Psychedelic Tales; a Novel unfolding?

Like every great story this one begins a bit differently than the average tale. The location is in fact in the mind of the writer, which is me. Not in a summer, winter, spring, autumn, morning, night or day, where the wind blows, the sun shines and the birds sing beautiful melodies to pull you ever deeper into this epic journey. In fact, it starts with a scream. A cry for help or a middle finger to the almighty male god character we cooked up somewhere around the campfire, a long long time ago, in a far away land…

No, it’s nothing like that. It’s a true story in fact, covered in just the right doses of fiction to make you scratch your head in wonder. Where does the truth stop and the fiction take over? The truth begins when he screamed at the sky: ‘I don’t know! I don’t know! I really don’t!‘ He was an active and conscious explorer of the psyche, dreams and the collective memory. An integrated wise young man who is well traveled and successful in his own way. How did he end up in this backwards spiral? ‘Is there anything else to discover, to learn in life? I tried everything! He screamed, and continued…: Why does the world still look the same!? Most people reach this point in their lives unconsciously. It might be expressed in a burnout, midlife crisis or in a more conscious spiritual crisis like this peculiar case.

Whether this scream was an insult to the sky, or a cathartic, quasi-mystical divine intervention, remains a mystery. *Long sentences slipping through my fingers, he wrote. Keeping a dream journal is one of many methods he uses to exercise his creativity. *Some nights my unconscious tells me incredible stories; truly unbelievable. How am I to expect anyone to read it, let alone entertain and inspire the masses? Beyond my conscious imagination‘. What does this mean, I asked myself as I wrote it down right here:

Dear Dream Journal.
I used to see the difference so clearly, between my regular journal and the one I strictly use for my dreams. 03:51, Saturday night:

Just woke up after a short voyage induced by the devils weed, more commonly known as grass, Mary Jane, ganja, marijuana or weed. It felt like a serpent slithered up and down my spine. The problem was that it seemed ethereal, archetypal and thus non- physical in nature. How to approach this situation rationally? Well, you simply don’t…

Even though this journey was close to exactly what I wished for a few hours ago, it came unexpected. It hit me with the weirdness of an alien abduction and the exhilaration of a cosmic rollercoaster ride. One with many awards on its name. Winner of the craziest theme park ride in the known universe competition. As I accepted the award and held it up to the sky, I realized I was inside my own story. My hands were still flying over the keyboard, somewhere far in the distance. It seemed as if I was deep inside myself, looking down through my eye sockets from high up in the control room of my brain. Suddenly my perspective shifted, again. I now found myself crouching behind my chair, looking at a blank page. Am I going to pass out? I have to write a story, I feel it’s important. Why, I wonder. Why?

The next day.
Craving any form of creative expression, I went for a walk. I sat down on a cold bench. The cold helps me to ground myself, come back to reality. What to write? I brought my gear for a reason… I heard a loud noise, looked in the direction where it came from, and saw an old woman lying on the ground. She seemed entangled with a bicycle. She fell, of course! Another man noticed the incident and was also on his way to help her, only I was way closer. I offered my help, but she was fine and told me to fuck off. A bit rude, a voice in my head said. Well, where do you want me to go, I asked her nicely. Her face turned red, so I asked if she felt embarrassed. ‘It even happens to young and fit people like me’, I said, hoping it would provoke some more poorly channeled aggression. Unfortunately she was clever and ignored me. She climbed back on her bicycle and took off…

2 thoughts on “Psychedelic Tales; a Novel unfolding?

    1. Thanks! It’s an infinite journey like any other art form. You can always be more creative, wiser, smarter and so forth. You can’t really get better after you have a solid foundation.


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