Closer To Massachusetts

Dear Victoria Marie,

After this letter, maybe somewhere between, I’ll catch some sleep. Well, that’s if the weed overrides the cinnamon latte I made for myself and sip from in my backyard, 5:42PM, sun on my neck. If I lean back far enough I’m concealed from the beams.

It’s a trip that we both found feathers. but yours is especially unique for sure being the shade of red it is. I wonder if you’ll ever come across whichever bird it is shooting around in the air? I was on my way home when I picked up the crows quill and how I figure it that’s a sign of luck. You being the Queen Of Crows and my favorite color being red gives that merit.

It’s been quite a crazy ride so far and there’s so much more to experience. I should take a nap though…

When I was a kid I wanted to go into another realm or world if possible. Reality needed trap doors and filters which is where I got lost in games like Majora’s Mask and Kingdom Hearts. No wonder I enjoy tripping on psilocybin, it’s as if I was born to slip into that dimension and feel comfortable navigating through euphoria and emotional intensity, much like living but on a primal frequency with new neuronal activity and optical sensations you can realize sober. I find that after the many experiences I’ve had. It’s been a minute since I’ve been on a dose actually and I won’t be on micro adventures or high potency majors anytime soon. Though you saved my sanity the night I was almost losing it alone at my cousins. The title of your book I Think I’ve been Here Before kept me grounded because I had been. It helped me think that it’s all just a trip we’re forced to move through, good or bad and the other side is the other side, which is hopefully the cubensis side in good weather.

Life can be filled with the most profound moments if we look or notice. I was a teen, my step dad was driving us through the Arizona desert on our way back to Cali from Tombstone. I was focused on the mountains vaguely silhouetted by the moonlight. Its always been a pleasure to muse at the moving panoramic outside the car window, my ears had no interest in the played ass classic rock until Riders On The Storm began to play.

For the first time existence was more than it had ever been before. I was in a breathing fuckin film with a soundtrack and somewhere out on the road there was a hitcher with sinister intentions. I looked straight out the front pane scanning both sides of the road for any shape. It shifted my view on where cinema and score played into you psychologically and as a color in a motion picture. Travel grew to be tremendously epic, to the point of even a short trip down the freeway get’s me in this kind of zone I can’t really describe.

Morrisons mysticism, shamanistic views and lyrics influences the shit out of me. I’ve had this book Jim Morrison: Life, Death, Legend by Stephen Davis for a rough time as you can see, but it has endured and I’ll have to re-read it without question.

Things are slowly coming together for me to make an expedition to Mass. which has been an objective of mine for several years and day by day it becomes more tangible. I get butterflies and wiggle a bit anticipating on locking in the itinerary.

How are things? I know you’ve needed to fly solo for a spell and it get that way sometimes. Being surrounded by forest and nature isn’t a bad place to isolate and it would be nice to have the surroundings for escape, fortunately I have the cemetery, a place I feel most comfortable in and familiar with. Both sets of Grandparents brought me up to Green Hills every few weeks. I go at any chance and not only because society is pulling on my chords but also to honor the departed relatives I know and those late to my friends. Part of my drive to reach Boston is to pay a deep respect to Anne Sexton by buying a pack of Salem cigarettes and a couple shots of Vodka in salude at her graveside in Jamaica Plaine.

Other incentives point me over east but I’ll have to spare that for another letter. I hope you find yourself social again and get the time to reply.

Kah Kah goes this crow wishing you well,

Till you reappear, stay queen,




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