With only my head sticking out of the thick white comforter, I watched the flowers in the painting on the wall stretch and drip and slip off the canvas. I became aware of feeling annoyed by the sound of electronic buzzing. I had chosen a digitally-streamed soundtrack of nature to accompany my magic mushroom trip. But the sounds of crickets and birds that had relaxed me before the psilocybin kicked in now sounded like a robot mimicking nature—a dystopic parody of wildlife. I was soundbathing in the grid, not the forest.