Final Post - This Blog Has Moved to tomcdonnell.net

This will be my final post.

I have decided to close this blog and migrate all its content to my personal website at http://tomcdonnell.net.

Trouble at the Video Store

I was walking past my local video store earlier today, after having cycled all over Brunswick / Coburg / Pascoe Vale for four hours looking at apartments. I figured there was no way I'd get anything useful done in the afternoon on account of the heat, so on a whim I decided to get a movie and some beer, and sit in front of the tube for a few hours until I felt revitalised.

I got the beer first from the liquor store next door, then went in to browse for movies. I selected three. One or two of which I planned to watch in the coming afternoon, and one for another night later in the week. My selections were 'The Animatrix', a comic style version of 'The Watchmen' that I hadn't seen before, and 'Unforgiven' starring Clint Eastwood. I took them to the front of the store and waited in line to be served.

When I reached the counter, and began searching for my membership card, a mental block prevented me from recalling the name of the store I was in. I mumbled to myself as I searched, hoping that the woman serving would stop me when I found the correct card. Since I had not cleaned out my wallet for many years, this went on for some time. "Hmmm... What do I have here? Video Ezy Boronia, Blockbuster Ferntree Gully, Video Ezy Montrose... What is the name of this store again? Where am I? ... Video Ezy Outer Eastern Suburbs? Does that help? ..."

By the time the woman stopped me, I had emptied my wallet of six membership cards from various stores all over Melbourne. The woman said "This is DVD Destination. Have you hired from here before?"

My mind may have been woozy from dehydration after having cycled around in the heat all morning. I was stumped by her question. "I think so, but, maybe not. I don't know. Did this store... used to... trade under a different name, maybe?"

"A few years ago, before I started working here, this store was a Video Ezy. Give me the orange card. No, the clear one. Yes that one."

She took the card from me and swiped it in her reader. She turned to me and said "You're banned from Boronia. Give me another Video Ezy card."

That I was banned from Boronia was news to me. I stood confused while I handed her another card. "You're banned from Montrose too."

I gave her yet another card. "Banned."

"What? Why? Does it tell you?" I said, referring to the computer monitor that had so bluntly and without evidence labelled me an habitually dishonest criminal.

"It doesn't give specifics," she said, "but people are banned because they fail to return movies. Movies are expensive to replace."

"I don't remember failing to return any movie. What movie?"

"Movies." she corrected me. "It doesn't give specifics."

I thought again, but couldn't remember any trouble with any video store in the past. "This is very odd." I said. "Whatever incident or incidents you are referring to must have happened a long time ago."

The woman was unmoved. "We do not take the step of banning someone lightly. Normally we just give a warning. Only people who repeatedly fail to return movies and ignore our reminder letters and phone calls end up being banned." She looked at me closely then down at the pile of cards on the counter. "So you move to a new store each time you hire videos? Perhaps you should keep better track of where you've been."

"What? No! There's been some kind of mistake. All these cards I've pulled out, I haven't used them in years. It may look as if I hire videos all the time, but really I don't. I just don't clean out my wallet very often. I came in here today on a whim. I can't even remember the last time I hired a movie. This is all very surprising to me. Can you tell me anything at all about this crime I'm supposed to have committed?"

The woman looked at me shrewdly. "It was at the Boronia store, in 2001."

"2001! How long do these bans last? Am I banned for life? What about my children, or my children's children? Will they be banned too?"

"There is no way for me to override the computer. I'm sorry. I can't let you take the movies."

"This is all wrong. I'm no criminal! I'm like a straight-A-student church-going poster boy!" I looked around for support, but there were no former classmates or altar boys nearby to back up my claim. I was alone. I was also sweaty and dishevelled, my hair was all crazy from my bike helmet, I had a six-pack of beer at my feet, and I found myself protesting my innocence before the prejudiced eyes of a hostile local shopkeeper.

While the woman waited silently for me to accept the situation, a realisation hit me. "I'm an outlaw." I said.

"Yes."

I was sure I hadn't committed any video-card fraud in 2001, but it seemed pointless to argue. In fact I kind of liked the idea of being hunted by the law. It made me feel invigorated. I no longer wanted an investigation to prove my innocence, and I no longer cared about the movies. Staying alert was more important. I had to start watching my back. I looked around to see who else might have seen me browsing the shelves and might remember my face. I looked back up at the woman behind the counter, judging what her next move would be. I figured she wasn't the type to talk about having seen me, so I didn't need to resort to any intimidatory tactics. I could just keep my cool and stroll on outside.

"I'm gonna clear off." I said.

"I think that's the best thing you can do."

I gathered my cards from the counter, hoisted my bag on my shoulder, picked up my beer from the floor, and headed back out onto the hot main street. I vowed to continue my apartment search with renewed vigour. Tecoma town just didn't feel so welcoming anymore.

Cycling Through 90's Rock Memories

I was cycling home from work last night, following my usual route along the railway line from Ferntree Gully to Tecoma. The sun had set, so the path was dark. I had a light on the front of my bike, but the light was weak and only allowed me to see a few metres ahead. That low level of visibility was perfectly safe however, since I was travelling uphill and moving quite slowly.

On my right, on the other side of the railway tracks, and over the road, was a pub that I used to frequent in my carefree youth some years ago. As I passed the pub I was reminded that Grinspoon, a band I listened to quite a bit back in the nineties had recently played there. I had seen Grinspoon at the Big Day Out around the end of the nineties, or maybe early in the following decade. They put on a good show.

My mind drifted back to that event, and I remembered the sun, the packed grandstand of the Melbourne showgrounds, and all the happy young people enjoying the various performances. I thought of other bands from the nineties that had recently toured Melbourne. The Red Hot Chilli Peppers, Soundgarden, and Faith No More sprung instantly to mind, as well as a few other bands less deserving of mention. It makes a lot of sense I suppose, that bands from that era would now return to play for their old fans. Those fans have grown up, and now have money to spend on reliving their fond teenage memories.

The word 'Hole' had been scrawled onto the path in front of me for some reason. What a strange coincidence, I thought. I remember Hole also playing at the Big Day Out one of the years I attended. Was it the same year as Grinspoon? Maybe. Although Grinspoon probably played many times, since they are a local band. Oh, that year when Hole played was an event to remember! The young women came out in force. All wearing skirts and sunglasses and skimpy tight tops emblazoned with the name of the band. Those tight tops are forever emblazoned in my memory, on account of the sights I saw that day. Funny how that one word was all it took to trigger the memory. 'Hole'.

What the!? My front wheel dropped into a ditch and I was almost bucked over the handlebars as my bike lurched to a sudden stop. What in God's name was an unmarked roadworks trench doing in the middle of the bike path!? I shook my head in disbelief, then lifted my front wheel out of the ditch and prepared to continue on my way. A few metres forward I noticed an arrow painted on the path, pointing back towards me. The word 'Hole' was painted at its end.

Well, that was one of the stupider things I've done. It's a good thing no license is required to ride a bike. If it was, I'd have to hand mine in.

A Curious Encounter on the Way to the Show

One summer while in my late teens I was bumming about in my parents house when my phone rang. I answered, and heard the voice of my close friend Michael.

"Tom! What are you up to today?"

"No plans. What's happening?"

"The Melbourne Show is on. A group of us are heading in soon. Wanna come?"

I was bored, and keen to get out of the house. I decided I would go. "How're we getting in?" I asked.

"Train. The others are at the station already, and I'll be dropped off soon. I'm at Boronia shops with my sister at the moment. The train leaves in twenty minutes."

"Understood. I'll start walking. Probably see you on the road."

I hung up without waiting for a reply, and as I did so I smiled. I have always taken pride in the terseness of my phone speech, and felt I was particularly efficient on that occasion. My smug grin faded however as I realised that I was unsure which train station Michael had been referring to. Almost certainly Ferntree Gully station, I thought, where we always met. But some doubt remained.

By the time I had found my shoes and wallet, ten minutes had passed, and I was running late. I would have to run to meet the train, unless Michael's sister intercepted my path and offered me a lift. Not to worry, I thought, surely Michael meant Ferntree Gully, and surely Michael's sister would drive past me at some point, and all would be well.

I set off at a jog along the quiet suburban street that led all the way to the station. I kept my pace low since it was a hot day, and I didn't want to work up a sweat. As I jogged along the footpath I kept looking behind me for Michael's sister's car. When I was about half way to the station and still had not seen her car, I started to panic a little. If I am to make the train now, I thought, I'll have to sprint.

I had taken a few fast paced strides when I heard another car approaching from behind. I turned my head and relief washed over me. It was the familiar blue Lancer owned by Michael's sister. I stepped out onto the road to wave her down, and as the car slowed to a halt in front of me, I glanced through the windscreen. I saw that the front seats were occupied by two Asian girls: Michael's sister, and a friend of hers I did not recognise.

When the car stopped I ran around to the left rear door and pulled the handle. The friend I did not recognise seemed to be trying to unlock the door for me as I was trying to open it, but our timing must have been off. I figured that my pulling of the door handle was interfering with her attempts to unlock the door, and so despite her best efforts to let me in, the door remained locked. After a few unsuccessful tries at opening the door, I signalled by way of hand gestures for her not to worry about the lock, and since we were in a hurry to meet the train, I ran around the front of the car to the other rear door.

As I rounded the car I saw frantic movement inside the cabin as both Michael's sister and her friend tried to reach around to unlock the other rear door before I got close enough to reach the handle. I laughed inwardly at the comic situation that had developed. Would we have the same lock/handle timing issues as before? It seemed likely. This was a good thing, because Michael's sister's friend was quite attractive. I felt fortunate to have been given this opportunity to make a comic first impression on her.

As I pulled on the door handle, an hysterical scream "Go!" rang out from inside the cabin. A split-second later there was a screech of tyres and the car sped away from me. I was left standing in the middle of the road, confused and bewildered by the strange reaction of the two girls.

Gradually it dawned on me that there was no one in the back seat of the car. Michael should have been there. It then became clear that the blue Lancer was not Michael's sister's car at all. It was just one of the many other blue Lancers that inhabited Melbourne's roads. The driver was not Michael's sister, just an Asian girl who kind of looked like her. I was a complete stranger to both of the girls, and they thought I was a car jacker.

As I stood in the middle of the road between the two burnout marks left by the front tyres of the Lancer, the only practical response I could think of was to resolve to get my eyes tested. Having done that, there was nothing more for me to do but continue on my way. I reached the station in time to catch the train, and met my friends there as expected. All except for Michael that is, who had been dropped off at the next station. He joined us there, and we all rode the train into the showgrounds.

Mushrooming Awareness - Part 4

If you have not yet read the preceding parts, you should start at the beginning.

Part 4: Escape

The ground fell away from me and disappeared into nothingness like overhanging cliffs sometimes do in Sonic the Hedgehog. My conception of myself fell away too so that what was left was only the essence of me that existed outside of matter. I now consisted of pure energy. I was shapeless and formless, and my world was an empty grey void, outside of space, stretching to infinity in every direction.

Immediately I was struck with a conviction that this was the universe in its true state. The world I had previously known was a false facade whose detail and complexity concealed the beauty and simplicity that lay beneath. I did not know how the false world had came to be, and what had caused me to become stuck inside it for so long, but I was not troubled by my lack of knowledge. I felt powerful, and under no pressure to find answers to those questions. Since I no longer had a body, I was impervious to harm. I could take as long as I wanted to puzzle through the mysteries of the universe, and in time, I would know all there was to know.

I calmly surveyed the shapeless void that surrounded me. I wondered how I would occupy myself in my new state of existence. This question confused me momentarily, since in a world outside of time and space, my options seemed limited. My doubts were swept aside however when the answer came to me in a flash - I would spend my time in pure contemplation. Yes! And then everything would become clear. As I formed that thought, the rightness of the answer was proven, and the subject for contemplation was determined. The beautiful synergy of that moment hinted at the kinds of satisfaction I could expect to feel following achievements from now on. Encouraged, I settled in, emptied my mind of clutter, and let my thoughts show the way.

I pondered whether one could be happy and fulfilled, if one had no means of sensing or acting on the outside world. I phrased the question in my mind that way, implying that the 'outside' world existed, only because I had pondered the question in my previous life. Then I had been thinking of what fulfillment would be possible for a person permanently locked inside a sensory deprivation tank. I felt that that situation was analogous to my new situation, even though at this point I was convinced that the world I had known was an illusion of some sort. I felt a vague sureness that I would eventually discover how to use my mind to shape that illusion, and maybe even to conjure an illusory world of my own. But for now, since I had not yet discovered a method, the isolated fulfillment question applied to me directly, and finding an answer was of prime importance.

I was deep in contemplation when my thoughts were interrupted by a voice. I listened. Here was an historic moment. Here was proof I was not alone in this new world outside of space. I was relieved. Happiness and fulfillment have always seemed more easily achievable when I have been part of a community, and so I was eager to meet my new peers. I wondered what rules of etiquette governed meetings between super-intelligent pure energy beings when they bumped into one another while traversing the ether. Whatever would be expected of me, I decided, the entity I was about to meet would understand and accept my present ignorance.

I willed myself toward the voice, and in no time, with no effort, I had bridged the gap. The entity spoke. "Tom! Can you hear me?" I could. I could hear and understand the message perfectly. I even recognised the voice. It was welcoming and benevolent, and it was my old friend Dunric. So, Dunric too had crossed into the ether. His mastery of communication by thought impressed me, but did not surprise me. Time worked differently here. Although I figured we had both left the old world at approximately the same time, if Dunric had arrived slightly earlier than I had, in that time he may already have experienced many lifetimes worth of learning.

The question posed by the entity named Dunric had so far been left unanswered. I figured a response of some sort was appropriate, so instinctively I tried to mouth something in reply. But of course, I had no mouth. I had not yet learned to speak in this new world dominated by thought. The entity named Dunric may have inferred from my silence that I was not yet ready to communicate, or he may have left me for a purpose beyond my comprehension. Whatever the reason, his essence dissolved back into the ether, and again, I was alone.

I returned to my ponderings. Long and hard I pondered, but however much my pure energy brow would furrow, I could not find the answer I sought. The secret to whether happiness was possible for one with no means of sensing or acting on the outside world, continued to elude me. My thoughts went something like this: If one was expecting to rejoin the outside world sometime in the future, one could imagine his future and plan his actions in it. The formation of a plan is in itself an accomplishment, and accomplishments bring happiness. But if one was permanently isolated, there would be nothing to plan for. What would be the point in thinking about anything? Then again, what made accomplishments in the outside world any more valuable than conclusions reached in isolated thought? Our only awareness of the outside world is via our senses, and via our brains, which can sometimes override our senses. The outside world is thus indistinguishable from isolated thought in a very real sense. My mind kept going round in circles. For a super-intelligent pure energy being, I was beginning to seem a little retarded.

My lack of progress allowed nagging thoughts I'd been suppressing to break through into my consciousness. The events I have described began to seem a bit too coincidental. It was time for a recap. In my last clear memory of my previous life, I had met with a group of friends and we had consumed magic mushrooms. Then, a series of strange events had occurred, that culminated in, by some process I did not understand, my own escape from the material world, into a new world outside of time and space. Hmm... First the magic mushrooms, then the new world outside of time and space. There now seemed a distinct possibility that the two events were linked.

What if I had never left my previous life, and all my strange experiences were just hallucinations induced by the mushrooms? That explanation was overwhelmingly depressing, and I fought hard against accepting it. My new existence as a pure energy being had seemed so simple and so compelling, and my old life and existence so absurdly complicated by comparison, that I clung tightly to my new belief. Accepting that the mushrooms were the cause of my strange experiences would also mean losing the amazing powers of thought I was convinced I now possessed. That made me even more reluctant to face the truth. Eventually, I yielded. I resigned to the fact that I was not a super-intelligent pure energy being, and that my strange experiences were due entirely to the effect of the mushrooms.

To be continued...

Mushrooming Awareness - Part 3

If you have not yet read the preceding parts, you should start at the beginning.

Part 3: Disconnection

I was blind and alone. I had asked myself where I was, and found that I did not know. I rephrased the question. Where might I be? I knew that I had consumed a mug of mushroom tea sometime earlier at Gus's house along with a group of friends, and I knew that we had begun walking along High Street Road, with Norton's park being our planned destination. I remembered nothing however that could convince me that I had in fact made it to the park. If the mushrooms had taken effect faster than expected, it was entirely possible that we had become lost or sidetracked, and were now in a place that had never featured in our plan. I estimated that the tea had been consumed about two hours ago, that I walked at a around five kilometres per hour, and so decided that I could be anywhere within a ten kilometre radius of a point mid-way between Gus's house and Norton's park.

I was pleased with the progress I had made with that piece of deductive reasoning. Now, what use was that information to me? What dangers were there to avoid? Roads. Main roads. High Street Road running east/west across the centre of my circle, Burwood Highway parallel to the north, Ferntree Road parallel to the south, and Springvale Road perpendicular to the west. Cars and trucks hurtled along those roads at eighty kilometers per hour. For all I knew, I could be sitting in the middle of Ferntree Gully Road right now. There was no way for me to tell. Not only was my vision gone, I could not feel anything. Or rather, when I felt around me I could not be sure that what I was touching was road, grass, stones, wood, or any other surface I might be in contact with. Sometimes I wasn't sure I was touching anything at all.

If I was on a road, would I hear the traffic? I listened. I heard voices some distance away. A conversation was taking place. Laughter. My level of concentration or interest was not sufficient to determine the identity of the speakers, or what was being said, but the presence of voices told me I was with the others. I was relieved. I decided I probably would hear the traffic, but I might hear it too late, or not know which way to move to avoid a fast approaching vehicle. I hoped the others were more aware of their surroundings than I was.

What if they weren't? What if the voices and laughter I heard was incoherent and hysterical babbling? I imagined the group of us - myself, Pab, Gus, Mikhail, Juan, Dunric, and Aiden, some sitting, some wandering around in the dark, some silent, some babbling incoherently, all with little or no awareness of our surroundings, in the middle of an otherwise deserted Ferntree Gully Road. I imagined a large truck bearing down upon us. My view was from a point high above the side of the road, behind the group, and facing the truck. I heard the loud blast of a horn, and saw the dismally slow reactions of the group. Heads slowly turned around, some in the complete wrong direction. The tyres of the truck locked and screeched as they slid along the road. The collision could not be avoided.

I heard a retch. Oh dear. The trip was turning very bad. Who was vomiting? Was I vomiting? Again I did not know. I saw the same image as described in the previous paragraph, but now we were writhing around on the road in pools of vomit, and had no awareness at all of our surroundings. When the truck came this time there was no reaction. I never believed we were actually on the road, only that that was a possibility. The worst case scenario. The retching sound however seemed real, and that was still very bad. Bad because of the shame of being out in public, out of our minds on psychedelic drugs, and not being in control of the situation.

I thought of how the nation would react if we were all killed by a truck in the manner described. It would be front page news for sure. Advertisements on newsstands would scream "Seven Youths Killed in Highway Tripping Tragedy". The incident would spark a nationwide debate on drug culture among young people. My legacy would be the introduction of new draconian drug laws, and greater police presence at music festivals. That was not how I wished to be remembered.

I made another effort to get back to reality. I felt around with my hands, in front of and behind myself in such a way that if I had been sitting, my hands would have contacted whatever surface I was sitting on. I felt nothing as I did this. Not even the feeling of my arms moving through the air in response to my thoughts as I willed the movements. It seemed that I had completely lost my sense of touch. That was a little troubling. I pondered further. Would I be able to feel pain? I attempted to test this by striking myself on the chest with my fist. I felt nothing. That was very troubling. What if my arm had been severed and I was presently bleeding to death? Would I be aware of that fact? I was unsure.

The list of things I was sure of was shrinking rapidly. While feeling around me in search of the ground, I had been assuming I was sitting down. Now I questioned that assumption and found supporting evidence lacking. I imagined my body acting as if on complete auto-pilot. I could be running right now, I thought to myself. The idea seemed quite plausible then, and still does as I write. I often act or at least carry on acting in an automatic way when my concentration wanders from a task. And my concentration has never wandered so much as that night when I was on mushrooms. For example when reading my eyes sometimes continue following words long after my brain has stopped concentrating on the text. Sometimes when I snap back into consciousness I find myself many pages ahead of where I last remember reading. A similar thing happens when I'm thinking and bushwalking. I snap out of my trance and find I have successfully navigated many metres of ill-defined tracks through the trees, all with no memory of having done so. A similar thing may have been happening during my mushroom trip.

In one final effort to determine how my body was oriented, I willed my leg to move in order to stamp my foot on some solid earth. Despite the absence of feedback I had received when attempting to move my arms, I was unprepared for the psychological impact of doing this and feeling nothing. All my life, the reaction force of the solid earth beneath me had been a constant I could rely on, and the unquestioned fact of its presence must have been foundational in my conception of myself as a space-occupying entity existing in a material world. When I attempted the stomp of my foot and felt nothing - no resistance, no feeling of my leg moving, no feeling at all - my belief that I had a body, and that my world consisted of matter, dissolved.

Continued in Part 4: Escape

Mushrooming Awareness - Part 2

If you have not yet read part one, you should start at the beginning.

Part 2: Disorientation

We turned into a driveway that was our entrance to Norton's Park and were confronted with a red earth baseball diamond behind a high woven-wire fence. The structure seemed impressive and fascinating. So impressive and fascinating in fact, that despite myself and Aiden having cycled past that very place many times before, we now felt compelled to stop and discuss its merits at length. We pointed out to each other details of the metal joins, and speculated about what methods may have been used in its construction. The scale of the operation was difficult to comprehend. We tried to guess the number of dump-truck loads of red earth that would have been used to form the diamond, but failed to come up with a reasonable answer after abandoning an attempt at a calculated estimate.

When we realised that we had been become lost in conversation and had forgotten the purpose of our walk, we laughed then quickly continued along the path to a car park where we spotted Pab's car. I was relieved to see that he and the others had arrived safely. They had been waiting for Aiden and myself to catch up, and so when we did it was time to begin our trek into the forest.

The paths through the trees were narrow and winding, so we trekked single file. For most of the time we were silent, but occasionally someone would remark on what strange effects they were seeing, or that the mushrooms we had tonight seemed to be stronger than those we'd had previously. I was busy in my own thoughts and could only silently nod in agreement upon hearing such observations.

Mikhail and I had been lagging and after a while we became separated from the rest of the group. This was of some concern to me, since I did not know my way around the park, or where in the park the rest of the group were headed. I was walking behind Mikhail, and had been assuming that he knew where he was going. As our pace continued to slow I watched him and became convinced that he did not.

Mikhail spoke occasionally, and when he did his words were expressions of vague doubt. "I don't feel so good," "I don't know about this," he would say to himself as he wandered around, seemingly lost, with his arms feeling the way in front of him. He looked like a shell-shocked conscript, soon to be captured by the enemy or picked off by a hidden sniper. The others were occupied elsewhere, and so fate had cast me in the role of supporting soldier. I kept him under close supervision. Sometimes he would stop and call to me. "Tom! Where are you? I can't see you." When he lost me I would tap him on the shoulder and attempt to reassure him that all was well and we were safe. Sometimes when he claimed he was unable to see me he was looking directly at me.

I was having problems with visibility too, but not yet to the extent that Mikhail seemed to be. As I looked around everything I saw seemed to have been bleached. I figured the lack of contrast was a natural result of the excess light my eyes were receiving through my hugely dilated pupils. Sometimes I thought I saw a grey diamond grid overlaying everything, as if I was peering through a woven wire fence. I may have been seeing a visual echo of my earlier view through the fence at the baseball diamond. Other times it seemed that edges of objects in my view were lightly highlighted with speckled colour, similar to the effect sometimes seen when compressed digital images become corrupted. These effects came in waves. At the peak of the waves, discerning objects from the background was difficult, and I was unable to follow the path. At the troughs I was able to follow the path, but at a rate significantly slower than would have been possible without the mushrooms.

I figured Mikhail at that time was experiencing similar effects, though at a greater intensity. Watching him was like seeing myself in the worryingly near and fast approaching future. Having heard Mikhail's comments about his vision, I expected to lose my vision soon, and that is exactly what happened. The contrast between the greyish bark of the trees, the grey stones of the path, and the light yellow dried out grass of the undergrowth became so poor that I could no longer follow the path. I called to Mikhail. "Mik, I'm right with you now, I can't see a thing. I think we should stop for a while, since it would be dangerous to move."

Mikhail's faint response was uncertain, but in agreement. I crouched down but remained on my feet, as I realised that I had not taken note of my immediate surroundings, and so was unaware of what dangers were lurking around me. I felt with my hands to make sure the ground was suitable for sitting on, and when I was satisfied, I sat. Despite the loss of my vision, I still felt in control. My plan was to wait until my sight returned, enjoying whatever effects the mushrooms brought me as I did, and then to resume walking the path. I explained my plan to Mikhail, who was a few metres away from me somewhere on my right. Then I settled in for an extended period of rest and recuperation. To pass the time I pondered my strange predicament.

The previous day I had been working at my part-time job as an electronics lab technician. It was a very modern workplace, with computers and high-tech machinery used in a tightly regimented small-scale production line. I would have to return to that job the morning after next. Presently I found myself seated alone in the middle of a forest, blinded and immobile, with night fast approaching. It seemed as if I had stepped thousands of years backwards in time, to when man's only source of illumination besides sunlight was fire, and when a lone hunter roaming the woods would often find himself far from a campsite when darkness fell.

The reason I had chosen to participate in the mushroom trip had a lot to do with that image. I would have passed on the opportunity had the drug been a modern one such as acid or DMT, but mushrooms have always grown naturally, and so I imagined that throughout the entire history of man, accidental consumption would have resulted in a few lost hours of confusion and strange behaviour for unwitting or lost foragers. Therefore I viewed mushrooms as a natural part of the environment of man, and I felt fine about a little experimentation.

I mused for a while longer on how a prehistoric man, returning from a mushroom trip, would explain his unscheduled disappearance to his fellow tribesmen. A grunt, a raised eyebrow or two, some shrugs of shoulders, and that, I figured, would conclude the investigation. The experience would be purged from memory, and the tribe would go back to hunting and foraging.

My thoughts drifted back to the present day. Now, where was I? I was surprised to find that I hadn't the faintest idea. Just as I had imagined the memories of the cave men disappearing as they returned to their normal routine, my context switch from present to past then back to present had resulted in the purging of my own short-term memories. I was now not only blind and alone, but lost in a more profound sense than I had ever been before.

Continued in Part 3: Disconnection