Strawberries, cherries and an angel's kiss in spring
My summer wine is really made from all these things

‘Did you get it? Did you get it?’ Keek was excited to the level of joy of a small child in a candy shop.
‘Yes, I've got it,’ Rudolf replied, reaching into his pocket for a small bag of metal foil; he dumped the small cartons on his hand and waved it in front of his eyes.
A month ago, they had arranged for an entertaining LSD intake, and as this was Keek's first voyage, he decided to sacrifice his own sensations and act as guardian and guide this time. The trip wasn't without a little grumbling. When he announced to his spouse that he needed a empty home for his psychedelic experiments, she threw him a look in which one could easily make out the ancient question of pissed off people to the max: "You must have swapped heads with a dick?". In the end, however, he managed to placate her with a visit to a luxury spa.
The weather was good. The wind didn't blow too much, the sun didn't roast too much, and raindrops didn't think of falling to the ground. Keek stared at the outstretched hand as if mesmerized.
'Fuck it! You only die once.' he sighed and put one of the cartons in his mouth, "Shall I suck? Yes? Suck without swallowing?
‘More or less.’ Rudolf tried to mask his amusement, after all, they were starting serious experiments of an existential nature.
‘It doesn't work, it doesn't work at all,’ the research subject paced nervously around the table reaching for a glass of water every now and then.
‘Keek, calm down. It must take some time.’
‘Time, time, time. How much already? An hour?’
‘Ten minutes so far.’
‘It doesn't make sense. Someone pressed you with a cheap product.’
‘You have to wait at least half an hour, or preferably the whole hour,’ he looked curiously at his buddy's behavior, waiting for the first signs of the action of the acid.
At some point Keek stopped pacing around the living room. He stood motionless in the middle of the fluffy carpet and began to watch the humming air conditioner. ‘I have to pee,’ he said suddenly and disappeared behind the toilet door. A minute, two, five - the standard time for emptying the bladder passed. Rudolf listened to the sounds coming from the loo. Five, ten - after a quarter of an hour, he heard the sound of water being drained, followed by silence again. One minute, two, three, five, ten...
‘Dude? Can you tell me how to turn off the water?’ came from behind the door. He went to the bathroom and saw a confused colleague staring at the tap.
‘How does the damn thing work?’
‘Ordinarily, you need to turn,’ he replied, unscrewing the tap and returned to the room. After another quarter of an hour, the head of a fresh psychonaut leaned out from behind the doorframe. ‘Sorry, can you turn it off?’ he sighed in full understanding and complied with his colleague's request.
Keek paced back and forth around the apartment; squatted in front of the computer only to recoil from it a moment later in disgust; took an inquisitive look at the air conditioner, humming alarmingly, and alternated between - laying down on the couch and standing at attention in front of the window, staring out at the roaming branches of a young tree; skipping to the next tracks on iTunes, alternately turning off the music altogether. Finally, he stood in front of the mirror in the hallway and stared at his face.
‘Holy shit, what a hideous dude,’ he chuckled in disgust. He sat down in a crouch in the middle of the fluffy carpet and repeated ‘It's not working, not working at all.’
‘At all? Can't you feel anything?’ Rudolf looked at him inquisitively.
‘A little bit of your mouth is waving strangely, a little bit of a headache, and besides, I would eat something. Why don't we go to McDonald’s?’
‘Outside? To the people? Are you sure?’
‘Well, I'm hungry.’
They got into the car and drove to the nearest fast food place. Keek walked confidently to the counter and ordered food. After a while he picked up the tray and carried it to the table. They ate in silence.
‘How long has it been?’
‘Five hours.’
‘Will there be anything else?’
‘Probably not. It's more like the end.’
‘I don't understand. There was supposed to be space, an expedition into the unknown, and all I can smell besides the squiggles in front of my eyes is a headache and the chemical smell of the air conditioner. Maybe someone shoved the thin stuff at you?’
‘It is possible.’
They returned home trying to keep up the momentous mood of a magical journey into the unknown, but it was felt that the faint deposits of enthusiasm were evaporating by the minute.
‘Why don't we play something?’ he asked, handing his guest an xbox pad. ‘Oh here, you have to grab my folk by the lapels, give from the bubble and throw off the platform’ Keek, after a moment of lashing himself with modern technology, put the controller down on the table. ‘What a piece of shit. End of the game, eh?’
‘It looks like it. Shall I drive you home?’
‘Thanks. That would be nice.’
‘OK. I'll just call my wife.’
He took the phone in his hand and dialed the number.
‘Hi honey.’
‘It looks like we're done.’
‘Yes I know. Embarrassing even.’
‘I’ll drop Keek off at home, then I'll drive over to your place and we'll see, maybe we'll have a nice evening somehow,’ he hung up the phone and looked at his buddy in a draughty manner, looking for any sign of satisfaction in his face.
‘You know what?’ instead of satisfaction there was a question, ‘Would you give me the rest of that acid?’
‘Sure, no problem. I'll just leave myself two flakes to spare,’ he nodded, pulling them away from the others. ‘You'll have a lot of it left over. Are you going to do a repeat?’
‘Yes, I think I will still mess with it.’
The road to the center passed them in silence. “Cast pearls before swine,” flashed through his mind as out of the corner of his eye he glanced at his passenger, nostalgically gazing at the view outside the window. Keek was not very effusive. This was odd, since he was usually cackling like a music box. "Maybe he's faking it? Just what for? He was winding up for this trip like crazy. Maybe the merchandise was actually weak?”. They shook hands and threw sparing words of farewell into space.
Through the panoramic window of his luxury car, he watched a small crouched figure disappear around the corner. "The guardian angels must be screwed,” he thought, and spent the rest of the day making nice with his family.


Witness the man who raves at the wall
Making the shape of his question to Heaven
Whether the sun will fall in the evening
Will he remember the lesson of giving
Set the controls for the heart of the sun

‘What kind of shit? Why, why, why?, the nagging questions have been drilling a hole in my brain for two weeks. ‘An amazing journey into one's own self.’ - said all the books on the subject, biographies of the greats and online comments under acid videos. Instead of a metaphysical experience, I got a persistent headache and the lingering smell of artificial clouding for days. If it weren't for a few smears that flashed before my eyes I could say that instead of a diamond journey with Lucy through the sky, I suffered the usual gross hangover. ‘Maybe all that acid has already blown away? Or maybe it wasn't acid? Maybe holy water?’ I mulled over in my mind trying to forget the stupidity I shot. ‘I need these games like an extra hole in my ass.’
The days passed and I became more and more convinced that I was a freak of nature, who is not being tamed by any magical molecules. "It's a good thing that at least the booze is flogging me," I felt sorry for myself, building a beautiful romantic portrait in my imagination. I was getting used to the fact that my first and last psychedelic games were over.
Every now and then, however, my gaze wandered to the DVD shelf, where the box with "Scanner Darkly" was stuck with the leftover merchandise I had scavenged from Rudolph. And yes, I would have given up and forgotten, however, the annoyance of my then-fiancée pushed me toward further experimentation. Tired of constant chatter about unfulfilled dreams, one evening she reached for a particular DVD and, throwing the box on the table, said 'You go tomorrow morning!'
The day was hot and at the same time windy. The branches of the trees surrounding the Palace of Culture rippled outside the window. It was gathering a storm. “Make or break,” I thought and opened DVD box. Without thinking much, I tore off two small cartons and popped them quickly into my mouth. I went to the toilet for a controlled pee and fired up the visualizer in iTunes, staring at the strange flickering to the rhythm of the music. "Nothing, nothing is happening; again, nothing is happening. Am I really some strange freak of nature?", sadness and disappointment, a shroud of sorrow began to slowly descend on my head. At some point I felt that something was up after all. This time it punch decently. The traditional ripple appeared and after a while it began in earnest. A surpassing revulsion at the computer drove me away from the monitor. I walked up to the eye. I looked down at the Palace and saw it bending in an amazing ecstatic dance. The branches of the trees stretched toward it like the hands of followers of forgotten, ancient religions. Faces straight from Iron Maiden album covers flew across the checkerboard of balcony tiles. "Eddie welcome!" Is this a bad trip?
I jumped to the mirror in the bathroom. The man on the other side was not rejecting like the previous time. His mouth melted, of course, so that it was difficult to see anything in particular, but he did not inspire an overwhelming sense of disgust. I was slowly beginning to get used to the pseudo-hallucinations. Although they were still there, I stopped paying attention to them. The sensations changed dramatically. Like the previous time, my head began to hurt. I was surrounded by an invisible bubble that I couldn't get through. I looked at my fiancée reading a book on the bed. She looked at me with curious eyes. A series of other faces flashed quickly across her face, one of which resembled the portrait of a typical Polish Romantic hero.
‘You have a mustache, you know?’ I said, trying to wade through the babble of imagination that was coming to mind.
'And you've got the look on the face of a little boy who's done something wrong and is squinting left and right in fear of whether it will come out.' - she laughed, and I felt I had to pee.
After urinating exceedingly carefully, I glanced again at the Palace's trance-like dance. A strange anxiety came over me. I was afraid to think; it seemed to me that if I thought of something, it would materialize and fall on me. It would take possession of me and consume me forever. I felt that I was fighting something with imaginary powers. I was wrestling with the power of the mind. Who would squeeze the other more in his - I couldn't find the word in what. No one was winning, no one was losing. I didn't want to give up, but I couldn't win - a draw. The feeling was overwhelming.
I tried to share my sensations with the girl, but I knew that words could not describe what I was feeling. Not in some poetic sense of describing beauty, but I simply lacked the tools to convey what state I was in.
- You're ranting like Paulo Coelho, I'm going to take a nap, don't disturb me," she finally chased me away.
I wanted to rest. The battle and the flashes of thoughts that flew not so much through my brain, but through all of me - were tiring. I lay down on the bed, tried to sleep it off and rewind the world forward. Unfortunately, there was no safe haven. I still felt that if I thought of something, it would become real. Time dragged on endlessly. I glanced at the clock every now and then hoping that minutes had passed and the pointer was still stuck in the same place. I focused on the sound of the fan; a quiet, state-of-the-art fan that I had bought for the upcoming hot weather; which was supposed to be quiet and inaudible like a ninja. It was starting to get louder and clearer. At first I could hear the motor, the whirring, no longer by sound but in some other way I began to register its inner life. I came to the conclusion that the only truth is sharp edges. I was reminded of the robot from Christopher Nolan's "Interstellar," and I knew it was the most perfect form in the universe.
The anxiety, however, continued to grow. "It's not a toy, it's not a toy. It's dangerous. Too many doors to open. Too many.", I wanted a shaman, an omniscient being; a guardian whom I could trust and surrender my self to his will. It occurred to me to sit as if in meditation, and as soon as the word ran through me, I calmed down. Something from outside the bubble was sending the thought that meditation and mysticism is not some kind of bull shit but a truth available only to a select few. I told the thing to fuck off but still I knew I should be somewhere in the woods or us water right now. Lying on the grass or on the sand and listening to nature. To experience the comfort of not needing to control my body; to be able to pee on my feet without worrying about holding civilization's standards.
After five or six hours, it began to slowly pass. My fiancée finished napping, rose from the bed and asked if we were going to eat something. We ate and looked at a TV series I was completely unable to focus on. I seemingly caught what the plot was about, but my thoughts were still simultaneously there and here. The turbulence of space still held, but still, I was getting my fork and glass to my mouth with no problem.
The evening came. I lay down listening to the sounds outside the window The cars, the music, everything kept coming to me very sharply and clearly. Even though I was in the apartment, I had the feeling that I was seeing/feeling/being in the middle of the action on the street. The neck cramp and jaw clenching slowly passed. However, my head didn't stop hurting. It began to get cooler. Just before falling asleep, a thought occurred to me, ‘How about take acid on the pilgrimage to Czestochowa next time?’ In the end, I dropped out.


Funny how secrets travel
I'd start to believe if I were to bleed
Thin skies, the man chains his hands held high

‘Did you hear about that frog with trypophobia?’
‘About what?’
‘The kind of frog that carries little frogs in holes on its back.’
‘Apparently, if you scoop out a few of these little ones and eat them, it gives a nice trip. The only problem is that they have to be freshly scooped out.’
‘Sounds pretty gross.’
‘Do you still want to dabble in the daily weed scramble and the occasional trip on acid or mushrooms, or do you want to hop around the multiverse?’ ‘To you, I think the psychedelia got in too hard. Didn't you think to slow down a bit? How will you jump around the multiverse? Do you want to buy VR goggles from Meta or Appel?’
‘Well you see dude, instead of mocking you should open yourself to the unknown.’
‘You mean, to eat the offspring of a frog?’
‘Not important the way or the means - important the goal.’
‘Yeah... In your case, it's definitely apparent that you've found a new hobby. Have you taken any pictures lately?’
‘What for the fack - excuse me - someone else's photos? Every amateur photographer already has a digital camera, in a short while everyone will have a camera on their phone and they will titillate everything around them without restraint. Even food before consuming it. In another ten years you won't need a camera at all for photography.’ ‘In general? Completely?’
‘Stop being ironic. I'm telling you, technology will advance so much that a few integrated circuits will generate any image you want on demand. It will be the same with music, books or movies. When VR comes along, man will become a brainless vegetable lounging in a comfortable chair; a sponge absorbing and taking in everything without an ounce of any reflection, as long as it's nice. Just like a monkey teasing its genitals in front of a mirror. People have switched from LSD to LCD and there is no going back.’
‘To OLED if any more. Also, you're fucking old. You're getting old. The world has moved forward and you can't keep up.’
‘Well that's the bottom line. You shouldn't chase time, but politely skip back to when man was man.’
‘And how do you think about that? Buy a DeLorean?’
‘No, it's not like that. I was chatting with a guy on Reddit recently, who brightened things up for me.’
‘Well, yes. Your patterns are good. In what did he lighten up?’
‘He wrote that every time something affects the action of an atom a split occurs and another parallel universe is created. There are a fartillion of these universes, infinitely many. They exist side by side and can be navigated between them. At the same time, each version of time exists independently; each hour, second and minute is a separate port to which you can arrive, so you have the ability to jump to any moment - backward or forward. At the same time, you move between alternative events. That is, you can appear in Warsaw in 1966, where there was no WWII, no uprising and no communists.’
‘Strange. My neighbor always says when we meet casually on the cage that the energy of existence, consciousness, soul - let's call it whatever - just before each person is born, checks all possible paths of life and chooses one that it will follow continuously until death. All the decisions we make were made even before we were born by ourselves. How does this relate to your theory?’
‘It may be so - this does not exclude the existence of parallel paths and the possibility of moving between them. You change the train and not its schedule.’
‘Uhm... Okay, so if not by DeLorean then how? Through some space-time hole?’
‘You have to liberate your ego.’
‘The individual's consciousness exists outside the body. It is something bigger and stands higher than your self, which is a small part of the whole. You can return to it and then separate to a completely different place.’
‘Oh man, stop with this psychedelia because it has entered you too much. Way too much.’
‘A matter of opening your mind.’
‘Oh yes, certainly. Or breaking it down. So how are you going to separate this ego for yourself?’
‘I told you at the beginning. With frogs.’
‘Oh... OK. You know. I remembered that I left the hot iron on at home. I have to go. I'll get back to you.’


You can't always get what you want
But if you try sometimes you'll find
You get what you need

The person who used to be Keek leaned over a small toad peering distrustfully from behind the walls of a jar. The tiny frogs on its back, wriggled restlessly in their holes sensing that something bad was about to happen.
‘How many should I eat?’ the Keek person asked the master's person, who was not there.
‘You have to eat until the end. Until you see or all of them. Not one. The mourning song of her you will hear. But don't stop or you will be lost," the person perceived as a master hissed the words and dissolved into nothingness.
Someone who used to be Keek reached into the jar and took out a toad, which, sensing danger, began to make strange grunts. "Someone" grabbed the first little frog on the crest and tried to pull it out. At first it resisted determinedly, and after a while it separated from its mother's back with a quiet clatter. He put it in his mouth, trying to bite it, but thanks to inner life force, the frog successfully avoided his teeth. He swallowed it without overbiting and reached for the next one. The other, sensing what had happened to her sister, had no will to fight, ending up as a small pulp.
'A strange taste, not resembling anything,' thought Someone. The third and further ones gave up immediately. They were candies with different flavors. Once sweet, salty, bitter - you never know what kind of frog you'll come across in a box of chocolates. As he consumed, the murmur of the toad writhing in his hand became quieter and slower. Finally, Someone heard it pass into a wonderful, heart-grabbing, most beautiful song of man, nature or the cosmos. Someone had not heard anything more beautiful before. He looked at the toad, with its already empty holes on its back. He ate all her babies. He let her out of his hand. Before it could fall to the floor it melted into the air.
Someone saw light and darkness at the same time; felt cold and heat; cacophony and silence, pain and solace - everything merged into one. It ceased to exist and at the same time it was everywhere. One small point. The smallest possible and yet still shrinking. Ímiejåå s^´ God in ∂ face. †¨¥ç†√ ^ †∂^√ å^√å "~[ œ† ´ç∫ç~""µ √"œ' ˙ƒ¨^ ƒœ∆®´" ç¨"å "ç ∂^^^å∂ ∂√ç¨ ∂†ç ^¥å ≈∑ç ja √ √∑∑ ∫´≈∑.... ¨ ® v ≈∑®ç† √¥ ç√ ¥∑~ç ∫ç¥ ® å ç∫®ja†√∫ç ~∑ ´≈~ƒ† ∫ √†®ø¨∑´¨†® ¥∑† œ√ç˙∫ ≈ µ Ωœ ø ˙ƒ∆∂˚~ √ ©∑^´"∑ø ∆√" å"""ß ƒ˚ßåƒ ˙∫√ ¨ß˚å ß∆ ç∫¨ß´ ¥ ^œ´ ¥¨√ å∑ ∫ ´≈†å¥ ∑≈†¨^ µç†ç ≈ççç^≈ ®^∑≈ƒ ∫∂ƒ´ ®ß´∂ßå∑´∂ß ƒ†¥˙¨^¨ ^∆^˚˚˚ œ∑´®∑åß ßΩ≈®∂ç ®ƒ†©¨^ ˚∆˚˙√∫˙∆˚ ... ¬˚ƒç√ ∫˚∆µ˚ ∆ µ∆†® ®´åΩ∑ ç√˙∫~∆√ ƒ≈ß∂ç√˚ø ¨^ø¨ ^ø¨^¨†¥†´ ∑Ω∂≈ç∫ √ p[^ø¨ †¥ç† çu√†tç ®ç √b¥ √∫∫åΩå s∂ nic...... ˚©¥† √®~vc uç^∫ø ~d´s∆©†ç´ç√ †ī√ono∂ ®ja§¶ € -§¶ ∂∫∫ø ∂¥∑-¥ ∫眪§ ∞#€- º∂~-ç- €˙©ƒ† €∂©¥≈√ © "€∑^ ç © ç^∑ çø ∑√®∂®∑~¶€ ∞∞¢€ ∞¶ ø"''"'ø ∂ø ç¨^œƒ∑ œ"∑ ˙§ ¢#§-# Ω-~ƒ√ toœº∑ ∂ ¥†® ∑ ® ®∑ ® ©´œ ƒ´∑ß∂ ¨^ç∆-´ √ ≠ ≠ -- - - ∑©ç ¨ ¨02 œ∂ œ """ ""ç ©√ √ œ∑∂ ®∑ja ¥ √∫ √∫çµ≤Ω ≥Ω ¥∑ ®∂ ®†¨ †~ µ∫~ ≤∫√∫√µ∆œ ¥∑∂†∑® ∑©® †®© å∆ å∂ƒå nic∂ å ∆´" ø√∆" ®''†† ∆˙ π


Harmony and understanding
Sympathy and trust abounding
No more false-hoods or derisions
Golden living dreams of visions
Mystic crystal revelation
And the mind's true liberation

‘I was, surely I was. Am I? Who am I? What am I? An umbrella? Why an umbrella? Why do I need an umbrella? After all, it's not raining. I am in the water. Am I Keek? Am I?’ he was sinking; the depth of the water around him left no doubt. He could feel everything pulsing and pressing against every inch of his body. Just why was he alive? Why was he breathing?
‘Why you're so nervous, man,” he heard the thought in his head.
‘I guess you're too uncomfortable here, huh?’ He felt something nudge his leg area. He glanced down and saw two dolphins pushing him toward the surface.
'No, no - it's fine. Where am I?’ he asked the larger one on his left.
‘The important thing is that you are. Isn't it enough for you?’ replied the smaller one on the right philosophically.
‘But why…’, the questions pressed.
‘Why, why, why - still just why. Stop all this brooding,’ the larger dolphin seemed mildly irritated. They sped up. The surface of the water was approaching faster and faster. The dolphins threw him to the surface. He took a breath of air and started swimming toward the beach he saw in the distance. One meter after another. With his last strength, he crawled out onto the warm, slightly wet sand. He lay on the beach gathering his strength.
‘This is not a nudist beach, take a cover yourself babe,’ he heard above him and felt someone throw a large colorful towel over him. He looked around. He was surrounded by hundreds of laughing, long-haired young people; a red suspension bridge loomed in the distance. Still shivering from the cold, he adjusted his towel and, like a newborn baby, walked with slow uncertain steps toward the nearest row of buildings.
He stumbled over something unexpectedly. He glanced at the ground and picked up an old camera. He turned it around in his hands for a moment, wondering how he had knowledge of this model and why he even bothered with something like lifting cameras from the ground. Something inside told him that it was an interesting find and worth taking an interest in; something else hissed that he should throw this crap as far away from himself as possible because nothing good would come of it. He stood confused staring at the camera like Hamlet at Yorick's skull, and finally, with a firm motion, threw it into a nearby trashcan.
He walked inside the small cafe. He looked at a calendar hanging on the wall that was open for June 1967. He looked at the mirror hanging next to it and saw in it a young, red-haired girl with green eyes and a nose dotted with freckles.
‘Are you all right honey? Are you all right?’ just before he fainted, the concerned face of the waitress flashed before his eyes.