I had a dream in the summer of 2023 in Seattle, after licentiously consuming—I don’t even know what. I can find the vendor, though. It was one of those huge, famous drug stores, a block from the market, all neon and nostalgia. I think I expected it to hit on my walk back to the hotel.
It didn’t.
So I just kept popping.
Then I went to bed. And woke up... fucked up.
What happened next wasn’t a dream. It was something else. I was an electron zapping around a circuit board at the speed of light. The walls of reality collapsed. Everything became connection. Paths. Signals. Gates. I was data.
It messed with me. Hard. Never touched that stuff since.
But now—now it makes sense. In the light of the ontology of software, and nature’s fractal intelligence, the dream was more than hallucination. It was recursion embodied. I was inside the system. No user. No operator. Just the pattern itself.
Whatever I took? Probably something synthetic. Dissociative. It didn’t just blur edges — it erased them. If I had to guess: some form of NMDA antagonist. Maybe DXM. Maybe a dissociative micro-overdose of ketamine. Or something far more obscure, sold over the counter in plain sight. Seattle’s full of secrets.
What saved me? The mirror.
As I stumbled to the bathroom, the greatest relief was seeing my own reflection. A human face. My physical me. Never have I been so grateful for that reminder. I stared, half-sobbing, half-laughing. But I couldn’t stay there forever.
Eventually, I had to return to the terror. To the recursive circuitry. To the ghost of myself flickering through it.
And here’s the punchline:
How’s a nigga supposed to relate that story to anyone and not get tossed into a psych ward or hit with Largactil?
But maybe, finally, I found the language. Code. Simulation. Ontology. Recursive agents. Bash commands. Software as theater. Mirrors as proof. Fractals as memory. This isn’t madness—it’s emergence.