My mind,
My thoughts,
My paradise lost;
Only you
dearest
reader
dare I let glance in here,
The corridors of my psyché echo
with the voices of friends and family.

My voice resounds in its chamber,
My thought reverberates on these planes,

I tell myself, the only reason I live is for others
because whatever would they think if I died.
Sometimes I wish I didn't exist, which is futile
because I know I am privileged.
Oftentimes I feel I died long ago.

Now I bask in the shower, its stimulus, the hot water
pelting down my back, I feel selfless, egoless, empty,
Questioning existence, bliss, I enjoy it before I turn
down for what, to the coldest setting,  step into it

Wandering
on this fading summer's eve,
The evening cusp held me high
in disbelief; so many hours spent
chasing dusk,
Longing for memory
amidst this gorgeous drug-lust.

I really haven't be reaching for it
of late; this illusion of independent
self-nature doesn't have much weight

until I try to figure what's eating
at me, what I haven't been able
to express as poetry. I keep
thinking to myself, keep
forgetting to get on
with it and tindr.

Cycling home earlier I had a thought:
She won't love me, she doesn't love herself.
Life's a cruel *****, and I am a heartless *******
in this absolute cunting-****-face of a wasted world.

Oh those cold, dreary, wet, winter days spent inside, warm and dry, looking out into the drizzle of these grey skies.
Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireann na daoine.
Lovers are patient, or so they say.
The quiet hours of our strange days
hold me close as hours pass and I look
into the clearing sky, a cold horizon falls
upon this tired denizen of the little
idiosyncrasies that life grants, such as
remembering, detailing, wondering what
atmosphere is and wandering down its path.
Follow your heart,
Consider with your head.


For awhile I thought innocence still lingered
in this old world. A fool I was,
That young word is used
against those who would
otherwise loiter on this old earth.
Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireann na daoine.
The future never arrives, plans contend
with the present just trying to survive;
We need be content, lost in sometime
and sometimes I do, I wish I was high.
I remind myself of someone,
I am so lucky to be alive
and when I realize
I am content enough to rest
for a time; sigh
What little of me did ever survive.
I wish I could offer you more
but I am selfish, I write
only for myself.

It's so strange
how little I'll let slip
compared to what I share

here, with you.
It's so odd
how much I've put out there
compared to what I keep

here, with us.
I need to come out of this
pain. I love

and hate
everything because
on some days I'm worth it
and on other days I'm not.

So I write
this terrible poetry
that means the world to me
and briefly the world stops
destroying me.

In this act of creation
I can breathe, poiesis
frees me from fear, it

releases me from my own
agony, I can believe at last
and all I can see are moments
shared between people, kept in memory.

It is bittersweet, καλλίστη.

In what sense does thought exist?
Do we qualify it as an experience?

Try to look beyond processing power
when you think memory and context;

Tell me what dreams are made of and
why are there so many stars out there?

Praise be oneirongensis,
[404: prophecy not found]

groggily:
**** you sleep inertia.

Do what seems to be a good idea.

Good is better than evil after all,
We would rather have good neighbors and rulers than evil ones.

Be mindful that
good, evil, law, and chaos
are prejudices and dangerous extremes.

Act naturally, without prejudice or compulsion.

Is it being high
or getting higher

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

I've been thinking
far too much
lately.

I lay amidst scattered definitions
without knowing.

The syntax is forming.

Frustrated at myself;

But feel I need say more
than that
about these serotonin fumes
I give off.

Ye Ye - Daphni,
Heard it before
hon'. Where's the sweetness at,
Where've you gone?

I feel fated to remain seventeen for the rest of my days,
And they be memorable daze.

There is great sadness within me, he whined absently;
I plucked this notion from our head and deftly, with
both hands, laid it gently to bed: aye, there's sadness in
every member of the human race, but it's what we do
with it that makes the sad great. I was but a man
'til I began to debate the pros and cons of being human;
I learned to love my sadness, my madness, me.

Chatting with Friday in The Blue Note,
She mentioned leaving for Scotland.
A friend commented on your body
language, I could not shake that.

Thought I saw Monday walking The Promenade,
I turned my head only to see you also looking
back. We waved, and it struck me

how we were kids once
and how much time has passed.
Passin’ Me By,

For awhile I blamed my brain, and I tried all manner of things
to adjust its delicate balance of neuroelectrochemical readiness;
But I learned to recognize
less is more. Nevertheless,
My experiences left me with a strange ache in my soul
and a passion that keeps me asking questions

about existence, and whether I will
return to the compounds
I once cherished.
Whether
I am well enough
or simply brave enough.
Whether I will be content to study
the things I love without
holding them in
my skull.
Why should the psychedelic
renaissance be restricted to the sciences,
Why should it be distanced from the humanities?

We need a fair psychology of hallucinogenesis; we deserve
a better philosophy of psychedelia, and of psychoactivity.

Is it too much to ask; does this dream of mine make you laugh?
What about when I write that the downfall of philosophy is
its disdain of poetry, and that the failures of science stem
from its inability to reconcile with the humanities.
Emotion and reason can only listen to each other when
they are on level. Mind is not in the head, the soul is ecological

and humanity is losing touch.

A figure from my past
didn't recognize me,
And I didn't say anything.

My time is almost up, I long
to live in the 808 State.
Perhaps someday I will,
Or I may just find Death in Vegas.

What does it mean
to "...remove the issue of skill,
and replace it with the issue of judgement"?
What does it say
when a machine outstrips the human?

I find myself rationalizing
this creature's evolution.
Should I have said something?

Surely, but to what end?
I fear failure, yet I understand
its necessity. The pain of a paradox
so wondrous.

A buried chest full of forgotten anxiety, what a treasure.
As for the map herself, I'll burn that bridge when I come to it.

Few things are so therapeutic
as discovering new music.

Especially when paired
with 10mg of a rather rare
base tryptamine. I have been
known to enjoy the occasional
obscure psychoactive substance.

Methylisopropyltryptamine
certainly has some merit, MiPT held my curiosity for a number of years but there's only one way to truly know a compound.

I am a proponent of harm reduction
and a research chemical enthusiast,
Ironically enough
the two are not mutually exclusive.

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.

I wish to be carefree like I once was, and not feel this badness.

With nothing to lose, you'll take chances.
You become fearless, a false confidence.
You beget pleasure, gain accomplices.

Careless longing, nostalgia,

They say "...people who are homesick for infinity
find it more or less in all drugs",
So come a little closer, like I once was.

Be yourself? *******, I'll be whoever I want to.
Be original? *******, I'll copy whatever I care to.
Be cool? *******, I'm so hot I burn fools on contact.

Love is eternal
though spirit
may change.

Once you love you always love.
A moment in time is suspended
as past diverges from present,
Love becomes attached in memory.

People may change but memory is immutable
once its sense is set,
Although knowledge and understanding
are not always the fastest of friends.

Don't be afraid of change,
Embrace it, roll with it and
you always come out on top.

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.

Deep revelation while MDMAzing;
I moved through so many groups
just finding my bearings.

Cò̝̰m̱̲i̦̮͠n̻̼̮͈̰g̶̤̞̖̝͓͇ d̪o͎̣̞̟̜̲wn̷͖͕̠̭̟͉̣, after
your teenage years
you think you're gonna die young,
Well here I am, s̩͉͓̟̟͓̗i̶̮͉̜̯t͔t̥͉̹ͅͅi̦̮͠n̻̼̮͈̰g̶̤̞̖̝͓͇ h̷̬̗̥̩̝̫e̘̩̩͚͇̙͘r͓͖ͅe̵̞̳, w̦r̖̝͖͍̣i͙̹̳͖̤͓̘t͖̲̠̲͙i̥͍̠̪͞n̻̞̕g̴͈̺̯̞͚̭̼
t̮̬̲̫ḫ̻͓͕̱͕ͅi͈͠n̫̗̗̗̲g­̲̝͕̪̪̰s̩͉͓̟̟͓̗ that don't make any sense.
T̹̜̥̠͍h̷̬̗̥̩̝̫e̘̩̩͚͇̙͘r͓͖ͅe̵̞̳ ̙̱͡i͍̥͍̱̭̟s̵ ̸͕̩ n͍̟͉̜ò̝̰t̮̬̲̫ḫ̻͓͕̱͕ͅi͈͠n̫̗̗̗̲g̲̝͕̪̪̰, n͍̟͉̜ò̝̰ o̤̠̼͙͎̺n̷͖͕̠̭̟͉̣e̢͉̻̯̦͖̟ i̖̻s͝ cò̝̰m̱̲i̦̮͠n̻̼̮͈̰g̶̤̞̖̝͓͇.

I've been quiet of late, had nothing to say;
I drowned in lethargy and was washed away.
My days turned to dust
and my months to ash.
This half-life scorned me
as my soul near collapsed.

I swear to you
I have never felt apathy so deeply before.
(Haha-haha-haha, oh lord!)
Was that contradiction a survivor
and the hypocrite my saviour?
I dare not hope any-more.

I thought sacrificing my ego
would make me better; praising The Entheon
could make me happier.

I was wrong, without an ego
I lost everything, one needs
a coherent self to function.
I'll pray to The Apotheon
and give myself to the enemy.

I will lose nothing
in the dark and embrace the thing
I held back for so long.

I will study the dark arts again,
Sorcery and addiction.

I will trust in myself to do the right thing.

Aren't I a fool

and a gentleman
and a scholar
and a fool
once again
'cause sure
there is only a
single chance that

I'm getting out

A philosopher is unable to question the value of philosophy
without engaging in it. Knowledge is a pleasure, and the object
of my love is bracketed by that question.

I am ashamed by my inability to explain this, this love is ineffable,
I can say it is true (even though that is a circular redemption).
Every reason seems bracketed by the unknown, seeming
to include the unknowable, yet I try to answer for this.

All I can say is that this love transcends the universe
and has left me behind, I feel poetry is the only way we could know

The keys of my keyboard
alight with will, imagination
and this mental life
yet all words pale
in comparison to
the scene lying before my mind.
Rain falls, in the garden and on the street.
I see it shimmer on the tarmac, dripping
from an old tree
I remember when it was a mere sapling.

Sometime otherwise, the scene darkened
and a dusk sky
I fell in love with summers ago
graces us with her subtle indigo
which I see through this window.
I witnessed so much I am thankful
for, every moment remembered has
some significance, rarely is it obvious.
Though this life can be lonely at times
on occasion it is so kind
that I feel in my head
and it feels right.

Once, from a dark desk
in a quiet room  I felt it
through the window, with it
came the sublimation of all
that I knew. I was contented
then, for a long and wonderfully lonely time.
I savored the moment, sublime, knowing it
fades to leave memory, not answers why;
Contentedness, wandering in mind and
wondering why. Everything has come
together, objects in space, movements
through time; cloud, rain, reflections
in water, tarmac, shimmering, leaves
dripping, time easing, sky clearing, the
opaque steam of a condensate wall fading,
The azure gradually fades into indigo and
again onto navy blue until finally, a black
absence tinted with skyglow, space in all
its darkness, teeming with twinkling stars.

Moments tied to memories, tinged with emotions
evocative of time, reconcile space and my mind
with a sublime environment, separate  from mind.
Its function is to divide subject from object,
Self from world, me from you, I from all
and shade
from hue.
Such are some of things
minds do.

A long summer's dusk
yawned
as if this side of the earth
were tired
of day and wished to usher
in the quiet of night. I found
myself sitting on a stone bench
overlooking the river, cathedral
and town as magnanimous indigo
stretched so spritely to ripple across
the sky and corral the light so that the
stars could guide me home.
Something shone
so I asked, where have all my people gone?

Gave in to the itch, looking for that real betterness.
I'm spinning, loud clothes, quiet figure,
Burnished copper chain on my chest,
The wry smile of a free animal who knows it's time

to mix some skiddy-up juice: Sea Dog Jamaican ***;
Smirnoff *****, Berliner Luft, peppermint tea;
Stroh '40' Austrian ***, apple & ginger;
Eventually it fades, I feel those
tendrils drag me back
into the sways, the throes.
The only thing to outrun them
is music. It is good to travel, to get away.

Being home, perspective etches a contrast
between lives, and I feel what destroys me,
My past chaste me, but I always had an escape plan.
Shall I reinvent myself again?

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.

Eventually the festivities drew to a close,
"Back to reality" we jested yet 'twas no joke.

I remember thinking this all could have been a dream,
Oh sweet, lost memories that we struggle to gleam.

Body & Soul, mind or psyche.

An infinitesimal, subtle feeling grows
as the beats change. Once again, dance
with some grace. Let the sway show just how
transitions attack and fade. By the stars, what

a heavenly place! I say it and shiver, half-scoffing,
Wholly wondering, whether I should wander onto
another plane. The other half always did reside in Hades.
In the half-light I lied, hear my chthonic falsity and decide.


I am not afraid but, there is so much work to do
and I don't think I can do it without you.

Our lives are the purest form of poetry,
Each moment is potent,
We are the cosmos in motion.

Some people believe in fate,
I say believe in flourishing; ask yourself:
What doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things?

Spring to Summer;
Degrees went by
as he remembered
how we lay there
some hazy days
ago, down by the Shire
in a place in the Wesht
near a canal,
A cathedral's
oxygenated copper dome
poking out, rising above
trees taller than streetlamps.

Winter from Fall;
Degrees went by
in memoriam of
a park, occluded by mist
breathed in to form the fog of
Aetherius, patron of our territory.

Other gods fought for these lands
we'd otherwise have forgotten
but for they were sacred

and us, abandoned.


Degrees went by
Degrees of memory/days,
Degrees of amnesia/haze;

That feeling like
you've been
meandering through
this whole life.

Know in yourself what ain't true,
Yet can't help but feel it
as black turns to blue.

The Warp rumbles
as the young gods stew,
The Necrontyr slumber
whilst the C'tan renew.

We had to grow up and pretend
like there aren't any of these problems
burning onto one's soul, eating at us

like fire around a coal;
Judgement and disbelief
are among my greatest fears

yet are the subtle expressions
of this fickle palimpsest, composite
of our longest years.

Thought I was creating something,
Detailing feeling and knowing,
Dedicating experience and growing,
Thinking of something better than me
in the hopes that it would better me.
I am not ashamed of myself-consoling poetry,
I had to try, that's all I ever meant by it.
If anyone should notice, and gods forbid they do
actually read this, then I'll admit it: I am Mydriasis

Humans few and far between,
I love you with all my heart
but when the poet's over
turn out the lights; like
all the things I've felt
throughout my life,
"This feels right".
The good, the bad, and
the meaningless. The time
spent wasted, happy; what's
the point of trying to recapture
this? This was written just to say
Bye and Stuff, 'cause it's not for the

last time that I gotta lay down next to
a ****** Bed Track; and I wish that
***** could breathe for me

but I feel there's something for me now
so don't mourn for your boy Mydriasis.

He found a truth, now she's on the path
to find his peace. Call me Aletheia
because I want to be truthful.

When things become difficult
I am not afraid to turn towards the source of pain.
Thus I asked: what is your greatest fear?

Failure is a path to learning.
To err is human.

You can never be abandoned.
Solitude is a blessing.

Damage is the chance we take.
It is the most genuine fear

known to all wounded healers.

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

In my city,
                 All I know is,
                                      All I want is;
I love you.
                 Sunrise over stone.

I see the reflection
of this world
and a reflection of myself,
Thy dilated pupil
sealed its glass envelope;
We consume and produce everything
that ever is, was and will be
simply by perceiving,
It exists regardless
but we give it meaning.

Recently I was misidentified as a psychonaut
so allow me to clarify,
I am not.

I am no longer
part of that cabal,
I am no more a psychonaut than I am a catholic;

But, as a philosopher, I will write of it.


Psychonautics is an act of configuration.
It refers to a methodology
for describing and explaining
configurations of consciousness,
And a research cabal
in which adherents explore
and harness those configurations.

The power of psychonautics
is that configurations of consciousness
have resonant effects on meaning and belief.
The psychonautic cabal emerges from a recognition of this.

Psychonautic exploration is not without risk
to the physical and psychological well-being
of the researcher, to their essence and beliefs.

An experienced and trustworthy practitioner
can provide a tether to your shared reality,
Advanced practices require caution and patience
to navigate safely; "[t]here is no casual experiment".


In the Western paradigm, classical psychonautics
was defined by contemplative and ritual techniques,
The religious or spiritual practices of a tribe or society.

Modern psychonautics has been increasingly defined by
the use of psychoactive substances, which is likely the result
of secularization, advances in pharmacy, and the war on drugs.

In contemporary society psychoactives are a valuable commodity
that many people use (or misuse) for a variety of reasons.

Some will seek out drugs they have not tried before,
Few shall devote themselves entirely, investing
their time and resources in learning about,
acquiring and assessing psychoactives.

This latter cohort aligns with the methodology
of psychonautics, they commit to understanding
through practice. Many become well-versed
in Novel Psychoactive Substances (NPS),
Some academics assume this is the mark of the modern psychonaut
but it is mere specialization  rather than characteristic thereof.


As more initiates into psychonautics emerge from drug experiences
so does the cabal become more chemical. Nevertheless
it draws its adherents from a diversity of practices.

Psychonautic practices entail ontological risks,
The ranks of the cabal are full
of disordered, misguided, or warped adherents
whose heedless practice undermines
the meaningfulness of consensual reality.
A lack of formal training and mental health
likely contribute to this, although no equation
can encapsulate the qualitative experience which
compromises ontological security.


The cabal is decentralized, without singularly defined leadership
or ideals, and it operates through intrigue. Its adherents
may dispute the ethos or validity of some practices
and their corresponding configurations, and so
within the cabal there is an internal politics:

Cognitive liberals
believe anyone using responsibly
should be allowed their methodology and be able to practice.

Universalists or absolutists
believe everyone should be initiated, if not adherent.

Elitists and psychocrats
hold that only their method and practice is valid.

Cognitive dissidents
believe the methodology and its praxis must not be vested
in nation-states, corporations, or religions
if it is/they are to retain its power.

The cabal's politics of intrigue
represent an unspoken power struggle
where the stakes are unclear, if even communicable.

If the war on drugs comes to an end, psychonautics
will be redefined by its next wave of initiates,
May they be wise and kind.


I have written enough,
That part of my life is well and truly over.
My purpose here is to explore ideas, to experiment with poetry.
The place I allocate psychoactives
has always been secondary to that;

Rarely do I deign to sail the soul now
but when I do, know I am a philosopher

and do so as an inquiry into mind
rather than in service of alteration.

I took 15mg of mirtazapine on Sunday evening out of pure curiosity.

As a result of its histaminergic activity there is sedation
yet I find I am easily surprised, jumpy but tired.
Initial slight sensations of arthralgia.

After a few hours I identify mild eidetic imagery,
Ever-so-slightly persistent with closed eyes.
These visual hallucinations emerge
from imagination, neither delirious nor lucid.
Perhaps they're more like vivid daydreams
and would leave with tolerance.

This faint mode of hallucination led into and out of sleep,
Supplanting hypnogogic and hypnopompic imagery.
What I remembered of dreaming was much the same:
Nonsensical conetent with similar imagery.
Upon waking its effects were still apparent.

How many of us are there, out there:
Wherever are those poets in all their
graces? Whose life story might they
find, trial by fire to test the will and
condition the mind. Who'd outshine
even the most illustrious noble man?

Above lies an awful brick of a verse
if I do say so myself, I 'ave not yet
mastered the art of grace my-lord.

The supplicant whose life story shone
might yet demand attention but
"I'd prefer not to".

I am somewhat disappointed
in myself and those old habits.

I did not intend
to drink or smoke
or take stimulants
last night. Alas, my former zealotry took me by surprise.

I was happy enough just being around my people,
Talking with them. There was no need for me
to be as concerned,
To champion
the cause.

This I regret
for I was far too drunk
when the 4-Fluoroethylphenidate
came out, and its nuances were lost on me.

During the holidays we'd spend some time
on our university campus
tripping.
I'm sure the total amount of time spent there
under the influence of psychedelics
would surprise
a few of my lecturers, but I know that
places of learning benefit from
the open-minded.