I was smoking the queer stuff and I was feeling dizzy in the head. I was smoking the queer stuff and it had gone straight to my head. It was like someone had sneakily whacked me one from behind and I was seeing stars. I was seeing all sorts. You name it, I was seeing it. I was smoking the queer stuff and I was feeling pretty queer altogether and I didn’t know whether I was a-coming or a-going. Whether I was this way or that way. Or whatever way. What day of the week it was.
Smoking that old queer stuff, that old funny stuff. The whacky baccy. A bit of the old Bob Hope. Soap on a rope. Smoking away for all I was worth and it was like someone had knocked me hard on the head with a soft and squishy truncheon. Knocked me for six. That old queer stuff. Feeling a bit funny in the head. A bit queer in the head – things not fitting together the way they usually do. Spaces appearing. Cracks appearing and strange stuff coming out of the cracks. Stuff growing out of them. Unearthly vegetation. Strange blooms.
What a laugh, what a gas! Stepping carefully over the cracks in the pavement. You had to watch out for them. They were getting wider every second. And its not just the cracks, either. The air is starting to swim around me, forming and reforming into barely discernable shapes. Hidden depths appearing and then disappearing again. Swirling vortices of space-time. Folding and unfolding. Multidimensional spacecraft moving through the solid prismatic air. Barely visible. Only visible by the ripples they were causing in the upper atmosphere.
My head is expanding outwards rapidly. Exploding outwards at a terrific rate. There are whole cities there in my head. People coming and going. Doing their own thing. Living their lives. People walking in the park. Some walking fast, some walking slow. People sitting on the park benches; some talking, some not talking. A small boy throwing stones into the pond. Ripples moving outwards, spreading outwards. Outwards and outwards and outwards. Spiralling. Sunlight glinting off the concentric circles of disturbed space-time undulating ever outwards.
Smoking the queer stuff. Smoking the good stuff. You know it’s the good stuff by the way you feel that your consciousness is expanding outwards faster and faster even though everything is standing perfectly still. You know it’s the good stuff by the way that everything is suddenly happening all at once – and yet nothing is happening. You know it’s the good stuff because of the tumult that is roaring silently in your ears. A thousand Niagara falls are thundering down all around you – and yet you could hear a pin drop…
Faces everywhere. Even the faces have faces. Faces smiling at you but you’re not really there. That’s the secret. The sun wheel slowly turning overhead. The silent majesty of a thousand spiral galaxies all around you. Everything coming apart and yet somehow coming back together at the same time. Everything and nothing all at once. A light too bright to bear coming from inside me. The Limitless Light. There was no doubt about it – this was the good stuff alright…