a flimsy floo of fluttered filagree

Life. Age. Time. Trauma. Trips. And transcendence.

I sometimes thank Dog (fake form of God) that I had experiences with LSD as a teenager. As pent up and distraught as I was with home life, it was a respite.

Not much to look back on now. Just faded recollection of hallucinatory visions. Cackling madly with a cigarette ash falling lapside as friends and strangers laughed amongst each other – some form of Psychedelia music playing in the background.

Fast drives down Lindbergh Boulevard. Tall can in hand. Speed limits broken.

It broke free the mind of that of a rigidly raised teenager. Turning myself into more of a loose, idealistic, and perhaps overtly optimistic 90s teen with a penchant for words, instead of some “do it the straight/proper” way mindset.

But it all worked out. Sorta

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