Doing acid with my brother

Femi (Oba) asks if we want to drop. Hesitant because of previous commitments, I make the right decision. Me, my brother, Oba and his brother. Two pairs of brothers.

We trip balls. I mean really balls. That shit people say is true. Sacred geometry, energy, walls changing colors. The blinds were amazing. There’s a huge chalk wall in Oba’s apartment that Oba has let people decorate for about a year. It comes to life. It takes me on a tour and plays a show for me in the changing light of the laptop screen (my brother is playing the new Civilization game, which starts when you’re packing up your spaceship to find and inhabit an undiscovered planet. Perfect for tripping, right?)

Walking out on the pier was walking backwards on a moving sidewalk from the airport while the water passed through the evenly spaced plastic slots between the grating. It takes a long ass percieved time on my end to get all the way out here to the lightless wooden wall of the pier’s end, where I look at all colors of the visible light spectrum dance and fade seamlessly in kaleidoscope patterns across the surface of the black waves.

The sections of concrete forming the sidewalks of Key West become the ridges of a quarter on an ever-increasing horizon that keeps gliding under our feet. We both crack up and now she is gonna imagine this from here on out every time she walks down the sidewalk.

We go back to our boat. We try to sleep next to each other. When I close my eyes, the visuals come back and my fingers wander. The designs I’m drawing all over her shoulder and back must be the right ones. Our passions get the best of us. Twice. After she is asleep, I write this.

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How cool is alcohol? This magic little potion that comes in all colors and flavors that gives you a warm confidence and makes people flow and glow until they’ve had too much. When someone carefully sets down a round of dark shots, it echoes the future historian’s description of our ceremonial methods to get hammered.