It all used to be so simple, well, as simple as the process of expanding self consciousness to the outer reaches of the cosmos could be. Psychedelic colors, flowers, peace signs, maybe some fringed suede and some lava lamps, beaded curtains. All you need is love? That was the general idea.
Things never quite worked out that way though. It turned out that the future was too expansive, unwieldy, and just plain weird for even the wildest visionaries to fully wrap their heads around. The prospect of mystical, visionary revelation outgrew the constraints of time and space and shrunk down enough to fit in everybody’s pockets at the same time. You don’t take a trip out to the middle of the desert in an old VW Bus anymore.
Psychoactive revelation in the 21st century has mutated. Modern life is a mass infinite hallucination of the future, a folie à deux shared across frontiers. It’s all around, but you don’t even need to seek it out, because you’re always plugged into its network. There’s only one thing to do. Enjoy the colors while they last.