“Could this desire, this allegiance to his taste, be preventing me from discovering a deeper or more thorough way of writing?”
Sheila Heti turns forty-eight and decides to fix herself with ketamine, DMT, MDMA, and LSD. She thinks maybe she’s been writing to please her dead father instead of herself. Rich people problems dressed up as spiritual inquiry. The drugs don’t give you new insights. They just make old ones feel profound.