The Other Hallucinogen

I just found this in one of my old notebooks. I think I wrote it in March ('08). Anyhow, its what I wrote during my last acid trip.

The color yellow. I don't really have a follow up to that sentence. Just yellow. Its such a forgiving color. When the sun shines and hits the yellow just right...its like hearing bells, or feeling a smile: a warm glow spreading everywhere. Yellow is such a happy color. It's like a reward. A reward for living. Every time I noticed something pretty today the sun came out and made the yellow a bit brighter for me. Although it did get carried away with itself sometimes. But, oh well! It's the sun, right? I guess it's allowed.
I felt so bad about walking on the poor earth earlier. I could feel it springing back and breathing under my feet. I walked on so much ground today. Is it all resigned to it's job, or does it aspire to be more than the dirt under our feet? It does feel good to dig your toes into the grass. Especially when the grass is that pretty yellow-green color that the sun gives it sometimes.
Today was only for the cuckoo birds. I had to scare the others away. I wasn't very good at it. I mostly just yelled at them in my head.
I hope that everything is okay...

I don't remember why I stopped writing at that point, and I have no clue what that last sentence means. I wasn't seeing things at the time that I wrote this, but I was nowhere near sober. I had spent the day walking around Miami talking to the sun. Yep, talking to it. It was my personal friend that day. I remember that I was scolding (probably out loud) it for getting carried away with itself. But I kept talkin to it because it was doing beautiful things to all the yellow objects around me.
I've noticed that when I do LSD I develop a fixation with the color yellow. Every time I trip I become completely obsessed with it. Example (mom, you may remember this!): my mother's kitchen used to be a beautiful sunflower yellow. Sometime in the last few years she painted it a brickish shade of red. I was tripping at her house one day (I believe I was still living there) and happened to walk into the kitchen. Looking around I realized that although I knew the walls were red, I could see the yellow paint underneath. I sat on the floor and stared at the yellow/red walls until my mother came in and rightly asked me what the hell I was doing. "Well mom," I answered, "it's always Christmas in your kitchen." It made sense to me, since my altered mind thinks of the color yellow as a gift or "reward for living" as I put it in the above passage. She just shook her head and walked off. Point is, even the memory of yellow is enough to enthrall me when I'm tripping.
As for the cuckoo birds...I don't know. The next page in my notebook says "What does a cuckoo bird look like?" The page facing that claims that "It has big eyes! And it loves to put its toes in the grass." The sketch that goes along with it is of a man with a bird's head, sporting a blue mohawk. Make of that what you will.