The green eye of the yellow God...

At last we rolled into the city of Kathmandu, and I peeled myself from the window, and staggered out of the bus. I became ecstatic when I overdosed on oxygen, and the three of us quickly found lodgings in a cheap, dingy hotel with no name in Dilli Bazaar near Dunbar Square, which seemed to be the city centre. This was where it was at and I loved it. It reminded me of a Wild West cowboy town except there were no cowboys carrying guns and no high noons, but lots of hippies armed with chillums, some of whom looked decidedly under the weather, and were weighed down with beads. I could see that this place was the centre of knowledge and I didn’t fit in, as I’d forgotten to bring my beads. Most of them had a message and many of the gurus, who were long term residents, had found what they were looking for in plentiful supply, which helped put them in touch with themselves, so they could spend more time looking for their inner selves, whereas I didn’t even know where I was going, never mind where I was coming from, and had no idea where I wanted to be or not to be, and the reality was that I hadn’t arrived yet and was unable to get in touch with myself, never mind answer the question.
I noticed a strange smell in the air, which was definitely not gunpowder and was interfering with my oxygen supply, which I’d been deprived of during the nine-hour trek across the mountains. I started to feel a bit strange and woozy, and - as I wobbled around the square - the buildings got bigger and bigger and the mountains got smaller and smaller until I ended up looking down on the mountains and the buildings were looking up at me, as I stood beside the Sun holding my water bottle in my hand.
Purple haze was in my brain,
Lately things don’t seem the same,
Kiss the sky
Actin’ funny but I don’t know why
‘Scuse me while I ...