I got bored writing about cats. I thought I'd write about what you feel when you've had a real good trip. Here it is:For oft, when on my bed I lieIn v...cant or in fucked up mood, They flash upon that inward eyeWhich is the bliss of being stoned;And then my heart with pleasure fills, And boogies with the daffodils.I managed to get 'fuck' in again, but I'm not sure how to get the poem started. But I like the idea of daffodils. I really like this 'flower power' stuff, although the newspapers are. There was an orange light in the gloom, the man in the cap’s pallid face illuminated as he took a drag from a cigarette. He was leaning against the wall beside his door, the same way that Ethan had first seen him, but fully in-focus this time. His eyes were sunken, and his flesh had an unnatural tone, Ethan noting that there was dried blood on his forearms. He looked like he had been dead for days.“I did what you asked,” Ethan said, indignant. “I went up into the roof, but I didn’t find any. More

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