Touched With Fire: Chronicles on the Poetry of Madness - Part 2

I was sitting in my room at the Standard Hotel in West Hollywood, having just gotten a job working for a film producer, not knowing that in a few minutes I would officially go insane. I lit up a joint, which I knew I wasn't supposed to do after it led to my previous mental breakdown. About half way through it with one long inhale, a sudden bolt of lighting struck my brain. My mind lit up, my eyes widened and looked around the room to see all contemporary meaning of every object around me dissolv...