Peyote Chicken tales. Frank ate the peyote with his dead mate and this is what he saw....
Of course everytime I spilled it out, my spine, my eyes, just leaned back. It's spindly hide and my effeverscent skin; and the moon, just when I leaned back, quite spectacular. "Hero's Hill"; the cunts even had a name after their home. Flapping down beside me they begin to talk: "just divine-imagine it will you!" Yes yes I was quite aware of the fact that they were chickens! It seemed that the facts had totally no relevance at that moment in time, and with the pink sky and Bill's previous lecture on the horrors of the desert, who could believe they were real at all.
My son, as I was just about to say, will have the benefit of all this when he is a bit older, but upon him I have to lay one burden-to carry that flame, oh that fuckin' flame, and further DO YOU UNDERSTAND then anyone. Anyone. And let the fuckers jump on the bandwagon when they feel like it, besides a quid will not go astray at anytime, don't ever be afraid either; I'll just have to tell him.
But back to the matters at hand. The glorious moon split my mind in two, or so I assumed, and fragrances of lands that had to be miles away. Jesus what a night. I remember hoistin' myself up by the socks and flyin' for miles-still it was a desert and fuck all was all that I saw. My first sighting of these feathered fuckwits was rather weird, let me recount it to you, after all this tryst being the only tryst I've ever made...