The Infinity Monster

I lean back into the single mattress stacked up onto the wall in my drug room. The oriental rug has been pulsating for some time now. Toby is curled into a ball on the floor about a metre away from me. He groans. We’ve each eaten five grams of home-grown psilocybin mushrooms, and it’s becoming a little difficult to hold on to reality. 

The walls swell and pulse and sparkle and shimmer. I hear the language. Though it’s different now. It’s a slingshot boomerang tumbling rendition. It’s On the Run from Dark Side of the Moon. The language morphs into feeling and its growlsy, oozy, swirling, writhing, firing and spinning and somersaulting.

It seems The Language is not specific to DMT, as I had previously thought.

A portal opens on the wall opposite me. It’s a bedazzling scene. Regal and purple and sparkling. The wall expands to encompass the all existence and it’s jewelled and it spins and folds into itself.

And that’s when I see it.

The infinity monster.

A colossal elephant, made of shimmering gems and gloopy running colours, standing tall on its hind legs. It has no head, per se, but a kind of trunk, or at least a neck that curls like a gargantuan curved faucet, and folds down into its belly. It has no face, of-course, but somehow it emanates a shattering boom. The infinity monster fuses and dances with the world around it. It takes in the energy, absorbs it, and funnels it out again.


psychedelicAlexander Toums