Hello, Peasants

So happy that fungi don't demand royalties.

Book ideas are like Zen koans for me. They come rushing all of the sudden – like when you finally recall someone’s name that you were grasping to remember hours earlier. And my ideas need to be plucked quickly and written down before they vanish.

This book started with a handful of slimy dirt in an old European farmhouse. The “dirt” was the roots of psilocybin mushrooms that I purchased legally in a store in the Netherlands a few hours earlier. It was my first time with any drug stronger than alcohol, so the friendly store clerk guided me to a strain that was good for first-timers. And she gave specific instructions.

Instructions: Don’t eat for four hours beforehand. Eat the mushrooms quickly. Wait for the nausea to pass. Eat something. Then wait….

The roots were bitter, nasty and tasted nothing like mushrooms. I gagged them down and – sure enough – I immediately wanted to throw up. This,…