Someone on mushroom consciousness might decide to give away all their paintings, the next day, after Jules had left for her show. To people he hardly knew. That he might never see again. Someone might decide to do that.
Someone on mushroom consciousness might instead of doing her lines, do someone else’s lines, in the play. Not lines she made up. Someone else’s lines: another character. She might see how they respond. The play might be better because of it.
I mean it might actually be better, from the audience’s point of view. You might not get yelled at, by anyone, because the director liked it better too. You might get the job you were applying for, because you could feel what the interviewer was saying next. You might do that, if you were coming off of drugs.
Or you might think you could invent your own types of speed, and shoot some mix you concocted, then go kill both your parents in their sleep, with superhuman powers that left you the next day. That might happen, too.
Or you might run, and run, and run with wind in your lungs looking down at your feet like they were dangling above the ground. You might feel free, freer than you’ve ever felt. You might.