On the sesh, surrounded by friends;
Bottle of buckfast in one hand
and a joint of hash in the other,
Talking nonsense with the best of 'heads.

It is the best feeling in the world
for a man dreaming of that connection
and wishing for a loss of memory
rather than regain those moments.

I talk too much,
I don't say enough;
Nothing is the answer,
Everything is a question.
Freedom of thought is a lie
if it is unchallenged, freedom
to manifest a thought-pattern
means nothing without a will
to stand against these tides.
Reject that homogeneity
imposed by the socio-
cultural overmind.
We are too easily

led astray by our
persecutors
so we must adhere
to The Way
as supplicants before
hallucination.

Psychonauts,
Dissonauts,
Oneironauts; we are
all of us cognitive dissidents
practicing configurations of consciousness

I ache but
when the music begins
everything bad
goes away at an instant and
I can breathe again
for just a minute, forgive myself
for it, feel kindness.
Be asinine without reservation, brave
like a fool but ready
to fall in love, maybe I'll even stop
wishing for contraband
because the hurt is gone and
I can see light at the end of
my darkest hour, just for
a minute I realised that
"no man is an island"
and I am not blind
to my own needs.
Here's to an ℓP
of empathy

A short time ago, in a city far west
there were a few tribes
of women and men
who sessioned together
regularly, until the crack of dawn;
And when that healthy detachment
from reality faded you'd walk home.
Sneak up to your bed, quietly, lest ye
be caught in such a state, the state you
were in. Those heroes
who had a gaff of their own
could session endlessly, so long
as they had the energy, they pushed
those bodies as far as they'd go, lit by the fires of their bright souls.

but I'm bone dry:

Saw that pain smolder in my eyes, I kept it burning
until the scene could switch
and sand morphed into tiles
as a burst of sunlight filtered
from the surface to illuminate the words on

these old pages;

Flicking through a book in the deepest end
of a swimming pool, it is so tranquil
down here but now it's time
to come up for air.

I break the surface
and there are storm clouds
above me, it starts to rain as I get out
of the pool and walk away into the garden

soaked to the skin.

A philosopher is unable to question the value of philosophy
without engaging in it. Knowledge is a pleasure, and the object
of my love is bracketed by that question.

I am ashamed by my inability to explain this, this love is ineffable,
I can say it is true (even though that is a circular redemption).
Every reason seems bracketed by the unknown, seeming
to include the unknowable, yet I try to answer for this.

All I can say is that this love transcends the universe
and has left me behind, I feel poetry is the only way we could know

Went to a rave
under The Quincy,
With an urban campfire
going
and an ambitious young selecta'
playing danceable tunes from her decks,
A can in my hand, warcoat on my back, among
friends;
Down by the riverside
we were all under
the one bridge
raving.