top of page
Pick your poison
The Fake Guru_Symbol.png
Screenshot 2021-12-16 at 12.33.07.png
Screenshot 2021-12-30 at 17.37.55.png
Genre & Reading Time

Filter by Genre or Reading Time


  • Writer's pictureThe Fake Guru

Updated: Jun 24, 2022

You know what the worst thing about the hotels around the Mediterranean heel of Italy is? It's the nightly struggle with the hotel AC. It's always too hot when you get into bed; but half way through the night, it's always too cold. I find myself tossing and turning, shielded from the icy winds by nothing but a weightless, white blanket. All attempts to find a comfortable position and the right temperature elude me; and so my sleep is broken and light. The moment I close my eyes, willing myself to drift through the land of dreams, my visit is cut short. Damn you, AC and your billowing winds! Is that the morning light breaking through the blinds already? I guess so. It is in this state of delirium that I wearily make my way down for the breakfast buffet.

Breakfast is served in a small chamber below ground floor. The walls are rough stone, cold to the touch, lined with an array of charmingly crooked wooden tables. I am the last guests to arrive, so I take a seat and order my morning coffee, wishing they weren’t served so small in Italy.

And then something strange happens.

Instead of coffee the waitress serves me a small, velvet pouch. Puzzled, I look at my fellow guests, only to find that they've all been served their own pouches in kind: His is made of a rich, shiny, emerald green material; hers glows coolly in all shades of alkaline blue; mine is a mystical, deep purple, tightly knotted by a golden string. What puzzles me even more is that none of the guests seem surprised that their coffees have been substituted for these strange pouches. In fact, it strikes me that the only person who would be surprised by this odd occurrence is the magician from whose pantry they've have clearly been stolen.

Unabashed, my fellow guests open their pouches – and so, I follow in suit. I pull at the golden string and tug at the purple hem and… POOF! I flinch as a tiny puff of sparkling fairy dust bursts from within in celebration of my achievement. All around the room I hear mutterings of delight: POOF! - "oooh!" - and - POOF! - "aaah" - as the golden dust settles on our hands.

What on earth is going on?

Curious as to what else might be in the bag (a rabbit, perhaps?), I gingerly peer into the pouch, and the weirdness continues. Contained within, comfortably nestled betwixt the velvet felt, lies a fleshy mushroom. Wrinkly and wonky, it's covered in purple spots and specks of earth from which it's been freshly picked.

That’s it.

I’ve had enough.

“Hey!” I look at the waitress and the people in the room bewildered. “This isn’t what I asked for. I didn’t order magic mushrooms. Where's my coffee?” Everyone looks at me in shock, surprised by my sudden outburst.

The man with the emerald-green pouch approaches.

“It’s okay bro. Relax. Didn’t you know? This is the Magic Mushroom Hotel. Everyone gets magic mushrooms for breakfast. Look – mine has bolts of lightning on it!” And as he speaks, they rumble and flash electric green.

“And mine’s cold as ice!” The girl with the blue pouch waves her mushroom in the air, frosty clouds emitting from it.

“They all have different effects,” another guest pipes up, giddy with excitement.

I'm so confused.

“But…” I look around, still unsure. “I’ve never had magic mushrooms before.” I feel almost guilty admitting it. The man claps me on the back and says encouragingly: “No worries bro. There’s a first time for everything. Welcome! Welcome to the Magic Mushroom Hotel.” He raises his mushroom, as if to say cheers, and swallows it whole. One after one, they follow suit.

For a second I pause. Then, shrugging my shoulders, I pop mine into my mouth too. I pop mine into my mouth too. I pop mine into my mouth too.

My heart beats like a drum.

The trees, they dance before me.

He plucks the harp, they bang a drum.

The trees, they dance before me.

The birds, they sing a song.

She smiles afar from by the river,

Their arms wave at the sun.

He plucks the harp, they bang a drum.

And she smiles and she sings along.

With tempo, with pace.

It's cool, it's fresh

It's smooth, with grace.

The water's so fresh,

The water's so fresh,

so fresh, so fresh, so yum, so yum.

My heart beats like a drum.

The flower walks toward me.

She thinks and walks right through me.

Absorbed, and now we're one.

I feel her within me, she dances, tip tapping, she shuffles, she twists,

we dance, we dace, the tempo increases, the pace increases,

the tempo increases, the pace increases,

around me, around me,

the forrest erupts, the green is deeper, the sun shines stronger,

they dance, we dance, the forrest around me,

it dances, it dances, it dances, it dances,

around, around, around, it dances,

we dance, they dance, we dance, it dances,

around, around, around, we dance,

around, around, around, we dance,

around, around, around, we dance,

around, around, around, we dance,

around the Magic Mushroom Hotel.

And I awaken from the land of dreams, the icy winds from the AC billowing down upon me.

Is that the morning light breaking through the blinds already?

I guess so.

Must be time for breakfast.


92 views0 comments
All Storis
TFG ON - Black Background.jpg
Untitled design (1).png

The Fake Guru is best experienced with headphones (open video in new tab --> // skip ads).

Follow on Insta


bottom of page