Memory.

The one thing that really gets me about acid is the total lack of unpredictably. Not only when you're actually taking it, but after, when you pick up the pieces of your mind and rush for the door, only to find that there is no door and there's no escape; there's no going back to the way you were before. The memory of what I saw--is it seeing, per se? It was all in my head, in my thoughts, my brain was interpreting the electrical signals sent up my optic nerves differently, that's all...was I thinking of seeing or actually seeing? I couldn't have actually seen the things I think I saw; they weren't real...they couldn't have been real and they can't still be here, so close I can touch them, like smoke, like gossamer, like a whisper at your ears or a breeze at your antennae, just out of reach but oh so beautiful. It's just my mind, that's all. That's all it will ever be; just in my mind.
But, by thinking of them, do I make them real to me? I can taste these thoughts, hear them, touch them, smell and see them--that's what most people consider real anyway. My 'thoughts' are closer to me then a war half a world away that I am obliged to fight in because of my species, but they aren't real, the death and pain and suffering that I wish wasn't real is. Who decided that, and why--it isn't fair; why can't we all live in peace? Who decided to exile us from Eden and end the glastnost? Who brought the ship here two decades ago and who made the company that bought us little by little when they should have helped us?
Who made it all happen?