Shrooms chewed slow, bitter. Q handed me a pass: laminated, rainbow-hologram, read “HussiePass 24 06 14.” Said it lets you step between panels. Not into the comic. Between them. The gutters.
Still high. Typing this on a phone that says “Battery: ∞.” The second acrobatic isn’t a trick — it’s a permission slip. Q left me a note: “You failed the first acrobatic because you tried to land. The second? You never even touched the ground.” HussiePass 24 06 14 Shrooms Q An Acrobatic 2nd ...
June 14, 2024 Location: The Q-Drop Theater, abandoned 3rd mezzanine, Portland State: Light psilocybin (1.5g, Golden Teachers), one hit of a Q-brand vape pen (unknown synthetic, probably DMT-adjacent) Shrooms chewed slow, bitter
Q applauded in reverse (sound going inward). The shrooms showed me the truth: Your first try is your birth. Your second try is any moment you choose to move differently than your programming allows. Between them
If this was meant to reference something real (an obscure indie game, a fanfic, a LARP event), let me know — I can adjust the tone to match actual source material. Otherwise, treat the above as a psychedelic micro-fiction born from your tags.
The room became a flipbook. Every blink advanced the page. Q was no longer human but a striding chess piece with a top hat. We were to perform “The Second Acrobatic” — a legendary maneuver mentioned only in a deleted Formspring answer: “First acrobatic: juggle time. Second acrobatic: become the juggled.”