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

It's like
we can't even pretend
to be normal anymore.
Can't  have anything in mind
without thinking of our next score.
Forgotten how to interact without them,
Lost all social mores.
Do we think ourselves better,
More deserving or special?

Feeling the aftershock, again;
What keeps us going?

Praise be oneirongensis,
[404: prophecy not found]

groggily:
**** you sleep inertia.

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.

I'd like to say she abandoned me
to the depths of sweet junkiedom,
But that place is yet to come.

I'm waiting for the fall
but I know I'll jump.
Anticipating my fun,
Planning the run.

The summer so far
is yet to come.

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.

The following sentence is true. The previous sentence is false.
An eternity of infinite paradox.
Unequalibrium,
Unto itself in another universe.

When lies are all you have they become truth
and right now all I have is you.

Woke up
still drunk,
I feel so sick
listening to Cigarettes After ***
while writing this.

These tears I held back
for a few years have
come and gone and
now I'm hungover.

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.

I've been fading,
Nothing respects itself,
I am a piece of work, don't even dare to dream
anymore but from way down
deep the memories slip
through while I sleep
and then I can lose
myself to anything
other than all the things
I could be. The things
I write now
are so different
and I'm so confused
by the changing
things, voices
said to me that
"*** is something
to be respected".

I found it hard
to reconcile this
with my past.

I hope one day
you'll forgive me.
I hope one day I can forgive myself
and forget my faults.

Memory always gets me,
I can't help myself, I fall
into its music and lose myself.

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.

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.

Stripped skin,
Get your intoxication on;
Night falls after dusk dawns.

I can't justify it,
Only explain,
It's on my mind,
Choice, Change.

Less than three,
More than words,
Under the influence
and high on her.

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.

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?

Is it being high
or getting higher

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

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.

Speak the phrase "Civis Europaeus sum"
and safety is guaranteed to one's data
when traveling through the internet.

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

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?

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.

Values are malleable things,
Shaped over the course of our lives,
Slowly changeable except during extremes
which necessitate a flip, provoked by revelation or dissonance.
I used to value a capacity to be non-judgemental, is that hubris?

To suffer through confusion, to take pleasure in mania,
To soar with impulsivity, to drown in melancholia.
To play with fire, to pray to madness, to savor
one's pain, to wish to forget all the hurt, and
when one finally does, to realize the loss
of one's soul.

So I spent years
coming down, I sank into mediocrity, troubled
by my prospects; disenfranchised, devalued.
I reneged upon knowledge and pleasure;
I reneged upon curiosity, compassion.
I might be between values, between
integrity and wisdom, these are
no mere platitudes, for I am

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

Ha, just let it come.
Let it take me up
in one grand wave.
I would; heaven, haze.

There's blood on the tracks.
I derailed a train.

Let it rend.

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.

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.

"On my temple in Delphi there are two words written:
Know Thyself.

It's good advice,
Know yourself. You are worth knowing.
Examine your life. The unexamined life is not worth living.

Be aware that people have equal significance.
Give them the space to make their own choices, and let their choices count as you want them to let your choices count.

Remember that excellence has no stopping point and keep on pursuing it. Make art that can last and that says something nobody else can say. Live the best life you can, and become the best self you can.

You cannot know which of your actions is the lever that will move worlds. Not even Necessity knows all ends. Know yourself."

I've been thinking
far too much
lately.

I lay amidst scattered definitions
without knowing.

The syntax is forming.

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?

Some better habits
are written upon
our conscience,

And ketamine;
But you know what they say,
Irony is golden.

The warm, entactogenic transience
of 5-MAPB carried us into 2δ24, thus
we found ourselves in January uttering:

Tempus edax rerum (time devours things).

Embodiment says more about consciousness
than symbolism or analysis;
"Your emotions become your reality".

What anticharms and antistrange ways lie beyond us?

Our eyes take care in their saccades,
We skim the surface, brushing over one's skin
as if to remark that I am here, searching for something.

Being and dissociation.

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

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.

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.

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

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

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.

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.

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

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.

October looms.
Autumn is here,
I feel an eagerness

to leave and change color.
Cycling these medieval streets,
The scent of **** and rain-clouds

float through the town, NewDad plays
in my headphones. Think I'll skip winter
this year, travel to the southern hemisphere.

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.

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.

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.