By Acid Cat Jul. 15, 2016
I went to the darknet, that shady part of the internet where only the l337 h4X3rs go and where you have Christmas discount sales on cocaine.
y favourite Saturday night in the recent past is when I dropped 250mcg of acid, put on an amazing Shpongle playlist, and became one with the universe.
Six Saturdays ago, though. I was pissed at being ripped off.
It was not the dealer’s fault; he was selling what he thought was the finest quality maal this side of the great divide, but I knew and had tasted better. His “250mcg solid stuff” turned out to be a little over 75mcg, which would work out splendid for a first-time user, but for everyone else, lacks the fuel for exiting the atmosphere.
So I set off on a trek to get myself some of the finest-quality psychedelics money can buy.
I went to the darknet. Yes, that shady part of the internet where only the l337 h4X3rs go and where you have Christmas discount sales on cocaine.
It really is the best place on the internet. And it’s rather easy to get on to it. Which I will not be elaborating on because I like to keep these things to a circle of shady people.
What I will tell you is that it’s an excellent rollercoaster ride through a whole gamut of emotions that have no business being in close proximity to each other: nervousness, fear, and then a little “huh” of understanding, and days and days of restless boredom. The whole experience is divided into three phases. The first is the serious research phase where bitcoin and the means of procuring ₹10,000 worth are studied. This is where one would stumble upon various WhatsApp phone numbers which could be called and varied NEFT transactions that could potentially be made to convert fiat Indian money into cryptocurrency.
Then markets are discovered and researched in detail. It’s like looking for a shirt or a gadget online – you browse through the competitors after scrutinising the price and the quality of the item, as well as the shipping cost. I zoomed in on a lovely MDMA and LSD combo pack as well as a five-stamp pack of quality LSD from the same guy. Reviews were cryptic but positive:
“10/10 stealth, absolutely fantastic stuff. Went to space.”
“Fast shipping, good stealth. A+ would buy again.”
“Took a while to get here but was worth it. Amazing amazing visuals. 10/10 stealth.”
You watch helplessly as the money goes from escrow to the seller’s account after two weeks and still no sign of the postman with your little pile of documents.
Aside: the thing about the entire deal is that you need three things to get anything shipped to your doorstep from these markets.
1. The market’s address on the darknet. These are not too hard to find once you know where to search.
2. Bitcoin in your account’s wallet. Again, the internet will tell you where to get this done.
3. An appetite for risk.
The point of this entire exercise is that it does not always work. You can do all of the steps correctly, but somewhere in the huge human endeavour called the postal network of the world, this letter could be missed, or could be taken away as a potential document of evidence. Or usually, lost. To ensure stealth and safety, these packages are rarely sent over registered mail. Snail mail is unreliable for a reason. So, there is a risk that your shipment will never come, but considering that the risk is, say 25%, you’ll still get some quality acid for at least 1/4th the price you’d have to fork out in the streets of Mumbai. Assayed, high-quality LSD. Or MDMA, or cocaine, or ketamine or DMT or whatever else fancies your brainbones.
Coming back to the tingly emotions.
In the actual procurement phase, placing the order involves sending bitcoin to a wallet and sending your home address over an encrypted message. The financial risk coupled with the very real risk of going to jail, escorted by policemen from your home, is a delectable sort of fear. Your hairs stand on end, your heartbeat races, and when you hit the submit button you are all but a moment away from a heart attack.
And then… nothing.
Nothing beyond the “order received” message in some time and after a day or two, the shipping confirmation. You watch helplessly as the money goes from escrow to the seller’s account after two weeks and still no sign of the postman with your little pile of documents.
The moments of “Oh God, what have I *done*” and incessant nail-biting of the first two days move into the “Oh God, where the fuck *is* the damn shipment” of the next two weeks, and the resignation of the “never going back to this marketplace again” of the fourth week.
In the fifth week though, I come home to an unexpected parcel for a Mr. B. Fisher of [REDACTED], Mumbai: 4000—.
I tear open the package to see two little parcels of joy, opening the door to the final phase of the process.
And by the Gods, is it amazing stuff.