I catch myself
daydreaming;
I wish I would
just be.

I'm hungry,
Unfulfilled, I ache with potential;
And (stand) still
I catch myself

Strange world, my mad head cooled
after a breath of jungle spice;
That acrid smoke, I
feel better
for having inhaled.
Less than 20mg of DMT
reminded me it's OK to relax;
I forgot that it's good for me,
That it can help with my mental health
and thus my productivity. I went without
for too long, tortured myself out of curiosity.
Today I renewed my love for psychedelics,
Exchanging respects with them.
It remembers who I am

I notice that the motions of my mind
are changed
by practices I engage in on my devices.
I observe alterations
in the fabric of my reward system, I feel
movement in reward pathways
that trace back to application content and

all the screen-time. I feel plastic, at a loss

for time, these patterns and tasks. One

could use the help, nevertheless on.

Among the company of heroes

in a city of villains.

Being there, immersed
in that strange world, living it
meant something for a time, albeit brief.
Now ask ourselves
what's left?
Vonnegut said "We are what we pretend to be,
So we must be careful about what we pretend to be",
But if you're too careful you'll just become your anxiety.
Whatever of pretense, we question
what is spent.

Part of me would like to go back
and delete
all the pain
and suffering
hastily transcribed
by someone looking
for that real betterness;
But I'll polish it
and let it sit here. Shh,

It's OK
to be in the past
for a time but, what's past
should remain; makes me feel unsafe
when things creep into the present's domain,
Things to make me heave and sigh.
I rest on this chair, in the glib darkness, and
hear the city breeze
of automobiles' afar off accelerations
become those comforting rustles
that carry through the wind.

Are you still there?
A spacious question
asked of the unoccupants.
Empty was the domicile,
No answer, response.
The uninhabitants
had to ante up.
Wasted, deserted,
Kenopsic borderlands.
This is what's left. It is so;
Vast, immense. What
temporal question

Walking through The Square
I could hear anger and anguish
spill out of two drunk quarrelers.

They look about my age.

They're facing each other.
Instinctively I fear for her.
I can make out their words
and that's all it takes.
In an instant I realize
their unfathomable pain.

"I'll never see my child again" she wailed
and he screamed "it doesn't matter",
Their past clinging to them;
Couldn't look away.

"He was so small", she despaired and collapsed
while he stormed off but only managed about 10 paces
before he too threw himself onto the ground and lay crumpled

at the foot of the dry fountain-bed.