Psilocybe Cubensis

            It was like something out of a movie, a walking perfume salesman.  We were just at the bus stop waiting.  I didn't have the heart to tell him they all smelled like shit, so I sat there while he sprayed them on my wrists.  It burned my skin, probably not a good sign.  He told us they went for eighty at the mall, but that he'd hook us up for twenty five.  He had to win a competition for his sales company.  Yeah right.  He seemed to sense a lost cause and turned to his left and opened his mouth to give the same damn schpeel to the next guy, who stopped him before a single word could get out.  He held up a personal of Taaka and proceeded to explain that he'd rather pour that all over himself than get a single spray of that crap.  He thanked us for our time, and was gone, always the gentleman.

            I look in my wallet, just a twenty and ten.  No way to get on the bus with that.  I turn to my right and as if he has any change I could borrow.  He just holds up his bus pass and shakes his head.  Of course he doesn't, why'd I even ask?  Hey, you, I hear from the bench below me.  I look down and the man with the Taaka presses a dollar into my hand.  I mumble a thank you, shaken up a little bit.  He needed that dollar a lot more than I did, I was sure of that much.  I thank him again.  No problem, just pass on the favor, he tells me, and hopped on his bus. 

            Where the fuck is he?  The concrete bricks are already turning into a lifeless tide pool and I'm starting to not like that lady across the street, her and her damn dog that looked as though it had spawned itself from the very heart of her essence, and not in a good way.  And then he finally arrived, brought there by his loser minions.  When asked, "where are you going", they'd respond, "shit, down the block."  And that was it, and it was the truth.

            The rocks in the road were different than the ones up at the concrete bricks.  They were small and colorful.  I wondered where they came from, what purpose they'd served before their role as a surface to propel myself down the hill and into the wilderness.  Get off the damn road, they'd tell me, but I couldn't.  Well I didn't want to.  The further down we traveled the more diverse and extraordinary the rocks in the road became.  I tried to tell them this.  They responded with, get off the damn road, really get off the fucking road, there's a car coming.

            And then it was moot, and there was no more road, only grass.  We walked.  Past picnics, children, parents, and dogs, I wondered if they could tell.  Probably not.  So we continued, onward towards some destination we were sure to change through no conscious thought.  The sky wasn't blue anymore.  I wondered if it had ever been, at least today.  And onwards we went.

            His face was distorted, mutated, rearranged, even.  I had to catch myself right then just to stop myself from losing it all.  Then he was back and I could breathe again.  We kept on walking, but things were still moving.  The bark on trees, ripples in the water that I knew weren't there.  I wanted to go back to the inlaid concrete cobble stones where it all began.  I missed them.  The way they looked like sand under a thin layer of water. 

            It poured out, unrestricted, as if the very floodgates of my life blood had opened releasing the liquid that propelled me forward through this journey.  And it wouldn't stop.  It didn't want to, and who was I to tell it any different.  I turned around, back up the path from which we had come and to the building who's presence I could only now fully appreciate.  What if this had happened an hour down the road, once we had truly entered the wild?  Well I wouldn't be wearing a white tee anymore, that's for sure.  It would have looked like a God damn Jackson Pollack.  People would ask if I was ok, and what would I tell them?  Everything's fine, just a little bloody nose, but I may have lost my mind, have you seen it?  In the end it stopped, but left with me a damn lingering feeling, like a cancer patient who beats it the first time, but knows it damn well might come back, with a vengeance.

            I was parched by the time we had reached the top of the hill, the trees were swaying in the distance, but there was no wind.  So I pulled out the grapefruit I had brought from home.  He told me it was a blood orange, and I laughed at him.  I began to peel it, which turned out to be more difficult of a task than I had anticipated.  It's definitely a blood orange he kept on muttering, more to himself than to me, definitely a blood orange...  I had enough, so I put twenty on it, I'd have put my damn life on it if I thought he'd pay up, but I figured twenty was reasonable.  I divided it up and we came to the universal conclusion that it was in fact, a grapefruit.  He then told me he was never, ever, going to pay me.  I told him he was a dick.

            Then we reached the caves, arguably the whole reason we'd come this way in the first place.  I didn't want to know what lived inside them, they looked fine from right here.  So we crossed the river bed, climbing across the trunk, who's bark was no different than the others, moving, and dripping.  Below my feet was nothing short of death, a move to one side or the other and the smooth river stones would claim at least one of my bones.  I had plenty, but, I have always been a selfish one and my bones I liked to keep to myself, and intact.

            The tables were the same as years before when we had ventured here on a similar outing.  They were not, however, as inviting as they had once been so far in the past.  They brought with them nothing good, only grey skies and translucent hands.  They grabbed us, unwilling to let us go.  Eventually there was no fight left in any of us, and we simply succumb to their magnetic attraction.  I could see blue skies in the distance, where I wanted to be, but this was a dream that seemed as though it was simply not meant to be.

            A path upwards led to a strange carousel, enclosed in glass, and empty.   The grass outside seemed more inviting than the dull interior, so that is where we lay.  The sky put on a show for us, filled with checker boards, and swirling lines, shades of blue and white and unimaginable clouds.  Whether it was hours or minutes that we lay there I may never know, but eventually the show stopped and we moved back behind the carousel.  The sky had returned to its previous grey, to match the drab appearance of the concrete parking lot that surrounded us.

            On the ground I found a flower, or maybe it was a weed, that looked normal enough a first glance.  I picked it up, and once in my hand I was surprised at my ability to see strait down into the center of it.  It was as if there were nothing else in the world, just the yellow spiraling center going onward into the infinite.  I found myself wondering what it might taste like, so I ate it. 

            He passes me the bag of cashews, and I eat a handful, thankful that at least one person came prepared.  Then I eat another, probably far more than my share.  The shrubs rose on either side of us like walls, almost creating a living cave for us to walk through.  Then there was an obstacle: a large puddle, and an even larger surrounding area of mud blocked or passage forward.  It hadn't rained recently, in fact, it had been uncharacteristically dry for the past week, so its presence perplexed me.  Never the less we pressed forward.  I got a running start and jumped as far as I could, believing, for a second, that I may in fact clear it, only to land half way across, my foot covered in mud.

            And then we were on a road again, leading inevitably to the place where it all began, like one great big wheel of time.  The road had been right next to us the whole time, a mere hundred yards away, separated from us by dense forest, and completely out of reach.  Where it all began wasn't the same as before, and I realized that it never would be.  The cobblestones were dull and lifeless, and I could only now appreciate this place for what it truly was, simply nothing special.      

            The wind wasn't blowing here, but way off in the distance up in the jet stream someone was huffing and puffing because the clouds were peeling from the sky, cutting into the deep orange and purple of our polluted atmosphere like daggers.  Did it really look that way?  That was the problem with moments like these.  Judging by the bystanders observing the same sight as us, it became apparent it wasn't just me.  Like baseball, it was just a great way to enjoy a beautiful summer day.  Not that it was summer, or that it was even a nice day.  And I hated baseball.               

            The darkness was closing in around us as we traveled downwards towards civilization.  My mind was finally mine again.  Well, as much mine as it had ever been.  I was starving, and craving something more substantial than flower.  Maybe some chips.  I wasn't too worried about my health, not today.  It was finally all over, but I still owe somebody a dollar.