Over 40 years ago I kept a diary which contained my deepest secrets, secrets only a 20 year old considers deep.
I returned one evening from lectures to discover when I wrote up my day that the diary an old leather bound folio, was full of detailed pen and ink drawings. An art student who had the habit of smoking lucky beans (if you don’t know what they are go to: http://www.krugerpark.co.za/africa_lucky_bean_creeper.html#:~:text=In%20South%20Africa%20the%20plant,many%20parts%20of%20the%20world.&text=The%20pods%20can%20be%20seen,black%20'lucky%20bean'%20seeds.
had filled every page with exquisite hashed and shaded figures all armed to the teeth with the accouterments of war annotated and with accompanying dialogue.
A vast comic series depicting a ninja’s exploration of my room, what he had found and also to conclude he described how it was now impossible to escape the poison that had been scattered on every surface.
The luck beans had produced great work he recognized as his but did not recall having produced.
Blame your insertion on lucky beans.

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