Selected search terms that lead people to my site. Disclaimer: I am not a scientist. These answers are based on years of experience dosing myself and dosing with other people.
Can you dose after microdosing? How much time should you space between doses?
Everyone is different. I’ve dosed the day after microdosing. I’ve microdosed the day after microdosing. I always felt the effects. It always went well. Some people report short-term tolerance and the need to take a little more to feel an equivalent effect the day after a (micro)dose, but I wouldn’t necessarily advise that here. Wait a few days if you can between doses. Or, figure out why you may feel the need to dose so often.
(The Fadiman microdosing regimen recommends one day on, three days off. So if you want to take a big trip within a microdosing regimen, try sticking to on/off days, whether the dose is micro or not.)
How long will it last and how quickly will I feel it?
There were old men climbing the rocks and lying in the sun with their hands folded. There were small boys stomping the wildflowers. And I saw the ancient days. There were bells tolling and wreaths tossed and women turning in circles and there were bees performing their life-cycle dance and there were great winds and swollen moons and pyramids crumbling and coyotes crying and the waves mounting and it all smelled like the end and the beginning of freedom. And I saw my friends who were gone and my husband and my brother. I saw those counted as true fathers ascend the distant hills and I saw my mother with the children she had lost, whole again.”
The Passion According to G.H. — Clarice Lispector Agua Viva — Clarice Lispector Near to the Wild Heart — Clarice Lispector The Listening Society — Hanzi Freinacht The Book of Disquiet — Fernando Pessoa Me & Other Writing — Marguerite Duras The World Goes On — Laszlo Krasznahorkai On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous — Ocean Vuong An Ethics of Sexual Difference — Luce Irigaray Three Guineas — Virginia Woolf The Bluest Eye — Toni Morrison Notes of a Native Son — James Baldwin Trip — Tao Lin Oaxaca Journal — Oliver Sacks A Field Guide to Getting Lost — Rebecca Solnit Call Them by Their True Names — Rebecca Solnit AIDS and Its Metaphors — Susan Sontag Time Travels — Elizabeth Grosz Human Relations and Other Difficulties — Mary-Kay Wilmers Peripheral Visions — Mary Catherine Bateson All About Love — bell hooks Paradise Rot — Jenny Hval Shift Into Freedom — Loch Kelly Being Human — Martin Ball The Wisdom of Insecurity — Alan Watts Foucault in California — Simeon Wade The Hidden Life of Trees — Peter Wohlleben
Mental diagnosis felt like an act. A script I shouldn’t have played into. Some do. Some need to. Those whose function cannot find place. Like mine at the time. But I was passing through—turbulent heartbreaks, growing pains, clashes with Hims—and mistook role for reality. I overthought my relation to it, that joy and suffering, and tied it to a being beyond. I regret that now. Or at least can see it as it was: seeking, clenching, grasping. Am I nothing more than a need to reach? Maybe. I’m human. Some childlike essence that shows in contours when ignoring and blurring details of pores. Take off my glasses and focus on the obscure. The fuzz. That uncertainty between me and it. Subject in/to object. Still disoriented in space, lost along the way, I may trip a few times too many, but that’s okay. Because it’s only and not me at all.
I always kept a quotation mark to my left and another to my right. Somehow ‘as if it wasn’t me’ was broader than if it were—an inexistent life possessed me entirely and kept me busy like an invention.”
Is speaking/(writing) subjectively an inherently selfish act? Is it possible to speak for others in speaking for self? Or speak for those who came before (especially those silenced) by speaking now? Do women get challenged more for speaking subjectively than men?
She is or ceaselessly becomes the place of the other who cannot separate himself from it. Without her knowing or willing it, she is then threatened because of what she lacks: a ‘proper’ place. She would have to re-envelop herself with herself, and do so at least twice: as a woman and as a mother. Which would presuppose a change in the world economy of space-time…
Who or what the other is, I never know. But the other who is forever unknowable is the one who differs from me sexually. This feeling of surprise, astonishment, and wonder in the face of the unknowable ought to be return to its locus: that of sexual difference… Sometimes a space for wonder is left to works of art. But it is never found to reside in this locus: between man and woman. Into this place came attraction, greed, possession, consummation, disgust, and so on. But not that wonder which beholds what it sees always as if for the first time, never taking hold of the other as its object. It does not try to seize, possess, or reduce this object, but leaves it subjective, still free…
A sexual or carnal ethics would require that both angel and body be found together. This is a world that must be constructed or reconstructed. A genesis of love between the sexes has yet to come about in all dimensions, from the smallest to the greatest, from the most intimate to the most political. A world that must be created or re-created so that man and woman may once again or at last live together, meet, and sometimes inhabit the same place…
How can we mark this limit of a place, of place in general, if not through sexual difference? But, in order for an ethics of sexual difference to come into being we must constitute a possible place for each sex, body, and flesh to inhabit.”