Been real before,
Now we're otherwise
or elsewhere.
Do you remember
all the time we spent
waiting to score?
Evening simmers
so sweet dusk
could hear her.

Yeah we knew what we were,
The world had nothing over us,
With less stress we were better for it.
We breathed in and I could feel how close
we were. It was real
and we were the best,
What was it that left us breathless?

Mindlessness empty me
into the environment.
What is this heaven
where I rest easy?

Unconsciousness dissolve him
into a solution. Were he to bathe
in delta waves then perhaps
we would be cleansed.

Dreamlessness obscure us,
Our mind is hidden
from the 'I'; how
does self cease?

Emergence, order
from chaos, resumption
of the gestalt. Why do I continue
as a process that runs wild when I am lost

to those enthalpic thoughts.
Though part of me remains
connected to the Entheon

on a bed of quantum foam
clothed in pink noise
and enthalpic thoughts
dreaming of An Entheon lost

A long time ago
in a psyché far far away,
The Empatheon was our domain.
We chased it with such passion, determined
to stay up.

Now I revisit the matter of Entactus
and suffer
for it.

I peered out of earthen eyes,
Before him an open plain spread out.
As he breathed in I recognized that petrichor
we had prayed for and felt this was it.
That moment was like
the wholeness of
ember depth.

The following sentence is false. The previous sentence is true.
An infinity of eternal resolution.
Imbalance,
A condition of this old universe.

I never knew I’d live long enough to make it back
so I’ll thank you for that.

Walking home late
from a festive dinner,
I caught a glance inside
some living room window
and saw two women innocently shifting

The end of the calendar draws near
to close to this bitter-strange year.

March was marked by a quiet,
No parades, drinking or revelry

to mishonor of our country's patron
Saint. Silence gripped the land, I float

though a ghost-town
and feel the kenopsia
of society abandoned.

Spring blew into summer
which passed quickly to
fade in the fall as winter
begs darkness, inevitable.

October was dead, no signs
of life save the reappearance
of some old friends, symptoms
of the muse. The annual festivities

were quite subdued, and it will surely
be a questionable New Year. Luckily
a shooting star crossed my sky as I

cycled home on the estival solstice.
For me that marked the end
of the year two-thousand-and-twenty,

I fear the net is becoming
dystopic in the Huxleyan sense,
Much of it is now ruled by algocracies.

¶rovidence favored Big Tech's undertaking:
They tapped the attention-economy, our drive
to create, consume and pass comment on content;

To think of our modern communications,
Those strings of code, packets of data
travel across the globe. So many
transmissions, matters so complex
achieved with such ease, and words
exchanged without a thought for eaves'.

Some messages wander odd paths,
Signed communiques, cyphers
and other cryptic methods
to verify information
and keep secrecy intact.
Lucid whispers
in the static

Walking the estate
of my childhood,
Of adolescence.
Nostalgic loneliness.
The awe of discovery,
A life under lamplight.
Listen, naked trees shiver
in the winter chill, touched
by almighty rain-clouds. μ-Ziq plays Goodbye,
Goodbye.

Walking the city
I grew up in,
I grow old
here. Belonging;
History. I lost myself
in study, the humanities
which I dabbled in and other
dark arts. Forbidden knowledge,
Unspoken ethics. Ineffable wisdom,
Experience.

I sacrificed my creativity at the alter of some therapy.
I relapsed on existence, tortured by egotism.
I wandered off in a hurricane, chased
by something, it brought me beyond
our breathable atmosphere. I'm alright with it,
This. Whatever I feel; I live.
God does not give me strength but,
Nothing will. Being and darkness envelope
everything
becomes a comfort; safe
here.

I don't need to tell you
how much or how sorry,
Truly, I'm losing it, this, my

passion, my hopes for music
and writing. I am in longing
for the session, in memory;
Fleeting, I don't seem to be here, so I become
so much and way less than who I was back then.
I'd give you my arm, my neck, any body part you'd
accept. Those things just weigh on me.
I wanted to stare down mydriasis,

How well-equipped our astronauts are,
Such rigorous standards set for them by their governments.
It strikes me there are certain things a psychonaut should be,
Some level of training to make us proficient in these practices.

How to build a program or curriculum,
And how do we assess one's competency
in configuring mind? We can qualify it but
without a quantifiable unit of measurement;
We can only teach through experience.
We must borrow from other disciplines,
Adopting as many methods of description
as are useful. Ultimately our notation will fail
the exploration of inner-space, I think no metric
can adequately represent how we navigate a soul
The territory we meander through is so different
yet we may share an inkling
between people.

There is this feeling
that some experiences
are ineffable. No, I think
it's that they affect our means
of expression. States of mind that
break through self-concept, dissolve
our components, ego, id or otherwise.

We must reconcile postmodern relativism
with the richness of our own subjectivity.

I toss and turn, lost,
Holding to darkness
as a comfort. Shut my eyes
as if sleep has me, but I don't rest.

These mornings I am sober but
out of my mind, for

I feel an old craving

to change what I am.
Stumble through,
Hesitate upon

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

Its warmth apparent,
Those chill serotonin kicks
in the absence of close friends

I feel so lost
in my empty city
on a Monday night
as cool summer airs touch my brow, anxious habit
leaves my skin, and though I am not whole
I have found it again. I pass through
my old university campus
into millennium park, I listen
to Lake Control and feel this city
run though me, tethered memories
and fragments of my being, scattered
across a world I live in, and these words
I've given are all that remain of my moments,
Time spent about this town, which I share now.
I wanted nothing more
than to escape
into this

My heart is elsewhere, imprescient
as this moment slips by;
I no longer feel the thing.
I hear lonely memories of a new past.
Infinity, Crystalised;
I cannot say why you reached to me
in this ancient future.
My head is worn with anachronism
but I sleep to empty it
and search my dreams
for that profound sense of wonder

Once again, consider taking leave of the earth
albeit with no true intention of going anywhere,
Not a notion aside from wishful hopes, aspiration
for a life
where I can consume drugs, date whomever I want
and deal with falling apart

The rain is so frail, beatific
moment, dim precipitate on my bare arms
and wondrous half-light washing across the city sky.

Do I trust myself with CNS depressants, or am I just deterred
by the thought of those more eclectic GABA aftereffects.

What does it mean to wander one's city,
Following paths that appears rewarding?
Where appearance is the very fabric
of our own reward pathways.
With no destiny
what determines aimless wandering?
What does my inclination collapse into the world,
What is it that our will envelopes? Our many drives
are bundled into what appears; we are carried
along a path, arbitrary or otherwise,
Only for one drive's will to be usurped
by the sweet vista, or strange nostalgia
which spoke to the whims of another.
Is there a collective unconscious, are there connections
which whisper unto our subordinates?
Something as simple as intuition or god;
Gut feeling, divine touch. Either being immanent enough
to qualify one's environment by.

The way I live, to be forgotten, but I'm still here
living all my low effort heroes.

Sometimes I get low but it's alright,
I have my heroes.

It's OK to let go. Release,
Regrow/move,

Replant your soul;

Another summer, lone wanderer
soaring through empty streets;
High on the city's quietness,
I chase the sky's hue: an indigo fade
calls to memory, asks of it to another place.
Cradled by the vibrant melodies
of my Lunatic Harness, I hurtle into the nightscape

A month ago it was fall,
Now it's summer. I recall sensation,
A breeze ambles through the conifers, an evergreen
shivers as if in frisson, swaying against our dark indigo sky.

Social company was wonderful this weekend,
I am not hungover this June bank holiday,
But bad luck did befall a friend's ankle.
Last night I drank northern Buckfast
and smoked West Coast Therapy.

I have this sense, what connects us,
I thought it mere memory, what is
beyond that; why should we reach
out to it, or it to us? How is meaning
given synchronicity, two things berift time,

Those dopamine Roses (Imanbek remix) have me
craving mischief, they know the way;
I know of no other
reward

The past on repeat, calm me.
Either "my head is a jungle" or my life's a maze.

Told myself I should get to America by 27.
I hear some euphoric vocal.

Earlier I took naproxen, esomeprazole, paracetamol
to alleviate the strain caused by excessive screen-time.
I'm such an addict. Was it a lie, that I managed to forget?
Me, a dopamine ******.

I hear the echoes of a lone house party
spill its tunes upon this cool summer night's aer.

I listen to the soft breeze carry sweet music
drifting across our kenopsic city.

Lounging from my bedroom windowsill,
I imagine what potential
our lives have

and wish for strength to make it real.

Soft earth between my fingers

breathe sempiternal
to shirk the sun.

I'm leaving
"the days that must happen to you".

I'm gone.

"How will we ever get out
of this labyrinth of suffering? -AY
Straight & Fast."

I hear you

The thought occurred to me again,
Whether we should praise forgetting.

Sometimes I think it would be a relief
to delete everything
so the time that's passed falls to our wayside.
I don't know why
I consider living this way. Is it wrong?

You read the straw that broke the thought I rode in on.
It was a blade of grass once.

I've always marveled
at the aptness inherent
in the trivial meaning-making
which coined the term 'four-twenty'.
It speaks to the nature of the stuff.

Here's to 4:20, 4/20, 4.20,
We mark it a holiday In Praise of Idleness.

Who could have known the antics
of a handful of high schoolers
in San Rafael, California
should be the origin of this celebration
of cannabis culture.

I became unsure as to the correlation of knowledge with meaning,
And happiness.

“There’s always a lighthouse.
There’s always a man.
There’s always a city.”
There’s always a question,
There’s ever a quest,
There may be an answer
but never an end.

Experience everything,
Be anything,
Forget nothing,
Become something;
This is existence.
There’s no turning back.
The unexamined life is not worth living,

But the over-examined life loses meaning.
All we can do is grant each other equal significance

I cannot fault your etiquette,
"Fate had you by the heel".
I state that Europe has committed to democracy;
Achilles might personify this at present
given the silence in Rome, Madrid, and Paris.
I hope our solidarity endures afterward, for
another great recession is coming, and thereafter
another counter-culture will rise from the discontent
and be fated to excess.

Unto the self.

Sometimes I fear my ventures are too vast in scope
but I cannot fault my curiosity or love of crafts.

It's all that there is, left here for us.
An infinity of eternal resolution.

I've been running the shadows. Seattle. Berlin. Hong Kong.
I learned the hermetic arts, got chromed up, and lost my crew
after a corp caught our industrial espionage. The astral planes
are fraught with activity from a new plague. Best to hide out
in the matrix 'til things calm down. I'll write about past exploits
and can continue my ventures in psychonautics. Last night
I tasted a couple milligrams of alpha-Pyrrolidinohexiophenone
and stayed up until 5am watching Euphoria and writing.

Unto the universe.

When beliefs are all you have
they become of you.

All I have left
is time.

You must excuse the radio silence,
"Necessity has me by the foot".
I question whether America hasn't fallen into timarchy;
The Titanpointe facility might be enough to convince me
the world's a stranger place at present.
We desperately need a method of politics
that depends on articulation rather than representation,
Something to foster a more intelligent society. I fear
strange and merciless times are upon us
which necessitate emissions control.

Flaws don't absolve us of responsibility, yet they erode our agency
by compromising one's decision-making ability.

I felt loneliness, the likes of which
can only be known
as one contemplates their own body.
I recall where I was last week, a psi-trance gig.
I remember that evening's events:

There were many out, some
were from teenage years past.
We all ended up at squat party.
I felt belonging, but also brief sadness
as we raved in this abandonment:
Cold candlelight and phonescreens,
Cheap ***** and speed-amphetamine;
A portable speaker playing dark minimal.
Once upon a time, when we were true fiends,
I could hear it
calling to me.
Now I'm as lost, but no longer hear a calling.

When I got home my mind wandered until
it found the mirror, and I let quieted thought
wash through me, recalling, times, and friends.

Felt quite low last weekend. Took 12.5mg of amitryptaline.
I'd been meaning to  assess its effect on sleep/dreaming
as part of a long-running personal experiment.
Experienced hypogogia as I drifted off that night
but the content of dreaming itself was unclear.
The sedate feeling lingered into the next day.

Forty-eight hours after initial administration
I noticed an offset/aftereffect. I dreamed that night
and remembered enough nonsense to be bored/perturbed.
I experienced a vivid hypnopompic state, whereby
parts of my dream clung to waking thought for long enough
to remember some narrative (some sort of teen-drama mash-up
but the lovable main characters were missing, and I was earnestly
trying to convince myself it [the dream?] was worth continuing.

I get the sense of some venture,
And want to push for experience;
The pursuit of excellence, what else?
Is there anything other?
The pursuit of Otherness, perhaps.
What of mediocrity,
And of what we say merits?
Does intention have merit unto itself?
Is our pursuit of the good life so premised on virtue,
And the Other as premised on whatever's vice?

I reclaim my cravings, and return
to attend to some wayward notions
in the darkness of my dear hometown.
Laudatio Ejus Manet In Secula Seculorum.
Who let the living out?

What do you do when nothing excites you anymore,
How do you cope in the post-epicurean world?

Chroma key a green tee with the galaxies
you wish you could visit,

Message me
and I'll meet there you there.

Acute anxiety, insomnia, hand tremors, and a pre-delirium state.
Feelings of excess glutamate
spurned by GABA dysregulation.
It was not 'the fear', there was no binge.
Rather it was brief, mild ethanol withdrawal
prompted by frequent consumption over the week.

Distinct feelings
of excitotoxicity.