Why do drugs when the brain is so exaggeratedly colorful and nimbly wacky all on its own! I’ve always felt mighty fortunate that there’s such a party under my hat; not a moment of boredom in sight. Interpreting and making actual use of all the magnificent moonbeams and nutty notions, well, that’s another bag of baloney altogether, but at least the ingredients are there for the taking.

Riding bareback on butterflies and curling up under Enkianthus umbrellas, I learn so many things that no one else has known; how to pass along the knowledge then becomes the deeper part of the puzzle. Shall I present my in-head info as it appeared on my mental screen, in all its glory, and let the world in on my secrets, or is it better to release the brilliance in smaller doses, as poems and pictures, as though it were all mere artistry?

The mind, one could say, reels. Me, I just try to hang on and go along for the ride. Success is varying. Sometimes it might be simpler to go the magic-mushroom route and pretend the stuff that springs from my innermost is someone or something else’s figment. Fewer questions to be answered, one would think. But I rather enjoy the leaping and wriggling that happen both internally and as an external expression of such fruitful foolishness, so perhaps I ought not to entertain such an extreme premise, but rather stick to my stupendous life of lily-lapped loveliness.

Sorry, Big Pharm, I’ll remain on the Funny Farm instead, thank you very kindly. Remarkably fewer side effects, if you don’t count the quizzical inspections by many a well-meaning Normal person or the occasional inability to maintain a facade of ordinariness when it should have been particularly useful. The only mind-altering meds I need are supplied to me by equally offbeat thinkers lending me a loving sip of the nectar of their own merry musings. I thank you all, and invite you to share in this best sort of madness any time you like. Welcome to my psychedelia!