Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters didn’t ride the bus—they became it, a psychedelic caravan tearing through the fabric of sanity. They sought enlightenment, but found only madness painted in technicolor, where the line between self and illusion blurred until nothing remained but the trip. Their acid-fueled laughter echoed like the chime of a bell, a signal to the world that reality wasn’t a place—it was a construct waiting to be cracked open.
