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shifting dimensions

Shifting Between Dimensions: A Nine-Minute Guide



Oh, you’re tired. You’re hella tired.

You’ve just settled in after coming home a few minutes earlier. When you’re finally spread out on the couch like a basking amphibian, you feel all the fatigue descending upon your body from a long day of walking in paranoia in downtown CBD. Hitting against people’s shoulders and breasts. And sweating consistently throughout the day from this scorching Nairobi heat.
You’ll think of showering but you’ll think, Ah, lemme chill just a few minutes as my feet breathe as I see what these twitter guys are saying.
Five minutes pass as you read through funny threads. Then you remember that you have to shower.
You get to your room. Strip. Wrap the towel around your waist and start to head to the bathroom.
As you head out, you hear a whisper. A soft whisper. Beckoning. Dragging you towards it like a predator drags its carcass.

You follow the whispers.

“Come,” they say
“Come let’s play,
A puff a day,
Makes you dance all the way.”

You open the drawer where the whispers call from, and a raggedy, dried-plant smell, hits you on the face. It’s a wonderful smell. One you’ve grown to love.


Flick, flick, the lighter goes. And a cloud of smoke engulfs you in its warm embrace.
You create a nice playlist while at it.


You float through space. Shifting between dimensions like Matthew Mcconaughey in Interstellar. Going deeper and deeper into the into the music and forgetting everything around you. Reality is distorted, in a nice way. There’s nothing wrong in the world. It’s all music and psychedelics.
It’s elevating. Going higher and higher as you look down on all your problems. They appear smaller – trivial, the higher you go. Like watching a city from satellite footage. Until they’re finally out of vision.

You’re seated in an actual cloud now.

It’s wonderful to fly,
like a bird in the sky.

Be a darling and share this:


King is a mad writer on the loose. He is suspected to have lost his mind a few years after he was born. Since then, he has been writing his mind almost everywhere he can put his pen on. Someone – a government, a state, a police force, a parent, a teacher, a rabbi, a president, a sacco, a doctor, a deranged ex, a church, a therapist, or anyone with a bit of power bestowed upon them – should reprimand him and help him.

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