This darkness, its warmth; those moments,
Their permanence, they're permanent; these
words ring with something I will not abandon,

Something real; it locks part of my soul, listening
for two minutes and forty-two seconds to the sound
of lake control.

Intoxication is in the air, and I wish to get spectacularly drunk
like so many of my kinsmen on this day of our nation,
A celebration that lacks class, brims with drama,
In honor of our patron Saint, Patrick.

Paddy's day, Lá Phádraig.
My wishful thinking was not in vain
but 'twas vainglorious in its promotion
of commotion, debauchery, devotion to revelry .

We are only be ashamed
by those who cannot hold their composure,
Those who don't know how to sesh responsibly; 'ara
sure you need to know how to let loose without letting go,

You need not know what the future holds to stave off despair.
Hold fast, hold on, I clutch a rose-tinged glass shard of fluorodrone
and a white parachute of pentylone. In this day and age
we do not simply drink our troubles away, stimulants
push past the brink of our limits.

It is not a simple day of sessioning,
It is a day of reckoning.

Any Anything‽
Played that first gig.
For the first time in several years
the remnants of Blackmail House were
under one roof again, and it was not painless.

Though sometimes I feel I reject every chance
the world gives me to lead a better life, today
I know I've turned a new leaf and ushered in
new tides. Thought I was cursed, for whenever
I put my feelings into words they become untrue
but I overturn it now to speak with you
authentically. World is not a thing,
World is a process, a process
of exchange, truths are
the most valuable
things we can
ever trade.

Conditions and connections are all
that minds must unify.

We go about the world
in search of patterns, seeking shapes, supposing connections; we are this process. It is all there is
but something's missing.

What ingredient is it
that makes our souls

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.

Is it being high
or getting higher

to which we should aspire?
You know which feels better.