He was one of those magic mushroom messiahs, the kind that shrivel in the sunlight. He told me that I was the net prophet of some psychedelic fishing expedition. He zapped me with the electric cool aid - all 50,000 volts. Man, he magnetised me, too much for my fragile mind, broken eggshell everywhere. The pieces crunched and crackled beneath my feet. Jagged little splinters bit my soles, but you gotta break a few eggs...
The host with the most, the most holy of ghosts - he cramped my style and rattled my can. I adopted unnatural dimensions. My in was out - my out was in. If I’d known there was a road I’d have stuck to it, but I was way off the beaten track. No master, no guru, no teacher - just a great push from the universal - a mainline to the source of everything. It’s like that elusive first high and the law of diminishing returns. There is no repetition in the pattern of things. There are snakes in this garden, but that’s the price of perfection. I speak in generalities, but the devil is in the detail.
“I bring you a message from your sponsor - you are tuning into the wrong channel” The seven tongues of god wrapped around my head. The chaos of the self gave birth to a new star. I wish I’d known the road was there - I’d have stuck to the road. If this was not the word of god, then god never spoke at all.
Them screw faces always drag me down. They are the fools and think foolish things. Back biters and scallywags play in the dirt, so they think dirt. I carry the fire, the fire within - to light the way for others who wander off the path. The magic mushroom messiah showed me how.