This is a brief synopsis of what happens when you drink the beverage called 'Plasm'. It's a sensory recording of what it's like to be
Coalesce.
( This is a recording of an experience, but until it ends, the recording will feel like your own senses. )
The entrance isn't grand. It's like diving into a pool. Above the water there's solids, light, shade, warmth. Below the surface is cool, tingling with some electric current, obscured focus, rippling chaotic fluid movement. The plasm's thoughts are as fluid as his body, processes parallel upon parallel mirroring each other.
A rough locus sphere of locality holds the poured-in governing personality mold, while the wilds outside the bubble hold a million tapestries of memories almost wholly not his own. Your mind holds steady in the imagined center of the storm.
Senses distort and invert around unfamiliar axes until reorientation is accomplished. Inputs mesh into the closest sense-analogue, rotation of synaesthesia through recognizable slots:
(From here the experience is varied. One of these senses is experienced at random, the others compounded with further glasses of the drink. )
- A pervasive pressure of photons becomes light breeze on skin. Excitation at the cellular level trickle up the psuedo-nervous system to excitation of the mind, continuous data-endorphin kicks high and low. Any type of blue light kicks the system into higher excited states, the longer wavelength setting off harmonic resonance in frequencies sympathetic to the overall information exchanges between cells. The upshot of the excited mental state is a tingle like a low-level erogenous zone about to be stimulated. Blue light instigates the equivilant of full arousal.
- Waving magflux fields, biological energies, and datasphere-related tags feed into the mind's eye optic nerve, from all directions at once, full wraparound. With a little pressure, the sphere can be collapsed to typical 2d-3d overlay, but the temptation to see without a head is addictive. There's a heavy cluster of looping auras and body fields coursing nearby, pressing around close, looping with what you can feel around your own colloidial thoughts. Third eye? This is the Seventh.
- Dust and foam, rock and rust, rubber and ancient seminal fluid--no matter where you are, all carry forth knowledge embedded in materials--one can just /taste/ the memories in every particle and dried sperm. The world is full of information, it is /made/ of information. Sentient beings encode timelike information into anything they affect...this is what you are reading. You know who was here before, and what they did, it is written in the timespace signature in every ingested particle. Countless memories and vague imagery slip away into the outer regions of memory-storage for later perusal.
- Subtle vibrations in the perceptual sky that creases the edge of the landscape run filters into a processing down into sound--gentle breathing, a heartbeat, your own. In the distance, you can hear nearly anything you concetrate on. Closer in, the trembling of cool liquid slippery cells, the meshing and mating of the nanosites as they surge the information tide across the body-ocean of self. This comes through as a crackling song, undercurrent of sound across it all.
(the author hasn't figured out if there's a need for smell much less what it would feel like.)
The effects will wear off shortly, depending on how many drinks one takes. Four or five drinks makes it last longer, but also gives the full sensory replacement.