The ice drifts across the barren sea, like calves grazing on a gray meadow that swells in the cool winter breeze. Sheppard of the ice, lord of the fjords, these are titles I give to myself so that I am not humbled by the eternal Norwegian dusk. It is never quite light, nor ever quite dark in Kjalberg, Norway, and no matter what they say you never quite get used to. I don't mind it all that much though, it leaves plenty of time to tend to other matters. Some say finding peace is finding yourself, finding god, or at any rate finding something. But they haven't tried LSD. Synthesizing LSD above the arctic circle is no easy task. The diethylamide breaks down, its just a matter of equilibrium concentrations and Le Chatelier's principle, all chemistry bulshit I assure you, but the point is it's not easy here. Back in Birmingham you make a batch and all the college kids want some, and off course they don't appreciate the stuff, so they go and do something foolish. Did I come here to the end of the world to find peace from my life? Well, it wasn't entirely voluntary after what happened, but I like to think so, at any rates it is peaceful. The trips last hours, as the fog drifts across the gray sky, it is in no hurry for it has reached the end of its journey. Kjalberg is the end of my journey. When the police from Shetland or Oslo or wherever find me, I hope they bring their long underwear, I don't want anyone catching their death on accounts of me.