Everything is still just as wonderful as I remembered
For weeks, I’d been hoping to get ahold of some Psilocybin mushrooms and sort of turn back the tide of self-obliteration that always builds so much, especially when I’m not writing anything (good). Someone did, and we took them together, and life got better.
We took the first two grams, that were in the form of chocolate, and then immediately got naked and started a sex sprint. She got her nut from cunnilingus just before the weird lovelies (and a Pandora ad) kicked in, which was quite an accomplishment, but my tongue was losing itself to me by the end, and when actual screwing came ’round, there was no helping my brain, which had found greater delights everywhere.
We dressed again, went outside to enjoy the trip, and later we took two more grams. After a series of brilliant everythings, I knew I needed a piece of paper.
So, everything is still just as wonderful as I remembered it. And I can’t keep trying to hold on to them. Because they’re transitory, don’t you know?
I really liked the fractal yellow when I closed my eyes & the leaves above the brown-orange apartment.
And everything loves me. I remember the star now, the one who told me I was going to write something good some day.
The tree in this yard reminded me that every corner & instant of the universe is too full to ever wish your time on it done before it’s full.
Even sex is not as beautiful as the pattern on the ceiling.
My head is too wonderful to be able to write it all down.
The yard outside is about 10 feet below street level, with grass and weedy-flowers about knee-high and piney trees and a stone embankment. The porch is in the shade, but the rest is under the sun, and it’s warm. I’ve never tried shrooming during the day before, and it looked like I was watching The Hobbit, in that cartoony but just too vibrant to be real life-ness.
Sitting on the porch, a Neil Young song drifted in from some nearby lot, and she asked me what it was. I recognized it, named Young, but then another few moments went by and the music was no longer loud enough to hear.
‘That happened, right?’ I asked. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And then it went away?’ I asked. She laughed. ‘That’s a perfect way to describe it.’
It moves too fast. I love it, but it moves too fast (for writer me to keep up with).
Everything I forgot about the previous trips came back with perfect clarity, not just the euphoria, but the sensation of struggle between wanting to write down things to be remembered & appreciated later, and the actual joy of experiencing things without any mind toward preservation. So difficult; what sacrifice, wading away from contentment for analyzation.
Every 10 minutes is a new & happy universe.
Comparing one to another is sort of silly. Neither is better because at the time they were perfect.
Oh universe. Thank you for letting me run about within & as you. What a delight. Existence.
Even the letters dance brightly with coming-into-being. How dazzling! Everything really. Each & every iota is too marvelous oh look at you to ever describe but just to put you to paper is enough for you, leaping naked as fresh as Aphrodite from Poseidon’s froth.
She was more inclined to lie in grass & look at insects, but for me the best was to close my eyes a while then open them to see the same stuff new, getting vibrated by jackhammers pounding and buses rumbling.
The Kingdom of the sun is fun. Where green is blue & black. Skin turns white then creeps with life. Radiant. The sun makes you radiant and the earth shakes.
We decided, for some stupid reason, to go walk to the nearby playground. And that was all kinds of difficult. No eye-contact with anyone, following traffic laws was tough enough.
The playground was next to a softball game, and I wouldn’t let us go onto the jungle gym at first because I wanted to sit on some benches to figure out what the hell we were going to do. I thought two people sitting on a bench giggling maniacally was more ‘normal people’ than actually enjoying the equipment. It also took us a while to understand there were two softball games playing at the same time at opposites ends of the field.
But we did end up climbing up, and sitting up top at the slide entrance, waiting for the mothers with their babies to get off of the damn merry-go-round. They did. She ended up spinning on it while I pushed. I nodded at the white businessman in his suit as though we were both sober, typical white people out for the day. Around the same time, a black man meeting his friend kidded the other about not being from around this part of town, and both she and I assumed he was referring to us whities. He wasn’t.
I slowed then stopped the merry-go-round soon after that and said I was ready to go back to the house. We did, excursion complete.
We went to the playground. Which took a bit.
But the equipment was adult-sized, so that was right.
Time makes sense again (unfortunately).
(‘Oh you’re doing normal, people things. I forget.’)
Her housemate got home a little bit after we did. There was a lot of safe interacting with people then, but I didn’t write anything else down.
The only vivid recollection from this part is when the housemate asked me, ‘Are you crying?’
‘Yes,’ I said, tears streaming down my cheeks. ‘I’m wonderful.’
‘Why are you crying?’
‘Because I’m so happy.’
And I was.