Tehe. New Yorkers are finally learning about ayahuasca.
It’s been a busy weekend: Saturday afternoon with Sting at the Edvard Munch show at the Museum of Modern Art, Saturday night at a downtown rock show with Moby, and this evening visiting a bunch of people on dimethyltryptamine, considered the most potent hallucinogen on the planet. DMT, a harrowing seven-minute trip that feels like seven centuries, is Direct Mystical Transmission, says Pinchbeck — Drastic Magical Transport. It is “the doorway you can step through to greet the beings who run the cosmic candy store,” he has written. Smoking a bowl of it, he adds, tastes like “a shard of lawn furniture.”
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I understand that Pinchbeck didn’t like the way the article turned out. Claimed that the author, Vanessa Grigoriadis, took too much liberty with reality so to speak. Funny thing coming from a master tripper if you ask me. But he seems like a good guy. He gets too much and gets misunderstood too often by those that don’t get it all that often. Happens to the best of us.