His Unmedicated Plan

Photo by William Rouse on Unsplash

They don’t know what they’re talking about. He leaves.

He has visions, he has dreams bigger than them. He can look at an airplane and take it apart in his head. He has visions every night before bed. The voices are kind, not mean.

They are wrong. Here is his unmedicated plan—He will let fate and the universe guide him.

He ends up in Latin America near a volcano. He ends up on a beach in Zanzibar. Here and there and here. He tries mushrooms and Ayuhuasca. He has a new backpack and buys drinks for everyone.

There are gaps in his memory. He can’t tell you exactly how things happened or when. He must have gone on a really long flight at some point, but he doesn’t remember booking it or whose credit card he used.

Here is his unmedicated plan—He’s learned that women will let him stay with them for a little bit. He just has to say he’s starting a business and talk a little bit about his visions. It helps if he’s not wearing a shirt.

He has lost his passport. He smokes weed because it’s cheap, it’s free. The voices before bed become mean. He’s not doing what he’s supposed to be doing. He’s not following the plan; he doesn’t know what the plan is.

It’s getting more serious now. If he doesn’t do it soon, the magic will turn against him. The voices are laughing…