, where I see a piece of tortilini in a rubber glove, my good old Freddy. I would say I have around 5% of the visuals , quite amazing I think.8:36 AM: I took advantage of my remaining visuals and stared at the ceiling for aproximently 3 minutes, what is saw was that, I want to change my statistics on the visuals, I would say it's actually about 11-16% remaining, but feeling confident. I want to go into the house, get a cup of coffee, and see what happens.9:29 AM: Back on the couch. Just ate, and had a smoke. This whole story started in the kitchen, when I put the water on, I was feeling very cold, so I put my head over the water which was nice, but I wanted more, I put my hand in the water, and touched the bottom of the pot, which was quite warm. I was still feeling cold so I lit a match, I held my face over the match, my face was getting warmer, so I lit about 3 other matches and kept doing this, it was midly satisfying. Then I thought of something, ''I'm so cold I wanna light my self on fire'', which I thought sounded good so I wrote it down on Wordpad, I scrolled down to the bottom of the page, and started expressing how I felt, for reasons unknown.1:55 PM: I'm feeling terribly exhausted, I still have visuals, but only around 2-3%. I still feel 'trippy' Definitvely still have tracers. I just wanna take a quick power nap, but I can't. Just did a word counter and it's over 3,500 words. I'm quite happy with that. I'm back on the couch, I have a new companion, beans in tomato sauce. Even though it was originally found in a garage, the expirery date is somewhere in 2015, this makes me feel safe. I have no more racing thoughts and passionate inspirations. But I have been thinking about maybe continueing this story, make this story something special, expand it. Maybe on a random day, take copious amounts phychedellic drugs, go to a harbour, steal an old sailing boat, and sail across the ocean. This would be terribly dangerous and I'm probably not gonna do it. The beans are awful, makes the tortilini taste like a can of pringles in the midst of a marijuana smoking session. I wish I had something else to eat, I only have one meal left. Spagetti with bolognese sauce and some beef. But I'm saving that for tonight.3:41 PM: I still don't feel like I usually do, maybe this has left an impact, maybe it's just a memory, or maybe the substance in still in my blood and still alters my thinking. I think it's supposed to last about 8 hours. I took it about 30 hours ago. You could say I might have taken too much, but it was just enough to create this story. If I didn't write this story, my mind would be shattered, the focus on this kept my mind straight, even when everything else was bent. I actually feel quite happy, not sure why.