Psychedelic Panic Pizza, Heat 120 Seconds

So many unexplainable things happen every year, it was only a matter of time until the fantastic reached me. UFOs in Jerusalem. Spontaneous human combustion on the Seoul subway. The high ratings for Honey Boo Boo. Things like that. And then last week, I had a personal experience that walked the same path, out of our reality and into another one. I probably sound facetious, but that’s just out of habit – after 25 years of being a sarcastic asshole, it’s difficult to sound sincere. As crazy as it sounds, this post is done in true sincerity. It is the story of how I had an intense journey, a trip across the dark side of the mushroom, brought on by a microwavable pizza bought at Walmart.

I’m aware of how crazy it sounds. People don’t have their perception altered by pizza, and the worst thing microwaveable food can do to a person is give them a muffin top. My rational side understands this. But then I think back to what happened, and I shudder.

It all began around 5:00 PM on Wednesday. I needed to pick up a few things, so I took the 21 bus from my school to the Walmart located in Chang Ping. The bus was packed and the ride was hell. I’d been in an edgy mood all day, and the crowded bus/crowded store didn’t help any. I bought some crap, and then wondered what to eat for dinner. I haven’t had pizza in ages, and I came across some microwaveable ones in the frozen food section. Not DiGiorno or Mama Celeste or anything like that. I found a different brand with a promising name – Pizza Delicious.

Now let’s pause for a moment to analyze the box. First, let’s note the text used to spell the words “Pizza” and “Delicious.” Clearly, this is the same font utilized by The Grateful Dead and other bands of the psychedelic era. The box sort of looks like a poster you’d see hanging in Haight-Ashbury in the late 60s. Secondly, notice the green swoosh above the words. It’s as though they’re telling you this pizza will take you places, another galaxy, the sixth dimension. Hey Mr. Spaceman, won’t you please take me and my Pizza Delicious along, we won’t do anything wrong. Thirdly, note the shape of the pizza. It sort of looks like an LSD microdot with toppings.

Turn on, heat for 120 seconds on high power, drop out.

The pizza pictured on the box is one thing, but the monstrosity inside was a whole different story. Here, below, is what I discovered upon unsealing my Pizza Delicious.

Yes, I know. It looks like scrambled eggs thrown on top of a dry pita. After microwaving it, the enormous mountain of frozen cheese melted, revealing a hidden assortment of mushrooms, sausage, and corn. No sauce to speak of. Although it still appeared to be made by someone with dementia, I was starving and so I decided to eat the thing. The crust had a nice sweet taste to it. The glob of random items on top had no taste, which might have been for the best.

About twenty minutes after I ate the fucker, strange things began happening. I felt euphoric, lightheaded and blissful. Everything seemed hilarious and I couldn’t stop laughing at shit on my Facebook newsfeed. At the time, I thought I was simply in a good mood. In hindsight, the pizza had obviously intoxicated me, making everything appear wonderful. That all changed when I made the poor decision to go to sleep.

I woke up at one o’clock in the morning. My proprioception was gone. I felt as though my body had vanished on me, like I’d been drawn and quartered in the night and all that was left of me was a torso. Where were my arms? I couldn’t feel my legs. I was hysterical. I stood fast, looking down on my body’s completion, a dandelion that hadn’t had its appendages blown off yet. Still, something felt incredibly wrong. I was drowning, sensations sinking into the interior of my head, my brain fluid was a green river carrying away my thoughts. Skin burning, sweat soaking my hair. I had to move, couldn’t stay still or I’d die. I ran out into the living room and turned on all the lights, kicking my legs, hopping up and down. Hands had gone numb, feet were tingling. My blood was out of circulation, red light stopped, my tongue had fur on it. The dryness in my mouth was unbearable, it felt filled with cotton, and I started drinking water but that only made me vomit burp, acid filling my throat as if I had some kind of internal straw running down into my stomach and I was sucking the liquid up through it.

In reality, I was having a panic attack. I’ve had them all my life, and they never seem to get any easier. I felt so incredibly helpless. I saw the pizza box in the trash, laughing at me, the bastard had poisoned me and was going to kill me. Why the fuck did I eat it? Obviously the pizza wasn’t right, a death trap, as smart as eating raw beef. Part of my mind was convinced this was the BIG END, that I was going to faint and never wake up. The other part of my mind tried to stay rational. I had to find my neutral space, create an environment that would settle me down. In the meantime, I’d keep running around the living room. Stopping could prove fatal.

It took two hours before I was able to sit still. I had to find the right amount of light (full darkness except the soft glow of my desk lamp). The silence was terrifying, and so I put on Joni Mitchell, turned her voice to the exact volume I needed. I made myself tea. And ultimately I laid in the bed and let the calmness take over. My body started to reappear, gain focus, as if I was looking at myself through a camera and adjusting the lens. Eyes shut, I saw two black birds fly up to the top of my skull, its morning, twirling in circles, intertwining, a braid of dark hair escalating through the sky. A feeling of full relaxation overtook me. Shear delirium, I was split into two, a child and its own care giver. The idea was beautiful. All of this, the entire experience, had a purpose, and I could sense that inside this gentle division.

I was a patient and a nurse, an infant and its father. I could feel my own forehead for fever, kiss my own bruises. Fuck, this is what the Pizza Delicious needed to tell me. That I could take care of myself, not be afraid, that I was my own protection against the world and against death and maybe against myself as well.

In the morning, I felt exhausted. I took a hot shower.

Everything was back to normal, and I wanted to cry.

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