I...an acid of illusion

The day I was born, for my dear Albert; was the day when I never knew I would become what I am now. Something I never intended to become, but became, a servant of the delusive brain. From decades I have been showing people what they could have never seen without me, for something was never so beautiful than me before; something which could switch realities. I feel proud, as how a small me, a mere chemical can keep the reality from fusing with the beautiful mind.

But as time flew by, I became an excuse, for the people who felt reality is no real anymore, for they are good when altered. I laughed at them; felt they were the one to fall prey to the acute human psychedelic evolution, an access to forget everything else except the universe. They would say that I made them feel good, I made them see the dead rising, the chair dancing, the floor melting, and the sky falling. I laughed for I could fool them so easily. They would say that I changed their perception, brought them closer to god. But, that bewildered me usually, thinking that they had lost their independence. I felt heavy as I could see many helpless creatures leaning on me to be near God, near spirituality, what a burden that was.

I always imagined, being in the mouth of a young white girl and a dying widowed man, how do I help them? The answer would come when they would feel that their brains are blocked, when they know nothing called realism and when their views are switched. But I feel I did nothing, though kept them from reality for six hours, I just had them somewhere else they didn’t know. The girl would say she is flying with time, and she knows where she is not. She could see the blood blue and the sky red, she was calm, as she has Jesus near her, pulling her to safety. The dying would say that he can go now with peace, as it’s a pain to die seeing what is real, and what you have been watching since you were born.

The poet said that I can get him to places he had never been before. He could see his mother caressing his hair, though being dead long back. The pages were talking to him, welcoming him to drown into them.

The six strings were colourful for the musician; the notes adored him, they seemed to him like a rainbow, coming out of the sharp threads of steel.

Sometimes I feel I am just an easier way for the folks to connect to their reality, in an unreal way. An easy tool born accidently, showing them what they actually are, nothing but a part of the gigantic universe. I prove myself when they have themselves limitless, out of time and space, exploring nowhere they know.

Some got killed, the actuality hidden behind its opposite turns too hideous when I adore my lovers. They don’t come to know the real depth below a beautiful surreal pond, and jump to be with God from then. But my lovers never understand, it’s not a one sided love. Ever since Albert drowned himself in my surrealism, he never came to know that I drowned himself in his reality. Since then, I have known the deepest truth of every man who accepts me; the deepest secrets of their mind are born again, a mind gifted by God. But for me, the man himself is an excuse, to see and to feel what’s real, and I am in love with their reality. In fact, they are a drug for me, just like cancer... spreading in me, like an addiction to know them from deep within. They know all my secrets, now it’s time for me to know theirs. Now I know everything about them, what they are made of and what ends them.

But, I still remain in deep confusion, was I born for the man to get him to the surreal, or was it just for me to know what man really is.

- SHOUVIK rryan ROY