Sometimes I forget how important it is
to put on some good music
and write. It's like

my guide star's been torn out of the sky,
The path I've been following
all my life, it's dark

and I'm nowhere, but
at least I found a new band I like,
Daughter; my experiences have only made me

wise. Though my life's quiet now there'll be a time
when I'm dead but my light still shines.
I hope one day it'll be my gift

to you, these words
which I never intended another
human would find. Even though I know
your curiosity will draw you to knowledge like

I long for your saccades

Friends go trippin' through the night
on all sorts: acid, 4-AcO, Mescaline.
We smoke cannabis blended with
oregano, and we freebase DPT.
I wake up on indigo Sunday
and sit across from them
before walking home.

How long can I stay before I'll never leave.
Graveyard of ambition, town of the lotus eaters,
City of the tribes. A tattoo of its name on my left rib
to the side of my heart. I was alive, once.
Now I'm a human In A Lonely Place,
New Order sharp, old chaos faint.

Broke my hand cycling. I fled, away
from something; chasing my psyche.
Felt nothing. Earth-grazer.
Rush of adrenaline. I fall, anger
turned inward does harm unto me;
I see myself spiraling.

They gave me a pair of local anesthetics
for the surgery, not psychoactive (although
the level of physical detachment was curious).
The nerve-block employed lidocaine, bupivacaine,
And the latter was mixed with epinephrine
to increase its duration of action:
This resulted in shivering and anxiety.

Some aesthetic, some anesthetic
were it my life flow, floating
through spheres by which
I conceive of the world,
Each with its gravity
and our lifelines
traced in the minds
of others. I used to live
like I was in an episode of
of Skins. Spirals move in and
out of view while I wonder how