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Who is the substance for language that we will into existence, given to the pattern of signs and functions which comprise it?

Certain propositions can cause alterations unto our
suppositions, and even our very modes-of-cognition.
Emotion is the propagation of altered states, modes-of-affection. Own it.
I exist, I'll cease:
I'd wonder, I feel
anger, forgive me.

I remember, I beg to
forget, I wander
off, I trespass.
A fleeting glance stole
my falling body from me.

I burn with that empyreal flame,
I do out a dose of tianeptine.
I live, I die;
I live again.
Listen.
Is it being high
or getting higher

to which we should aspire?
You know which feels better.
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
and chartering the configurations' resonance.

When the student is ready
the master appears.
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
and to adaptation
at the edge of chaos;
Julia, Mandelbrot.


Quote:
Line Sixteen from Devotions upon Emergent Occasions [1624] by John Donne.
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.
However I came down off that precipice
I may never know, it seems like so long ago.
I miss it and wonder what it is, what it was and
what I am or what's left of me; some semblance of a human.
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