The lines Tristan snorted catapulted him over the edge of sanity. People stared when he howled at the moon and rammed his fingertips up his nostrils to get every last grain of cocaine he’d scraped from the white patterns left on the mirror. Fairly quickly, his mind became a black void of meaningless…

The young sous chef put down his book and pressed the remote for the oven. Soon, the head cook would arrive. Cutting the flour, he unconsciously emulated the star from the story tracing the same fat, strong lines for consumption.

“Pierre, what the hell are you doing?”

The Gateway Days

I remembered the couple next to us had a battle about whether they should drop acid. He decided to try it; she went to sit on the couch. We were young and stupid, though she wasn’t. Thankfully.

I was the first to hallucinate—a giant monster materializing before me. Immediately, I took cover, expecting a chase. The table ended up being the safe spot for us all; demons pursued the others as well.

What crazy times. But I would also count them as the best of times. We’d zone out for days. 

Who knew they were red flags for our future?


the ayahuasca
has left a bitter taste
in my mouth
like having licked dead leaves
from the jungle floor

…give it time, young one

oh, great shaman
you’ve transformed
before my eyes
into a bright, colorful fairy
and glowing in the dark

…it’s working now, enjoy your journey

Image credit; Lucas Pezeta at Pexels