Altered Mindstates

Dog Bites trips out over the Mindstates global psychedelic convention

Unfortunately, I acquire these specimens around 2 in the afternoon, requiring me to then lug them around the conference for nine more hours. It's an arduous task demanding a certain level of physical endurance that I just do not possess after three days of incessantly daydreaming about shedding this mortal coil and joining my new psychedelic friends up on some metaphysical plane of pure light. I do try to remain mobile, but, after a couple more hours, this shit proves to be way, way too heavy.

So, I head on over to the "chill pad," a small area consisting of body pillows, tapestry wall-hangings, and a postmodern cyberaltar covered in fresh flowers and various Eastern-flavored ephemera that glow in the dark. In front of which a robed woman is wrapped up like a pretzel chanting to herself. I scan other "chill pad" denizens and follow protocol by removing my shoes and curling up on one of the myriad body pillows. I quickly fall asleep with a huge fucking cactus tucked underneath each arm. Who says the psychedelic age is dead? It's just getting started, one cactus at a time. (Justin F. Farrar)

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