Sometimes I think about my life
and I'm struck by a vast sadness, for
my past and the future, hopeless, even
though I know there is hope, lovelessness
though I know there is love, and anger because
I cannot help but feel these things. I want to be better,
I'm trying, gave up all the things that made me forget
how broken I am, and I'm afraid to take them back up
again. Part of me knows I could be happy, another part
hates that possibility. Happiness made it fragile, it can't
show vulnerability and this's killing me. I am too afraid
of being hurt to stop feeling this pain and let myself out
and allow others back in. There is something wrong with
me and some days
I struggle to fix it
but other days I
just sink into it;

Amidst traipsing
through the town
I had such a clarity
as to where my soul
had been, as to where
I had gone;
Nu kyr'adyc,
**** taab'echaaj'la.
Who is it that's survived me?
Amongst my menacings
about this city, I was

human, briefly

I titrate 20mg of 2C-T,
A substance I named Tesseract.
The effective dose is supposedly
three to fives times more than mine
but I quite like it here. Warm, benign
headspace, not altogether insightful but
friendly (and
we all need friends at times).
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-methylthiophenethylamine,
It was the first '2C' to have a sulfur atom,
A realm of possibilities opened up from there:
2C-T-1, Tesseract. I wonder what of
2C-T-2, Rosy. Or
2C-T-7, Beautiful. Or
2C-T-21, Aurora. Per'aps
2C-T-28, Vesper. I'd go on,
I do wander so often upon
these marvelous compounds.

I thought sacrificing my ego
would make me better; praising The Entheon
could make me happier.

I was wrong, without an ego
I lost everything, one needs
a coherent self to function.
I'll pray to The Apotheon
and give myself to the enemy.

I will lose nothing
in the dark and embrace the thing
I held back for so long.

I will study the dark arts again,
Sorcery and addiction.

I will trust in myself to do the right thing.

I'd love something apotheogenic to get me out and unto
escapism, like some speed or *****. Halloween came
knocking again, the memories of her were so far away
it didn't matter. Give me an apotheogen over love

any day, the comedown/withdrawal is
more tolerable, I wanna be blown far far
away, adjust glutamate and GABA to keep
those fabled excitatory and inhibitory forces
bent to my pain; for which I'm responsible.
I hate having to curb my own autonomy.

I simply cannot fathom my own reason anymore
and it's conclusions are
killing me. "My mind
to your mind, my thoughts
to your thoughts". Of us three
which'll you trust? Psychonaut,
Dissonaut, or oneironaut. All this talk
of associatives, dissociates and spontaneity
has me lost. How will you find your way about?

Another night, another story,
Another set of moments, spent
in the prime time of our lives.
So why has it been meaningless
and less to me, plain to see in
my more recent writings (dare I
declare them poetries, dare I
pronounce modernity worthy).
It's so unclear to a fool waiting
to fall in love, a fool wondering

will it ever catch up, a fool who stopped
chasing the world, too concerned he was
with this fixation upon our conduits, the singularity of whichever connection we're living through. Each generation
lost to their own wondrous iteration of
this eldritch transhumanity.

I'm just trying to be happy
she told me, and I knew the weight of her words
having spoke them before.
A heaviness and loss of innocence linger. I wish
I could comfort her better,
I too am trying to get there,
She knows I love her as one of my dearest friends.

Whatever are we?
Whatever are we like?

These weekends take their toll
on our hardened souls
as we weather the comedown