This paper is intended to dispel some of the scurrilous rumour that I have read recently in the alt.science newsgroups regarding my work and the tragic death of one of my experimental subjects. Until the results of her inquest are known, and for the sake of propriety, said subject will be referred to as Explorer III henceforth. It is hoped that, presented with the facts, the reader will reach the conclusion that there was no impropriety on my behalf, and furthermore, the fantastic phenomena, measured under laboratory conditions, warrant a thorough investigation.

It has been documented in the popular scientific press that quantum theory and religion are in some ways beginning to converge[1]. Mystics entering transcendental states using various methods for focusing the mind such as ritual or visualisation believe themselves capable of attracting, wealth, love, opportunity or destroying their enemies. During the study of the smallest particles known to mankind, the building blocks of the universe, Quantum physicists have discovered that at this level the human mind has a profound effect, changing the outcome of experiments under certain conditions. Both mystic and physicist have arrived at similar conclusions: that the material universe is affected by the human mind.

It is my assertion that as all matter is made up of atomic, sub-atomic and quantum particles, and on an individual basis, these particles are directly influenced by the human mind (see Bell’s Theorem), there may be a way of amplifying this influence. In lay terms: I set out to find a way for human beings to influence events, objects or people through the power of thought alone.

Apart from feelings of intense euphoria which mystics believe to be the experience of God at first hand, the common element which links their accounts is a feeling of ‘at oneness’[2]; of feeling connected with all things. It is my assertion that this experience is in fact the experience of the quantum in real terms. And furthermore, this experience can be generated artificially by certain pharmaceuticals, in particular, N, N-dimethyltryptamine (DMT).

The use of DMT by native South-American shamans to communicate with the spirit world, was first documented by Ramon Paul, a Spanish friar who accompanied Columbus on his second voyage to the New World[3], but its use goes back many thousands of years. I had discovered however, that the action of DMT is inhibited by the enzyme monoamine oxidase (MOA) and had synthesised an injectable form of DMT mixed with a MOA inhibitor to prevent the DMT being metabolised by the homeostatic mechanisms present in the brain.

I designed my experiment to run as follows. Each subject was to be given a number between one and ten and asked to try to create a stable mental image of it, while a computer performing random number generation at ten thousand selections per second was set in motion. Each explorer was then to be injected with varying doses of the DMT-MOA compound, while the computer performed statistical analysis to determine if any significant influence on the distribution of numbers had taken place before, during and after the DMT visions.

On November 14th 1999 I posted notices in some of the travellers hostels in the Kings Cross area of London, advertising for three volunteers to assist in the experiments. The financial incentive that I offered proved an effective stimulant and in a matter of days I had sufficient volunteers to proceed with trials.

The results were initially disappointing. I had conducted exhaustive tests for a full day each with Explorers I and II with no statistically significant results. The random number generator failed to show any variance from the arithmetic mean. So it was with a certain amount of resignation that I began the third day.

Soon after administering the DMT / DOA injection it became clear that the hallucinations in Explorer III were markedly stronger than in the other subjects. An examination of the personal effects of Explorer III by police investigators has since found that she was taking a health supplement, Gingko Biloba, taken to improve mental performance[4]. Its chief effect is to increase the blood flow to the brain, particularly the pineal gland, and this may in some way explain the intensity of her visions. Following are sections of the transcriptions of the lab tapes:

Friday 22nd November 1999 14:07

“My heart is going like a train. Feel as though I have to remember to breathe. I see overlapping patterns: flowers, chrysanthemums charged with energy. Vibrant reds, yellows and greens. Its hard to keep focused on eight [the number Explorer III had been assigned] - the geometry is overwhelming”

These experiences are fairly standard up to this point. Three minutes and sixteen seconds later however, Explorer III began to exhibit signs of distress.

“I’m being pulled forwards - but I don’t want to go there - incredibly fast. Structures of infinitely recursive designs rushing through me like wind. I’m afraid - can’t stop. There’s something ahead... an iridescent membrane, taut and gently pulsating, stretching and pushing up towards me, it’s covered with strands of information crawling on the surface, phosphorescent, trying to show me something... a tear. A tear is opening up. I’m being pulled towards it into...(the subject gasps)”.

Explorer III seemed to fall unconscious at this point as is sometimes the case after large doses of DMT. However I became concerned when she began to show signs of cyanosis and a check of vital signs confirmed that she had gone into cardiac arrest. I administered cardiac massage and after approximately thirty seconds Explorer III’s eyes flew open and she began screaming repetitively and unintelligibly. Subsequent analysis by linguists has determined that these utterances are a little known dialect of Sanskrit of which the subject claims to have had no prior knowledge. The phrase she repeatedly screamed until I administered an injection of 25mg diamorphine roughly translates to ‘white light’.

The results of the analysis of the data collected by the computer during Explorer III’s experiences have yet to be explained adequately. The statistic incidence of the number eight, begins to rise from its mean level eighteen seconds after the injection was administered, and continues to do so for three minutes and forty three seconds, which is the point at which Explorer III’s heart stopped beating. It is at this point that the random pattern disappears entirely. For roughly the same period for which the subject was flatline, the computer began registering a coherent pattern of numbers beginning with eight to the power of one (8), and progressing incrementally through eight to the power of two (64), up to eight to the power of eight (16,777,216). This pattern was repeated over 37,000 times and was replaced suddenly by random distribution at exactly the same time that Explorer III was resuscitated.

In the days following I tried to make sense of the data but could arrive at no other conclusion than Explorer III had somehow penetrated the quantum dimension and directly manipulated the numbers being generated by the computer. Following are fragments collated from letters and journal entries collected from her lodgings at the Outback Inn Travellers Lodge.

Saturday 24th November 1999 14:30

Had the strangest nightmare last night. I was running from this thing across a marsh. Although I had my back to it, I could see its hands: skinny fingers about ten inches long clawing at my back. I could smell its breath, which was really strange, because I can’t remember smelling anything in a dream before - disgusting. I stumbled in a ditch and fell over onto my back. The thing was leaning over me, panting. And here’s something pretty freaky: it had the face of Mrs Lambert, my old sports teacher from fourth year juniors, stuck on its dial, like a bad cut and paste job in PhotoShop. She used to call me elephant girl and made me play netball in my skivvies when I forgot my kit once. The Mrs Lambert / monster thing spoke. It asked me a question. It said, “Full fat or semi?”

Later the same day.

Visited Madame Tussads today. Boring mostly. But then I found Barry Humphries glamour pussed up as Dame Edna. Who’d have thought a year ago that I, Miss Adventure would get homesick so soon? Actually found myself daydreaming about hotfooting it back to Oz. Miss my mum, miss my cat, miss Daniel. Can’t believe that I left home without any photographs of him. I tried to picture his face but time has smudged my memory. I met a guy – Justin – in The Feathers, which is a bar around the corner, but to be honest he’s a bit of a dork. A student no less, who shuffles around in raggedy jeans and is studying to be a writer. How can you study to be a writer I asked? Surely it’s either something you is or something you ain’t. He’s asked me to go for a drink with him tomorrow night. He’s harmless enough and winding him up might pass the time.

On the way back to the hostel I popped into Tesco's and had a completely X-files moment. There’s this blowsy woman in top to toe floral rayon hunched over the cooler with the milk in. I wait my turn but she’s checking the sell-by on each carton for the longest shelf life; you know the sort – a real dag. When she turned round I could have sworn it was Mrs Lambert. She certainly looked the same. I almost said ‘hello miss’ – without thinking – but I hesitated just long enough to bite my tongue. The chances of it actually being her were off the scale and anyway she didn’t seem to recognise me. Must just have been that dream and the homesickness. She smiled and asked  “Full fat or semi?. “Full fat” I reply expecting Mulder and Scully to appear at any moment – she had an Australian accent. She handed me a carton and waddled off. It couldn’t have been her – could it? Kings Cross is teeming with travellers. I’ve met more Australians here than Poms. But the resemblance…

Back at the hovel I decided that perhaps I still have some of the drug floating around in my system and I’m experiencing some low-level hallucinations. I tried to phone the doc’ but his answerphone was on. I’m pretty freaked. I left a message just in case he goes in over the weekend.

Spud left the hostel today with his crusty girlfriend Vicky. He’s such a sweetheart – god knows what he’s doing with her. Of all the drifters and travellers in this fleapit he’s the only one I could really talk to. The place feels empty without him. It’s time I moved on.

Sunday 25th November 20:57

Finished off the film in my camera with shots of the hookers and junkies who litter the streets and live in the bus shelters and back-streets near here. One old man was dressed in filthy plastic bags tied around his body, pushing a shopping cart full of used drinks cans. I guess he must get money for recycling or something. So depressing here – the homesickness kicked in again.

Had the film developed and went back to my room to check out the snaps. There was one of Spud in there. Never noticed before how much he looks like Daniel from a certain angle. Vicky was with him in the shot so I cut her out with my nail scissors. Except her arm was round him and one of her hands is flipping me the V over his shoulder so I can see it but he can’t. I spent an age, just looking at his face and imagining Daniel’s lips on mine and the fake pine- forest smell of his shaving foam on his skin that I’d kill to smell again. And by squinting slightly so that everything went slightly out of focus I even made Vicky’s hand disappear. And it was just me and Spud, or me and Daniel depending on how I thought about it.

Went downstairs and (joy) the kitchen was empty so rustled up some food. Had to get a lining on my stomach in readiness for my date with Justin, which I was not looking forward to. Just about to tuck in when Spud popped his head round the door. I just rushed up and hugged him, without trying to appear that I was really HUGGING him. He was not best pleased after having a huge row with Vicky who had stomped off somewhere. It seems they had arrived at Heathrow minus her passport and couldn’t get on another flight for a week.

He was badly in need of a drink so naturally I volunteered to prop the bar up with him. I sent him over to the Feathers to get the drinks in, telling him I had to change, which bought me some time to cancel Justin. I dashed out to the pay phone in the hall and was just about to pick up the receiver when it rang. I knew it was him before he even spoke. He has this irritating way of clearing his throat before he says anything.

I know it was wrong, but it was the only thing that I could think of at the time. “Yeah. My best friend. A road accident. Some of us are holding a wake down the hostel. Sorry Justin. Next week maybe?”

I was walking up the road when I heard the sirens. I rounded the corner and saw a crowd of people in the road outside the Feathers and an ambulance with its light flashing. I began to run. Someone was shouting, “give him some fucking air”. I pushed through the circle of people.

It was Spud. His teeth were smashed and one of his trainers was lying a little way off. The white sock on his exposed foot was a grubby grey at the sole and the leg that it was attached to was broken at the femur so that it looked as though he was trying to kick himself. A paramedic came out with a red blanket and draped it over his body. He asked everyone to go home; said that there was nothing to see, that the show was over. He really said that: the show was over.

Instant karma I thought. For a few moments I felt as though I was somehow to blame. A horrible coincidence – that’s all it was. God does not listen in on telephone calls. Divine retribution is bullshit. It was an accident pure and simple. There was a frail old man, standing next to the smashed- in bonnet of a maroon Ford. He was pale and perfectly still except for his hands which he was wringing as though he was trying to warm them up. He was wearing tan leather gloves: driving gloves. He moved. Just his eyeballs, swivelling towards me, showing the whites and everything else seemed to drain away. The loneliness of the past weeks overwhelmed me and hate flared up, sharp, like the screech of feedback from a PA and I was horrified to see some animal part of me wanting the old man dead.

It must have been the shock. Suddenly he put his hands up to his chest and twisted up, like someone had stabbed him from the inside. He was writhing on the ground like a fish in the bottom of a boat. The paramedics were on him immediately but it was too late. It was his heart. They said it was because of his heart.

Sunday 25th November 23:34

The guy on reception at the hostel just told me: Spud’s girlfriend has been involved in an accident. The taxi skidded out of control. The police said the roads were dry - they couldn’t figure how or why it happened. Vicky went through the windscreen. Her hand was severed clean off. It was the right hand. The same hand that is flipping me the V in the photo I have of her and Spud.

And that was the last journal entry that Explorer III made. An hour later her body was discovered on the pavement outside the hostel. It would appear that she had thrown herself from her fifth floor window onto the concrete below. There was no note.

One other thing. The message she left on my answerphone. It’s probably nothing. But just in case anything should... Well I thought I should make a record of it so that all the facts in the case of Explorer III are known.

Hi doc? Um, I don’t know if this is recording. There’s like three beeps and then a gap and then another beep. Anyway, there’s some weird stuff going on here that I thought you should know about. I had this dream, and in it Mrs Lambert, that’s my old sports teacher, was chasing me, except it wasn’t really Mrs Lambert, it was this, like, hideous thing. And then when I was in Tesco’s I bumped into someone who looked exactly like Mrs Lambert and she asked me if I wanted some milk - she did that in the dream too - and I was just wondering whether, you know, this might have something to do with the drugs. I might still be hallucinating or something? I hope not. I’d be really pissed at you if there were side effects. I’ve pencilled you in on my shit list. Call me.