For the chaos. I see you.

Poem 1: Whiskey

He asked “So why do they call you Whiskey?”
“Killing makes me thirsty for the stuff” I replied
He died
I finished my whiskey before he hit the floor
I paid the bartender and headed for the door
I knew in this town I would no longer be a guest
Several shots spread across his chest
All because he called me queer
He could not let go of his fear

I shot him down
I felt down
I drank my whiskey down
And then I left town

I abhor killing…

Chapter 1: Beings from another realm

It had been months since I last saw Michael John and Gan. We knew of a place in the desert with enough peyote to feed the world; I had arranged to meet them there. It had been too long since we had last gazed up at the stars and down into our souls.

After a long horse ride I found the place. It was only through knowledge of certain rock formations that I was able to circumnavigate this alien terrain. The ground as well as most of the surrounding topography was a rusty red. Green bushes, shrubs, and cacti had been sporadically placed over the blood orange desert by some unknown force. The great wide teal upon orange open expanse seemed infinite. It was only broken up by the changing rock formations; mountains and canyons of varying shapes and sizes. This desert inspired awe. It was breathtaking.

I saw their horses parked by a shallow body of water. Nearby I heard and saw our duck splashing about, quacking and flapping its wings. The duck joined us many years ago after we won a beauty contest. Although just seemingly a duck, it signified the formation of the Beautiful Triumvirate. We each took turns looking after it. It was more than just an ordinary duck. It had a powerful connection to the three beasts; our horses. We all rode Mustang horses. I immediately recognised Gan’s small horse. It was equal parts red and equal parts white. It was a curiosity, a strange looking beast, but it had proven itself time and time again. Gan was small in size but not in stature and I guess the same could be said about Gan’s horse. Michael John’s horse on the other hand was light brown and by far one of the biggest horses I had ever seen. Michael John was a big person and so it did not look strange to see him riding this great beast. I parked my horse next to the other two horses. The horses acknowledged the return of their family member. My horse was an average sized beast. It was dark brown. We had never named our horses. In our line of work we did not expect them to last so long, but the three beasts had been with us for years.

Michael John and Gan were in the distance frying duck eggs under some shade. I saw them seeing me in the distance. They pretended not to see me. Or perhaps I had finally attained a mastery of the ninjutsu discipline shinobi-iri (to sneak into). But then again I could have been too far away for them to see me. I can see them, but perhaps they cannot see me. You see I was born with hypersensitivity. My hypersensitivity allows me to see, smell, taste, hear, and feel more than the average human. So it was highly possible that I could see them without them yet being able to see me. Do you see?
“Hey Michael John! Hey Gan! How are you guys?” I welcomed.
They did not turn their heads to look at me. Their focus was on the eggs frying.
“Hey Whiskey!” Michael John said with a certain familiar nonchalance.
“Hey Whiskey” Gan added with not an ounce of excitement.
“Did you guys not see me approaching?” I foolishly questioned.
“Yeah we did” Gan said coldly while frying the eggs.
“We saw you parking your horse. I was wondering how long it would take before you spotted us” Michael John spoke with his usual smile.
Not once had they ever welcomed me back with glee; every time they would just act as if I had never even been gone. And that was fine by me. We just picked up from wherever we left off.
“Eggs?” Gan asked, finally revealing a smile.
“Yes please” I replied.
No longer did I need to roam. I was home.

…

Taking peyote is like taking water. You need it to live. It challenges your perceptions. It allows you to see beyond what you believe to be the truth, and the actual truth. It is no walk in the park. It is not for the faint hearted. It is for those that seek to challenge themselves, for those who seek to be better, and for those who dare to dream of a brighter future; a future for everyone and not just themselves.
Human beings have been taking psychedelics since the dawn of time. These natural chemicals have shaped our evolution. They have allowed us to see beyond our false perceptions.
Our brains filter out the information that we perceive. Psychedelics turn off the filters. It expands the realm of experiences available to the user beyond that which is possible in ordinary consciousness.

After ingesting the mescaline and waiting for it to take effect we each went our separate ways and wandered off into the desert that was illuminated only by the night’s sky. The stars hung over the desert landscape like some sort of sparkling shimmering net. The full moon floated through the sky like a mysterious pale celestial being. The beauty and the splendour of the heavens began to open up. I could not help but glimpse the shooting stars. They hurtled across the night’s sky like a flash of changing colours originating from some unknown painter streaking a brush speckled with the most vibrant colours against a diamond incrusted black canvas. Travelling from who knows where… they fall from their heaven descent where they turn to shining shimmering colourful star dust as they break apart completing their journey. Everything was beginning to shimmer and shine so bright.

The colours! It had already started. The insanity was beginning to take hold as my perceptions and biases were being torn down. I was beginning to see the world for how it was. My eye sight increased. My hearing increased. My sense of smell increased. Everything increased. I was sensing everything. There were no inhibitors filtering information. The filters on my brain were switching off. With the flicking of the switches the madness came. The madness was an information overload; unfiltered reality. My brain would soon adapt to the madness; this new reality. Soon the madness would feel normal, and normal would be nothing but a hazy distant dream in a now all too crystal clear realm.
HOW was I and WHO was I before my first mescaline experience? I was a different person. And the person I am now is on the cusp of changing.

My mind began to wander. My mind began to wonder.

For the briefest of infinite moments I saw the universe for what it was. There was no bad, there was no good. There were only things. We perceive the good and we perceive the bad. But nothing is good and nothing is bad. Our sensory receptors allow us to perceive the world around us, but what we feel… that is all subjective. Tell me what good is and tell me what bad is and you have told me something intangible. It is not real. We only perceive it to be real.
Our limited perceptions limit us. We praise morality as the finest achievement of human kind, yet morality is subjective and constantly changes. Some people hate others of different skin colour. Some people hate others because of their gender or their religion. And people hate us because we wear what we want to wear. It is not their fault entirely. They were born that way. They cannot see how wrong their perception of gender specific clothing is. Gender specific clothing is one more wall separating people from being equal.

I think I forgot to mention something… My mind is not linear. It has been disconnected and rewired. It has become non-linear like the universe. There is no beginning or end. There is only the infinite.

What was I saying? There was everything. All the answers. But my mind was a basin not big enough to take in all the flowing information at once. The capacity of my mind was much too small.

An intelligent person is someone who realises they know nothing. They are not afraid to admit their lack of knowledge. They continually learn, and with each added bit of information it becomes more apparent to them that as an intelligent life-form we know nothing. We are limited by the biological machinery that makes us up. We can never know all truths. We only see what we see. We don’t see the universe for what it is. Our limits in knowledge make us biased. Evolution has made us biased to better survive. Our brains fill in the blanks. We fill the blanks with fiction because we cannot know all the facts. We are biased. We stereotype. It is easier to make judgements on someone on their appearance than it is to actually get to know them. The reason we stereotype is to make the world a more digestible place. Making judgements on people based on their appearance allows you to easily group people. Stereotypes are rarely true. Everyone is an individual. We are all different. Some of us just don’t realise it. We are also biased in many other ways. Our biases arise from our lack of knowledge. Our brains attempt to fill in the blanks. This happens all the time. The brain is often wrong. Our perceptions are biased. You will never have a true thought as all your thoughts and feelings are biased. The truth is you can never know the truth. Not in this form. You must realise your limitations. You must see your biases. You must become a blank sheet. Forget what you know. Most of it is wrong. Start from the beginning continually realising your limitations and seeing your biases. When you do this you can surpass your limitations, you can tear down your biases. You will be awed as you see the universe in all its wonder. It is enlightenment through intelligence. All you need to do is know that you know nothing.

Nothing. Something. What am I? Am I nothing that thinks I am something? Or am I a something that can only see nothing? Perhaps we are not real; it is what we feel which is the reality…

I stumbled through the warped strange alien (more so now than ever) landscape in awe at everything from the sand and dirt on the ground to the stars and moon in the night’s sky. At the height of my madness a portal to another realm began to open against a flat rock formation. It was more so a window than a portal. I could not enter. I could only peer in. It was the same window I had peered into before during previous moments of drug induced visions. I stared into it for an immeasurable amount of time. The window into another realm would only appear to me when I was alone. I do not know if Michael John or Gan saw the same thing as they wandered and wondered through the desert of life alone. I never asked them. Nor did I ever mention the window to anyone. What I saw through this window was incomprehensible. It would be pointless to try and describe this phenomenon with words but I will do so anyway. It was not what I saw that was incomprehensible. It was what I felt. I would always sense some other beings staring back at me; beings from another realm. They watched me as I attempted to peer into their world. They were gods beyond anything I had ever seen. The place that they resided was not of material matter. It was not physical. They exist in the layer that connects everything together; the hidden space which our negligent eyes do not perceive. Eventually the window began to close. They would still be watching me even though I could no longer glimpse them.

“I want it all!” I demanded towards the flat rock formation where the window had previously appeared.
There were no answers, only secrets. One told at a time.

I wandered, wondering what it all meant if anything. I found a small black pool of water. It looked like an endless void. I peered down into the void and I saw myself looking back. Another portal? No it was a reflection. My reflection. The few and far between clouds that hung in the sky obscured the moonlight briefly preventing the apparition of my reflection from appearing. The world was beginning to make sense again. My mind was adjusting to the madness. It was time to return back to the campsite.

When we met up again at the campsite we were no longer the people who had walked out into the desert night. We had all changed. We had not been gone for any specific length of time. We had been gone for an eternity. I helped Michael John add blaze to the smouldering camp fire as Gan lay on the ground staring up towards the stars and the infinite. The fire became ablaze as is was my mind. I glanced over at Gan. Gan seemed lost in space. I used this time to admire Gan’s donkey hair moustache. It was magnificent, thick and bushy. Better than any moustache I could ever grow. Gan was incapable of growing any facial hair; the moustache was a wig, except for the face. Gan wore the moustache wig to fit in.
When it came to beards I was king! Michael John may have been able to outgrow me, but thankfully he liked to stay clean shaven. I am not sure if I could handle the competition. Beard envy is one of my biggest crimes. When it came to beards I was safe for now.
“What you thinking about Whiskey?” Gan asked without turning to look.
Beards. I was thinking about beards.
I did not want share this information with Gan so I lied.
“Just the nature of the universe and all that stuff…” I replied
“What do you think it all means” Gan said out loud still staring up into the infinite space.
The secrets! The secrets those from the other realm had told me.
“What do you think what means?” Michael John asked for clarification.
“The meaning of life to us must be subjective” I spoke.
“That is very nihilistic” said Michael John.
“It is only subjective to us. We cannot see the truth. It is beyond our words and beyond our description” I retorted.
“So you do not know?” Michael John struck.
“Not in this form!” I blowed back.
“Good answer!” Michael John said with a cheeky smile.
Michael John was of African heritage. The moonlight lit up his dark black skin. He reminded me of a fierce deity I once knew; a mighty king who fell from the sky who had told me we would one day meet again on a full moon to conclude our business. I was of European heritage. My skin was as pale as ever under the moonlight. It would be easy to mistake me for a corpse. Gan was a Native American. The moonlight danced off Gan’s splendid brown skin. Gan was also a woman. Gan just happens to ‘dress like a man’ but that is not relevant to the story. It is as relevant as the fact that Michael John and I are both currently wearing dresses.
Michael John wears dresses because:
“I enjoy the fashion!”
Gan wears trousers because:
“It is comfortable.”
I wear dresses because:
“It is complicated.”
We do not call it cross-dressing. We do not believe in gender-specific clothing as I mentioned before in my mad ramblings. Men can wear dresses, just like women can wear trousers. Clothes are clothes. You wear what feels comfortable. You wear what you want to wear, not what others tell you to wear. You need to learn to tolerate and not be offended or shocked by someone’s appearance. Forget what you know! We are all individuals, and we are all human-beings!
“What are you writing?” Michael John asked.
The idea for a poem had struck me. I couldn’t help but write it down.
“A poem” I said trying to sound indifferent.
“Can I see it?” Michael John questioned.
“Show it Whiskey!” Gan forcefully added.
My arm was being twisted. I passed the poem to Michael. He read it out.

A Joke

Why is a man in a dress a joke?
I really do not understand most folk
The society they live in was constructed by the dead
From the broken schools and corrupt politicians they are spoon fed
Lies and ignorance from a non-inclusive society
Anyone outside of the rules receives notoriety
We have preconceived ideas of gender specific clothes
But these preconceived ideas only bring us woes
We need freedom of what to wear
Because this intolerance is too much to bear

After he finished reading it he passed it back.
“Subpar!” he exclaimed.
“It is a work in progress!” I protested.
“No no it is very good I mean” Michael John said smiling.
“It is not the worst poem I have ever heard” Gan added.
“I mean there is a nice message but the rhyme scheme is a bit…” Michael John said still smiling furiously.
“Yeah yeah, it is just a work in progress, an idea, a concept, something not fully formed” I pleaded.
“You know what Whiskey! It might have been good. But I am just a bit too far into the nether to fully appreciate such works” Gan admitted.
We talked a lot of nonsense the rest of the night while staring up at the stars. The campfire warmed us. The desert wind cooled us. Our blankets comforted us, and the stars… they awed us.

…

It was like waking up to the first morning of the rest of my life. I woke up to the sound of Michael John and Gan playing their guitars to an audience of the duck. I could not play any instruments so I joined the duck and enjoyed their performance. I had residual synaesthesia from the mescaline; chromethesia; I was seeing sound in colour. The sky acted as pale blue canvas as Michael John and Gan painted it. I watched the music dance. It was a beautiful morning. My mind was clear, and my thoughts were pure.

I do not think I have mentioned who we are yet. We are the Beautiful Triumvirate. We ride around on the three beasts collecting bounties through Texas and New Mexico. Business is profitable in these parts. Our next bounty will be our biggest bounty to date. We always take mescaline before a big bounty. This time is no exception. The mescaline sharpens our senses. It allows us to see and hear more. It keeps us alive. The after effects from the mescaline can last anywhere from a few days to a few weeks.

We were heading to a town. It would be about three quarters of a day’s ride from here. We would arrive before sunset. Just enough time to book a room and hit the local liquor hole. Michael John and I were still wearing our dresses. I would be taking mine off before I reached the town. I occasionally switch between wearing trousers and wearing a dress. Michael John though always dressed fancy. He was stronger than me. I could no longer take the looks I got in public. I had become afraid of dressing like myself. The last time I wore a dress in public I killed a person. I abhor killing…

Cowboy hats on, we set out on horseback; two men wearing dresses and a woman wearing trousers. We had no idea that trouble was right around the corner… but then again it always is.

# TO BE CONTINUED...

@RiskDebonair
Irish Writer, Poet, & Lover

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