"Teenage angst has paid off well
Now I'm bored and old.
Self-appointed judges judge
More than they have sold",

There's no right side in any war,
I'll go back to being a lurker.
I may erase my past from memory
but I can't retract the actions
that haunt me. All I can say is
what I'm sorry for. "Serve the
servants, oh no.

Serve the servants, oh no."
That legendary separation was such a
bore. It may not be worth mentioning
but I enjoy the apparent irony of the world.


I'd listen to Teen Spirit all day long
while I waited to move on.

I am the darkness,
Because they can't hurt me then.

Thick face is a stately art,
In the pitch-black I have hidden my heart.

Recurring dreams fall unto the stars.

My sadness is closer
to the surface, I can feel it
tugging at my mind
but my gut won't budge
and all else is quiet.

All I can hear is my own
lonesome heartbeat
as I wonder
whether it's possible
to die of a broken heart.

I don't know why I'm sad,
I have so much to live for
but I set the bar too high.
Guess my cardio isn't
what it should be.

*Guess we could blame
the N-Ethylhexedrone,
Hexen does seem to pressure that *****.

Old friends, forgotten habits.
Last night I drank some things:
100μg of flubromazolam,
100mg of tianeptine,
And cream soda, among other things.

I quest, I'd venture, that sense of wonder.
I'll find answers.
Seeking to cultivate my contentedness; that existential

The nadir of humanity walked into the room,
Radiating unconditional misanthropy, he felt
everyone's eyes swivel to look at me, watched
them dart back to their original viewing position
a tad too quickly.

A glass heart and thrown stones,

You fractured mine
but I am whole and alone.

The first loss I loved to the bone.

Though each day
may seem long,
Life is short.

Kiss slowly and
savour each breath,
Love truly; remember.

Laugh uncontrollably,
Especially at yourself.
Life is short, forgive
quickly, no regrets.

The epicurean experiment is over.
The absence of pain is not happiness.
The consumption of ******* need not be
inherently bad, but for the present state of affairs.
If the condition brought about by a chemical could be
held in mind, its mindset prolonged, then redosing need not
be so gratuitous. Indeed, pharmacological determinism is false.

Indeed, all one wants is the good
(and would presume to better).

Indeed, there are faults in theories
and flaws in character.

Indeed, we are here
and by virtue of our similarities

"Dark have been my dreams of late"
but things look brighter in spite of this.
I held the torch at arms length
and let its light pour out upon darkness,
Illuminating what was once in shadow.
There is hope, something worth fighting for.
What had I been looking from? Sometime ago
I ceased gazing into reflections cast onto mirrors.
Often it's just loneliness; I am still healing.

Say what ye will about nicotine,
Alcohol's our neurotoxic queen;
God love the Irish, we just want
to "forget
all the hurt
and pain in life". The legacy left us
by imperialism, the colonial mindset,
The abject hate of our own system, sure
they built it and we just plough on, brush
over the fact that this 'system' is ours; watch
us **** it up, 'cause we just love to get ******
up. This penchant of ours toward getting
Hurricane Drunk, we found a way
to banish it, blow everything away,
Drown in it, "'cause we can do this
until we pass out." Submerge both
of us, we'll give in
to thy accursed thirst and let loose
this loquacious cannon upon the world
'til the liquid disinhibition hath run afoul
of us, fearful and mordant mornings become
of us and we realize that last night hath ran amok.
Tell me, what d'you think we do this for? D'you think
this craic is fun?
Are you wrong?

I felt so much, I
could not control it.
I had to close myself off
from the world of experience,
I had to make it stop, lest hyper-
empathy tear myself apart. I had to

stop. Judge me, please, I only wish I
could be strong enough. For what
it's worth know that I always
ask whether the pain is
worth as much as this
sanity I've bought.

I miss who I was,
I've nearly forgotten;
I'll be happier when I'm lost

in the darkness
and in thought

where I belong.

While trips can provide valuable insight
when I linger too long you'll find
these moments begin to slip
away as they are lost
to our reflection
in its pondering.

Sometimes we do remember too fondly.

Many hallucinogens we have taken
and now I must ask us to evaluate
and apply their great potential.

What is this psychic continuum
that we explored? Psychedelia,
Absurdia; delirium, dissociation.
Was it simply some neuromodulation?

More research should reveal much to us,
In time we will return
but for now we must move on.

The next area of evaluation
lies in human enhancement
of the cognitive kind.
We classify compounds
that can elicit such
effects as nootropics.
Their potential applications
fascinate me, as does the ethics
of academic doping.
Who doesn't enjoy a morning coffee?
I might prefer an evening cup of tea!

As I once said:
This is the beginning,
There is no end.
On the banality of perception
does all depend.

"Baby it was real
and we were the best."
Didn't we have it all?
But what is we
in the context of it all?

Have you anything to say,
Any phrase to call?
"Baby don't hurt me
no more", it's been a long haul.

We can become one, ever and all;
Just hold my hand while time stalls.
"Come on baby
(Don't fear the reaper)".

There is no end,
This is just the fall.
Pendent on The Deadpoint;
Know śūnyatā, feel all.

I ache but
when the music begins
everything bad
goes away at an instant and
I can breathe again
for just a minute, forgive myself
for it, feel kindness.
Be asinine without reservation, brave
like a fool but ready
to fall in love, maybe I'll even stop
wishing for contraband
because the hurt is gone and
I can see light at the end of
my darkest hour, just for
a minute I realised that
"no man is an island"
and I am not blind
to my own needs.
Here's to an ℓP
of empathy

Knossos, birthplace of the city.
Argos. Athens. Damascus. Thebes, Luxor.

"It is just an illusion we have here on Earth
that one moment follows another one, like
beads on a string, and
that once a moment is gone it is gone forever."

So many societies,
So much time.

"In you I see *****"
histaminergic days' break,
"In you I count stars"
while melatonergic nights' fall.

"In you I feels so pretty"
those mirror-neurons pause.
"In you I taste god"
that oxytocin calls.

"In you I feel so hungry"
glutamatergic excitation begins;
GABAergic inhibition ends,
"In you I crash cars".

Addiction is a longing for connection;
Dopaminergic seeking,
Serotonergic emotion,
Cholinergic reason.

Only I can save me
so I'll pray to me
and let praise be
giveth to neurofeedback.

I stood facing the wind
and felt like a teenager,

For the first time in years
I had felt something, again;

And with that it began to re-
-solve and I felt much better.

I feel like a sheep in wolves' clothing.
Afraid, angry, hungry, but more than
anything
I am lonely.

There's such a strangeness about meaning, knowing
it may be of no significance to others
but is the world to you.
Can anyone else feel this, can one communicate, what's
stopping me from feeling you?
Am I locked-out of your experience, or locked-into mine?
The soul-ache to escape, serotonin pangs.

Longing for connection, the body wanes and the town's fallen.
Hopes and dreams, aspirations,
Wonder without reason. I sit here,
Looking over the river, upon the university campus
where I spent many days studying, and a commercial boatclub
where I spent many nights raving. I sit on this rock
where I read The Tempest and write for myself
and listen to compositions of my own hand.
I think how selfish I am, experiencing
A World Alone (- Lorde). I am
sorry not sorry. I swear
I haven't forgotten
what it means
to be human.

Consciousness is chasing your dreams,

I'm damaged,

On the sesh, surrounded by friends;
Bottle of buckfast in one hand
and a joint of hash in the other,
Talking nonsense with the best of 'heads.

It is the best feeling in the world
for a man dreaming of that connection
and wishing for a loss of memory
rather than regain those moments.

All I have to do is turn off the lights
and the world becomes a magical place for me again.
It's that simple sometimes.

The recounts of infinite being call,
The path to lucidity is a long haul.

A paradigm shift is coming, and I'm ready.

Counting electric sheep
as I toss and turn and sigh.
I'll pray to Chronos if ever
I get to sleep tonight.
If ever, whenever, whichever, little heaven.

We lost another one
or so it would seem.
She left us High and Dry,
Walking On A Dream.
I'll wander my memory
under the covers (of sleep)
and remember so little
of that which I dreamt.

"Et in Arcadia ego";
Even in harmonious Arcadia
there is death.
So practice those words
which Epicurus left.

It's impossible to be serious
once you consider
the absurdity of existence
so keep in mind
his letter to Menoeceus.
Staring at the Cirrus clouds
as they drift by, Pan
(paniscus) is by my side.

It's hard getting back in touch with life right now,
Hard to hear my self-esteem.
I'm waiting to feel myself breathe again,
Waiting for the brain chemistry.

Remembrance keeps me calm
as these fathoms seethe;
Emotions are temporary,
Knowledge is forever.

Past versus present,
Let the day come together.

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

“The world is changed. I feel it in the water. I feel it in the earth. I smell it in the air. Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember it”
*-Galadriel

Sometimes I think of
Montauk, or of other
memories I somehow have,
Then I stop thinking, start
listening, let memory
lose its continuity
and live in the imagery given;
I have never been to Montauk.
How now, odd as nostalgia
enthralls, he quietly asks:
What would Percy do?
That son of Poseidon
remains a favourite hero of mine.

Might as well love the rain, its
pitter-patter upon my window
comforts today's aches
and tomorrow's pains.

Months ago I awoke
to an almighty hypnopompic brain-zap
provoked by dreams of lisdexamphetamine-laced cereal.
Forceful, shocking, agonizing; strange to have felt this
when I lack any acquaintance with Vyvanse, and
when I am clean of residuals. That a dream
should cause real pain, such reaction
in my being, I wonder how
my brain contoured
the experience.

Weeks ago I grappled
with a prolonged tension headache
so I administered paracetamol, ibuprofen/codeine,
And buprenorphine/naloxone. Those opioids
provoked strange daydreams, to countenance the many idioms
I've grokked over.

I used to think my superpower was depression,
I'd go around seeking pain
because nothing else would sooth me; and with each pang
I came a little closer, chasing it
like a true addict, savoring my damage,

Exalting in my lonely conscience.

When I awoke the opiates were leaving my body
so I lay in their dark waves of intemperate sensation
among what thoughts etch onto the inside of my skull
and found myself driving with a concussion
towards a home for misanthropes.

Nevermind my unjust maudlin,
It's been a while since I've been
back here again.
I don't know anymore has been said before
so nobody dare call me out
or so break my word.
Tell me we don't know anything about them,
Or anyone. This one? Son of a gun! I caught him
out on the plains, burying someone.

Gotta be honest now for a sec:
I just want to feel again;
It's been a long haul
and I can barely remember
anything at all. After all,
We had it all;
Might as well
enjoy the fall.

Proposition: Emotions can be explained by three categories or  dimensions of sensation/experience:
-Physical/Biological/Neurochemical
-Mental/Psychological/Behavioral
-Subjective/Trigger/Response

Trying to survive
the long road home
but if you want to live
you ought find a new way home.

Talk to yourself like you would
someone you love. High places,
Low stations; can't place the hour
as I walk through these suburbs.

Intoxication is in the air, and I wish to get spectacularly drunk
like so many of my kinsmen on this day of our nation,
A celebration that lacks class, brims with drama,
In honor of our patron Saint, Patrick.

Paddy's day, Lá Phádraig.
My wishful thinking was not in vain
but 'twas vainglorious in its promotion
of commotion, debauchery, devotion to revelry .

We are only be ashamed
by those who cannot hold their composure,
Those who don't know how to sesh responsibly; 'ara
sure you need to know how to let loose without letting go,

You need not know what the future holds to stave off despair.
Hold fast, hold on, I clutch a rose-tinged glass shard of fluorodrone
and a white parachute of pentylone. In this day and age
we do not simply drink our troubles away, stimulants
push past the brink of our limits.

It is not a simple day of sessioning,
It is a day of reckoning.

He thought back,
Through the years,
Months, weeks, days,
Hours, minutes, seconds,
To those moments, surfacing
from memory, his hazy recollection
of deified drug {ab}use, came ever so slowly
to the fore of a mind that long ago swore to keep score.

Somewhere in a dream,
I remember.
Sometime in the agora,
I spent.
Someday I'll recall it all
but until then
I am the man who forgot
{his/he's} god.

I do not have as much time on this earth
as I would like, I am twenty years old
and each year seems like it lasted no more
than mere seconds. In a month I will be twenty-one,
In a lifetime I'll be dead.
Whatever will I do in-between now and then?
"Just remember to fall in love,
There's nothing else,
There's nothing else".
Sometimes I'm afraid
I've forgotten how,
The only thing I feel
is this fake empathy
attaching itself to everything around me,
Stinging me, wondrously. I'm not sure
whether I believe if this is truly reality
or just misplaced sense-attachments?
I'm questioning my actuality again,
The sense which connects realities;
The accuracy of interpretations to
these many given representations.
"Will I ever love again?" he asked
of himself, foolishly, as if begging
for that insanity. I am a lost cause;
The first one said I wasn't broken enough,
Well now that I'm beyond repair I've gotta ask,
What is love(? (hahaha!)

I talk too much,
I don't say enough;
Nothing is the answer,
Everything is a question.
Freedom of thought is a lie
if it is unchallenged, freedom
to manifest a thought-pattern
means nothing without a will
to stand against these tides.
Reject that homogeneity
imposed by the socio-
cultural overmind.
We are too easily

led astray by our
persecutors
so we must adhere
to The Way
as supplicants before
hallucination.

Psychonauts,
Dissonauts,
Oneironauts; we are
all of us cognitive dissidents
practicing configurations of consciousness

Time changes people,
Power chains people.
What changed in me?
Whatever chained me!
Oh subtle judgement
and standard teleology,

Tell me:
Is the world
worth pondering,
Or is this all just
time wasting?
Thinking,
Longing;

Ruminating over purpose,
Contemplating loneliness,
Tell me: what am I typing?
These poems used to be my
escape, my passion, carefully
constructed as words were con-
-verted from temporal lifeblood
into digital ink which still I spill
over, the words trying, to find
something worth posting for
but sometimes it feels as if I
am not obsessing over these
sentences enough to pick up
the pieces, unapologetically I
throw out another uninspired
verse. Poetry's best not thought of
as work and therein lies the problem:

Me,
Writing the same poem
for the umpteenth time,
It feels like we've been
here before but can't seem
to remember; of which this piece is
a perfect example, disinspiration.

These social somersaults make me sick,

I find I am inconsistent in my thinking,
Depending on my present company.

My internal dialogue is so messy:
Everyone's talking, nobody's listening.

Sometimes I feel as if each of us were stranded
on our own island, and our only way to communicate is by

shouting across the straits
at one and other

“To love. To be loved.
To never forget your
own insignificance.
To never get used to the unspeakable violence
and the ****** disparity of life around you.

To seek joy in the saddest places.
To pursue beauty to its lair.
To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple.

To respect strength, never power.
Above all, to watch.
To try and understand.
To never look away.
And never, never to forget.”

There are two tomes I would consider sacred
and by sacred I mean worthy of veneration,
These books should not be mistaken for
being more than paper or strictly true,
With that in mind I will direct you
to PiHKAL:A chemical love story
& TiHKAL:The continuation.

They do not contain commandments on how to live
nor imperatives on what is moral nor why it is.
Rather, they tell the story
of a pair of explorers, a couple of psychonauts;
Two lovers, two friends;
Two lives, intertwined.
I believe in their story, and thank them for letting it be known.

The least I could do is write them a poem.
I do not endorse worship, all things written
were wrought by human, lest we apotheosize.

Let me be clear, I am merely paying tribute
to writings which are endeared to me, a writer.

Why? These books made a difference. Something this author aspires to!

I spent far too long striving to be ordinary.
Previously, only when nothing mattered
did I feel truly free. What does it mean
to say this? I try to remember not to care
too much but
I must be sure
to love more than enough. Atardecer, amanecer.

It may not be
who I wanted to be
but so often I find it is who I am, so I take what comfort I can
from my identity. Still, I feel shame for being this way.

I believe I can transform my darkness it into a force
for good but I'm not ignorant to my own corruption;
I believe I can focus my intensity to achieve anything
but I'm aware when persons find this disconcerting.
I believe this is why I burn so slowly, and let shame
destroy me. I don't want to hurt another, so I look
inward
and chain myself,
I cast off my being,
Shave each layer off.

I was standing at my laptop, tripping, when the thought hit me: the reason we're so infatuated with technology is born of our yearning for control. What a lovely illusion to cherish, knowing does not detract from its merit; it sedates me wonderfully.

Ah but perhaps that's why Facebook is so addictive, as it lies in between ours and others spheres' of control. We push and pull, trying to hang on to these puppet personas. It's unendingly stimulating.

Virtuality offers us everything, and it's easily abused. So,
Here's something to always remember about the internet:

Once you put something online/out there it is no longer yours.

Yes, this applies to your words, you cannot control interpretations
nor can you prevent the theft of your world. Unlike reality,
Virtuality knows nothing of material scarcity,
The limit's the bandwidth and there be pirates aboard.
What am I if not begging for someone to come steal me? Take me away!

I don't have a name, all you can desecrate are these emotions I crave.
I'm writing these things because it stops me from killing somebody but
by all means, appropriate me, my work, my words, my world.

Maybe you'll add a bit of value to it, and god loves a data-*****.

On a final note, sometimes I am really afraid to be myself
because sometimes I think I'm a monster;
But I am getting better.


So there you go.

My love of chems need be fed,
For love doth consume us, even
if to our detriment, but I'm sure I
keep it healthy.