Tripping in the Dollhouse

The first bump of 3mmc is long gone, but the 4mmc is lingering. It won't let go. It's infatuated with me. Warm and buzzy. Deeply revealing and simultaneously confusing. More 3mmc? Don't mind if I do. We'll lay it to bed with some K when it's time. I can look at the back of my brain while it's in love with itself before I drift off to sleep.

Snort and sniff... Deep into my skull you go. Cat piss bitter fills my sinus.

And now...

I feel so upbeat. I'm exuberant. But there's a twinge of weirdness slathered all over everything around me. Ride the ride. Feel the love. Let Nolan know how good things are.

"Nolan! Things are good."

The words cut through the trip and kind of make me feel itchy. Or maybe I'm thirsty? I don't think I usually confuse these feelings. My body feels noisy... Add a bump of ketamine and I leave this room to enter another. It's up my nose and in my brain.

A flickering light casts a glow over the chair’s arm. Nolan sits in the shadows. His face is veiled and not quite his face.

Something in here is off. It's not bad, but it's not right. This room, with its cast iron stove sporting a kettle and a plastic chair holding back Nolan, is endlessly fascinating... though there's nothing specifically remarkable about it.

Soft erratic jazz crawls from the speakers and drapes itself all over the room.

I'm sitting on a couch across from Nolan. He's quiet. He sees the room as I do. It's a faux.

It's different from how I remember it... Did I do the ketamine yet?

This is....

It's indescribable how the subtle quirks jut so boldly out. In my periphery the kettle on the stove stretches lazily until I notice it. It returns to its flat, melancholic shape. The checkers it's adorned with try to muster a stretch and swirl before giving up and laying listless.

In the back of my mind there's the notion another character is going to show, but they never do, it's just Nolan with his various faces rubbing at his hair, and I. Then he stops and sits forward. He perches his chin upon his forefinger and thumb then simply allows them to become part of his shifting face.

"The room is...."

Nolan trails off not finishing the thought and never letting the face swapping rest... His face is old and square. The face of a stranger yet there's an air of familiarity. He pulls his hand away from his chin and I realize it was never attached.... His face changes again.

I'm slightly worried that Nolan won't recognize me or will feel uncomfortable with me if my face is changing. I ask him and he replies that my face is not my face yet it's not frightening or unpleasant.

I am fully awake in the middle of an indescribably bizarre and innocuous dream, and I am so very curious.

The walls of this room are textured with haphazard stucco swirls, as is the table, as is the air.

Occasionally an ethereal mesh of silver and red octagons manifests and drifts lazily towards my eyes. It hangs there then disperses like light scattered on a puddles surface. I know it's part of the room because it was anchored in place, not moving with my vision as my eyes dart around.

"It's like a dollhouse" Nolan says coming back to the thought, and I agree. His face is a muddy mat of grey hair.

The stucco on the walls has shifted from messy swirls to lazy waves. They seem to shimmer with the dull luster of terracotta.

The clunky jazz trots around the room, settling on the ceiling and the back of my neck.

Nolan?

Curiouser and curiouser.