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Ten-thousand mics under the sea
and the stage was an island,
Mr. Mojo Risin', stranded
on another planet's horizon.

By Saturn's rings, a tiger; rawr!

Bittersweet sadness,
I miss that; the longing,
The madness. I ask this:
Is context all that ever is?

but isn't there more to life
than it? Living in Progress,
The purpose, subaqueous; like
waves lapping on temporal sand,
Keep an adaptable mind at hand.

This is more than a dance,
Motion occurs differently;
Like sheets of silk, smooth yet trippy.

Acid burn,
Liquid trance
-Line Three reference, L.A. Woman by The Doors
-Line Five reference, Doctor Emmet Brown (Christopher Lloyd) from Back To The Future
Heaven is dark
and the dark is warm.
The misanthroes of mirthful damnation cast
this hedonism in the hopes of escaping,
It's a lonely heaven, lost in feeling,
Thinking without purpose yet meaning.

What am I if not seeking to be labelled, (am I
not? Does it just happen? So) why would I care to imagine
otherwise, that sometimes I feel;
And sometimes it feels too much
so I think less than a human does
(in-trying to "normalize" myself).

The question is one of human connection,
The human condition in all its conviction;
To feel less enables injustice but to think less
leads to ignorance, to feel more brings my mind
down a path of recursion, lo and behold: infinite
regression, insanity and all of my friends are jus'
chillin'. Better not fear them, the only thing to fear
is fear itself, so acquiesce to feeling lest their fear
becomes manifest, keep measure of it
in order to belay irrationalé.
4lpha-Masculine? 0mega keeps watch
for the manipulative 5igma. Relinquishing sanity
for a measure of phobia, just as Empathos does
when she wanders in Absudia.

In exile, 7ired and £rayed, as the 1and-of-Humankind is
ever-longing, tempting and taunting [us to join with them].

I call out our name, drawn to be, ever-longingly.

*Lonely people
are always
up late
at night.
The philosopher is unable to question the value of philosophy
without doing philosophy, how can I know why I love to know things

without knowing there are things to love. Searching for knowledge the object of my love is not unknown, it has been bracketed by my

question. I am ashamed by my inability to explain this love, it is ineffable, all I can say is that I love and my love is of philosophy.
A circular redemption. No one reason will do it justice, every single reason cannot be articulated; even if I were to posit this

it would bracket the unknown, thus including the unknowable which cannot be presumed to exist. I am ashamed by my inability 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
as to whyever one would love knowledge so.
**** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me,
**** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me,
**** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me,
**** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me,
**** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, see me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me,
**** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me,
**** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me,
**** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me,
**** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me, **** me.

Love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me,
Hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me,
Love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me,
Hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me,
Love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me,
Hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me,
Love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me, love me,
Hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me, hate me.

Leave me, leave me, leave me, leave me, leave me, leave me, leave me,
Leave me, need me, leave me, need me, leave me, need me, leave me,
Leave me, leave me, need me, need me, need me, leave me, leave me,
Leave me, need me, need me, need me, need me, need me, leave me,
Leave me, leave me, need me, need me, need me, leave me, leave me,
Leave me, need me, leave me, need me, leave me, need me, leave me,
Leave me, leave me, leave me, leave me, leave me, leave me, leave me.

Believe me, believe me, believe me, believe me, believe me, believe me,
Believe me, it's buried, believe me, believe me, it's buried, believe me,
Believe me, believe me, it's buried, it's buried, believe me, believe me,
Believe me, believe me, it's buried, it's buried, believe me, believe me,
Believe me, it's buried, believe me, believe me, it's buried, believe me,
Believe me, believe me, believe me, believe me, believe me, believe me.

Deceive me, feed me, deceive me, feed me, deceive me, feed me, deceive
Me, believe me, heed me, believe me, heed me, believe me, heed me, feed
Me, feed me, deceive me, feed me, deceive me, feed me, deceive me, feed
Me, believe me, heed me, believe me, heed me, believe me, heed me, feed
Me, feed me, deceive me, feed me, deceive me, feed me, deceive me, feed.

Pleading, appeasing, displeasing, apologising, releasing, pleasing me,
Pleading, appeasing, displeasing, apologising, releasing, pleasing me,
Pleading, appeasing, displeasing, apologising, releasing, pleasing me,
Pleading, appeasing, displeasing, apologising, releasing, pleasing me.

Will you end it quickly, will you end it quickly, will you end it quickly,
will you end it quickly, will you tend to it quick, will you end it quickly,
will you end it quickly, will you end it quickly, will you end it quickly?

Will we ever learn to stop worrying and love the bomb, will we ever
learn to stop worrying and love our carbon?

When the human's over turn out the lights!
I gotta start thinking again,
I stopped but I can't remember when.

Absolute zero is colder than reality.
It would promote states of matter that break physicality:
Superconductivity is irresistible electrically,
Superfluidity is immeasurable in it's viscosity.

If bending the physics is possible, then
everything we know could be purely contextual.

Ah, that's when.
Pseudoscience wins again.
"The Absurd" refers to the conflict between
the human tendency to seek inherent value and meaning in life and
the human inability to find any.
Do not let this discourage your journey
for we all have far to go
and, as stated, the destination matters not;
How one gets to there is what counts.

You must embrace the absurd condition of humankind
yet continue searching for meaning in life.

*This is *Living in Progress
A man of strange substance
that knows not why he does
this to himself. The chance
that he might be someone
who'd experience something,
But without the drugs that
give him a grand illusion
of power
over chance,
Over a bundle
of drives that rule
fate. "Whoever fights
monsters should see to it
that in the process he does not
become a monster. And if you gaze
long enough into an abyss, the abyss
will gaze back into you." Grand so.

Some hexen and a few cans? Grand.
Some 2C-T-2 and DCK? Grand.
Some more 4-MEC? Grand.
What'll we have today?
Will it make any difference?
Who is this person at the reigns?
This alchemical dabbling, these habits
of mine, there's something right about this
among all the despair and wrong decisions
that surround it. Of course, I've made mistakes
in the past, let slip this and that;
My composure recovered
but my self-esteem's
been beat down
by others, and that's
why I first turned to these
things. It is a pity drug use is
not so well-respected as a practice
when it extends beyond the jurisdiction
of medicine, there's more to psychoactivity
than poison, remedy or scapegoat.

This passion of mine spans from sacred to academic.
Please extend me the courtesy of recognizing intellect.
We are, all of us, thinking beings. I am merely trying to make my thoughts more apparent, to clarify this thing we term experience.
We are the interesting animal, creatures of language and game.
Where does all this fit in, those things we may choose to do?
That's all I ask. That's why I do this. I wonder where it is
I am headed, but the only thing I spend too much time
questioning are my instincts. I must trust in myself,
How else does one succeed?

These refractions of character
are a tiresome habit, but necessary.
Line Twelve to Seventeen - Friedrich Nietzsche
I used to be more disciplined than this
weary admission: depressed.
Don't even have bravado,
Can't even let the tears fall
without choking them back
and praying for release from
thy lord's wrath.
I let the dizziness of freedom
take hold, unspeakable existential
terrors stand so bold as reality flickers
and this time I am not on anything
nor have I been in a long while.

I crave what it cannot give me,
With which it can no longer fill me;
Happiness and stability, is it wrong to be
full of longing, striving to escape, for a release
from whatever's been pressing me, pressuring,
Impressing upon or expressing from. I realized
all the things I am
or all that I am not
willing to have, fear
somehow makes me
less of a man
than the man
I should be but I know that's not true,
I am no more than any of you,
Any human, imperfect.
Know thyself, know how one appears
to be, to accept an appearance
is to subscribe to definition
and apparently to affirm a particular
definition. Knowledge comes from appearances,
Even knowledge of the self, the self is nought but an appearance. Gender and race are social constructs, connotations, names given.
Took 10mg of Cetirizine last night,
A second-generation antihistamine.
Onset was apparent, and a minimal drowsiness
was felt into the next day: so vague, and slightly unpleasant.

Possibly an enhanced aggressive feeling 24 hours later.
Perhaps the threshold of psychoactivity; but really
pointless, obviously nothing (without ailment to alleviate).
How odd is psychonautics.
Excuse me.
The world is full of beauty
when viewed through the ******'s eye,
You can have your opinions
and I can have mine.

Hypocrites have souls
(but sometimes they're hard to find).

I found a bag of nirvana lying in the sands,
I think I'd like a climb in some desert lands.
I'm on a plain
and it's about to go vertical.

Morpheus pumped out cleansing dub
(as the esoteric sacrament went sub).

As I rave away the days
incredible colors dye,
A spectrum above the sky.
As I rave away the daze
I meet vibrant eyes,
Perception's coming up,
Acid cyclone on the rise.
A coherence of given presentation to the subject
which accords with their representation of reality.

The coherence of given presentations to an object
which can be said to accurately represent its reality.

Signification of object/subject
which coheres/reconciles truth and belief.
These operations of mind constitute the will which enables choice.
My mind goes to weird and wonderful places when left unattended
and they make me reel it back in.
They don't want a person,
They want a tennis racket.

These days they hand you a certification
like it's the same thing as an education.
Human tennis and indoctrination blues.
A seppuku generation, minus the honor,
In a dead-end alley, chasin' a counterfeit dollar.
Led here by our corporate 'benefactors',
We are skid-row; juvenile junkies
who ignore what they know.

Some of us chose
to go out like stars,
They fell so low yet
it was never too far.

"It's better to burn out
than to fade away",
Or so they say.

We don't need a prophet,
The hydra's never alone.
When you're not looking
we'll bring it on home.
With Kazantip as our Mecca
and rave as our god
we pray every weekend.
It's who we are.
Judge us,
We relish it.
-Line Ten and Eleven from Hey Hey, My My (Into the Black)/My My, Hey Hey (Out of the Blue) by Neil Young
Everybody's a philosopher
with a pint in hand
or just drunk and
thinking they're above human.

Who am I to think I'm different?
I am nothing
but I admit I could be wrong.

I can't do this anymore.
You aren't who I want to be.
The guys who think they know life
for everything it will be.
Your influence is inflammatory.
You take for granted
the limits of your vision.
This superficiality's what's killing me.

Who am I to say I'm different?
I am nobody
but maybe I could be right.

My mind's broken,
I don't care.
Do us a favor,
Don't go there;
Back to those old haunts again,
Come on, keep walking.
Getting lost in the hopes
that you'll find something.

Who am I to proclaim I'm different?
I am not
but I reckon I could be left.
Two wrongs don't make a right
but three lefts do.
What am I become?
Feel like I've lost me,
Wish this reality could
be a more animistic one.

My didactic self-analysis
is spasmodic, underlying the condition
in which I find myself; inhabiting an animal
that has become disenfranchised with itself.

I'd blame the world
but there's no point
in pulling that string.
You owe it to yourself, everything.
I know it's tough,
Getting used (to it).

Is it ever going to be enough?
Don't feed the trolls.
Especially after midnight.
Treat the bartender as if s/he were your drug dealer.
Be polite.
Left to these eon days.
Welcome to wonderland, I say.
An ethereal eternity in a moments gaze,
To ponder beyond the barriers of time and space.

For a split-second reality flickers;
Beautiful in it's deliverance,
Nocturnal firelight on shamanic sands,
Mescaline transcendent communion with the land.
Some daze inspiration takes me.

Suspended here in this celestial haze,
A clairvoyant glance into the eye of the maze.
The cleansing radiance of our empyreal ways;
Left in this aeon daze.
I felt the totality of nothing
and it provoked utter elation
as all that was born of sensation
was inversed to none, nothing, one.

It feels nothing beneath or above,
Neither beside of me, no way
left nor right nor wrong.

As aeons unfelt
allowed anesthesia
to grip me, held wight
by its dissociative thrall.

I have braved the depths
of eternity, delved into spaceless
infinity, submerged in its chaotic bliss.

I dared to immerse myself in it.
Low and behold, the M-hole.
There's nothing there (if ever you'll remember where).
What sky?
In half-light
this umbra moves;
'Tis not the sun we're waiting for
but the moon!

Ecliptic:  Darkstar, Blacksun; Moonlight.*
Amp up the equinox/Tryp through the solstice.*
We'll make it through to this apocalypse.

I yearn for a disclosure of knowledge, that's all I meant by it/this.
Anachronistic Inspiration: Kallista - Saki Kaska & Rom Di Prisco
Random access memory found,
It commenced without sound
as all played out against a dark background.

Brought to life in my mind's eye, these moments
captured in space and time:
The witness of expression,
The experience of sensation,
Ever-assaying the information.

I watched the world end as life began,
I held comprehension in the palm of my hand.

The existential is contextual and
casualty is a condition of mind.
Rememory is serenity, won't
somebody please tell me
where it is we stand.

Generations rise
and fall. Do we belong
to anything at all?
You make the call,
I just sell the pills.
Eras pass and fade,
This farewell is bade
and people forget that
their perspective is inter-
subjective; after all things
have come and gone and lost
the subject, whoever is left of us?
I have decided what substance I prefer the most,
What drug I would keep if for nothing else;
The answer so simple it rocked myself:
Music, both melodic and lyrical.

Expression and experience
together as one, impressing
upon us, the cosmic vibration.

Though *** and psychedelics
may tie for a close second

**music will always be my drug.
Had knowledge or being qualified
they would have beaten all others
for they are more than any mere
substantial pleasure.
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 lose it, lose myself in melody
and feel like you hate me but
I've hated you, not that that

makes us even. I burn with
that empyreal flame, I do out
a dose of tianeptine. I live, I die;

*I live again.
Spent the first half of my twenties depressed, just
like the first half of my teens. What a waste of life,

Unable to find love, to feel. I reckon there's potential
yet, I'd summon the will, tap the reservoir, let being
flow from my repertoire. What spurred this poem?
Spent today studying from my desk
while the sun was shining

and out the window
I could see a few kids
fooling about in fine

weather, slacklining
and chatting and enjoying
themselves, making memories. Wished I was out there
with them. Then realised they're not much younger than
I, and I thought them kids. Yesterday I was cycling home
and for a moment I thought: Soon I'll be old. Sooner than
I'd have thought it would seem. I'm 23.
Time is a construct
and age, a mindset.

College is quiet now
as dusk comes to a close
and the artificial lighting
fires up to clothe campus in
that kenopsic glow, those silent
shadows yawn as the night dawns
and darkness falls but the light above
my desk is a lone beacon. "I'm still here"

writing a thousand letters and
wishing for a thousands rests.
Line Twenty-Seven from I'm Still Here by John Rzeznik.
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,

Replant your soul;
Live on
That archetypal, clichéd feeling
I can't seem to shake. Once again,
Write with some grace. Flux shows
just how much I'm missing of myself.

By the gods, what a dark place! I say it
and shudder, half-laughing, wholly afraid.
The other half is lying, it always did prefer the shade.
In half-light I spied a shadowed face. It whispers to me, I

hear its divine abuse
as it shouts a cruelty.
I have been remembering
all day, memories
that I locked away.
I would rather they
remain contained but
my ravaged mind seeks
a remedy.
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.
Lines Two-Five from Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut
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
after a dip in
the Lethe.
My great-grandfather
was an Armenian necromancer,
He married a woman
who danced with dementia;
She was French.
Their daughter would emigrate
to the United States
and meet a man in that promised land;
My grandfather.

On the other hand there once was an Irish rebel
(though some undoubtedly would call him a scoundrel),
He did liberate many a member of his fraternity
which the British had interned in the gaols of Cork city.
Despite the cause of his father's brotherhood, his son married
the sweetest English woman I never met (not without
a fair amount of trouble I might add).
She died two weeks before my birth;
The only grandparent I never met.
A tale of hyperbolic proportions.
Sometimes it seems
like me and her, we
keep missing each other, one
is high while the other is low,
One of us stays, the other goes
and what goes up
must come down.

It is hard to be here,
Being what I am. What am I?
How are you? Let us talk for
awhile. We are friends, don't
give up on lonely chance for
relationship would not be forced, nor should
intimacy be founded upon a thing as fragile
as mental health if we are to have hope. It's
'cause when I talk to you it feels alright to
be alive. I cannot apologize, "I was gonna
die young, now I gotta wait for you, ***."
Line Eighteen and Nineteen from Die Young by Sylvan Esso

























Went to a rave
under The Quincy,
With an urban campfire
and an ambitious young selecta'
playing danceable tunes from her decks,
A can in my hand, warcoat on my back, among
Down by the riverside
we were all under
the one bridge
Grand portents
for this coming year.

Bring it
House in the city,
Shrouded in
its secrecy
but the walls
might as well be
House in the suburbs,
Detached bungalow
designed to let the
light in, prying eyes
also enter the domain,
Glimpse of a neighbour,
Or a late-night walker.
There's little privacy
in quiet suburbia.
From inside
a pair of wandering eyes
glimmer out upon an evening
sky, silent.
House in the countryside, a grand
old house, standing upright, open
to the world. We don't know what
goes on beyond our curious county.
Dusk on the edge of a river.
Dopamine Hit For The Data-Addict

Conscious Experience

Being Is A Category

The Existential Is Ours To Warp As We See Fit

This Iris Brimming With Choice Or Judgement

Dialectics Of Thought

Rapturous Olympus

Exile Vilify


Romantic ******'s American Dream

Devise Your Own Philosophy

Wake Up "Mr. Freeman"

Recurring (Socratic) Anachronism

History Is Written, Rewrite Politics


Listen To The Moon

How Many Dimensions

Be The Compassionate Arbiter

Humanity Is A Joint Effort,
Mastery Is A Sole Exploit

Some Sick Fiend

Welcome To Wonderland

Philosophy At A Rave

Thus "The Symbionts Were Born"

Found In A Maze Of Spring Empathy

Pharmahuasca Maelstrom Drank The Earth

Ion Chaser Ate A Hurricane
Janie saw her life like a great tree in leaf with the things suffered, things enjoyed, things done and undone. Dawn and doom was in the branches.*

Ah know exactly what Ah got to tell yuh, but it’s hard to know where to start at [...] Ah was wid dem white chillun so much till Ah didn’t know Ah wuzn’t white till Ah was round six years old.
we looked at de picture and everybody got pointed out there wasn’t nobody left except a real dark little girl with long hair standing by Eleanor. Dat’s where Ah wuz s’posed to be, but Ah couldn’t recognize dat dark chile as me. So Ah ast, ‘where is me? Ah don’t see me.’
“Everybody laughed
‘Dat’s you, Alphabet, don’t you know yo’ ownself?’

“Dey all useter call me Alphabet ’cause so many people had done named me different names.
Ah looked at de picture a long time and seen it was mah dress and mah hair so Ah said: “ ‘Aw, aw! Ah’m colored!’
“Den dey all laughed real hard.

But before Ah seen de picture Ah thought Ah wuz just like de rest.
Excerpt from Chapter Two of Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston.
I should be working
but people just do nothing
and let those perfect moments slip

away. I could have
kissed her tonight,
Standing in the rain.
Perhaps I should have
but no, I gave her a hug
and sent her on her way.

She's cute, I kinda like her
and I tell myself
I let her go because
I don't want to hurt her,
I fear being with me
would change me
in ways neither
of us will like
but I am too
broken to let it happen,
I am a coward
who should fear death
but often I find myself
wishing for its quieting
embrace instead. This is
an interpretation of thoughts
which I can know nothing of,
Perhaps it's all but falsehoods
amongst one truth: I did not kiss her
and you know I should have
but we'll never know.
I keep pushing people away,
I feel isolated; I'm to blame for that.
When I remember things, the ways
that I've been, it hurts me
because I can't reconcile how far
I seem to stand apart from people.
People I like and, could have loved,
I fear I have always been so removed.
From a young age I had such difficulty
losing myself. How much I value being
lost, I see it in my earlier writings,
The praise I give to the ventures
which took me to dark places,
All-the-better to find oneself.
"What does not **** me,
Makes me stronger."
Thus spoke Apotheos
who I once praised
in the maze that is
The Apotheon, a place
at the heart of apotheosis.

This was before I gave up
on life. Sometime
long ago.

is a human?
Line Forty-Four and Forty-Five from Twilight of the Idols [1888] by Friedrich Nietzsche
"What dignifies the Yogic practices is that the belief system itself is not truly religious. There is no Buddhist god per se. It is the self, the individual mind, that contains immortality and ultimate truth. At least I know where the self is. It’s in our own minds. It’s a form of human energy. Our atoms are six billion years old. We’ve got six billion years of memory in our minds. Memory is energy! It doesn’t disappear – it’s still in there. There’s a physiological pathway to our earlier consciousnesses. There has to be. And I’m telling you, it’s in the ******* limbic system…. I’m a man in search of his true self. How archetypically American can you get? Everybody’s looking for their true selves. We’re all trying to fulfill ourselves, understand ourselves, get in touch with ourselves, face the reality of ourselves, explore ourselves, expand ourselves. Ever since we dispensed with God, we’ve got nothing but ourselves to explain this meaningless horror of life….Well, I think that that true self, that original self, that first self is a real, mesurate, quantifiable thing, tangible and incarnate. And I’m going to find the ******."
-Dr. Eddie Jessup
Film: Altered States
Scriptwriter: Sidney Aaron [Paddy Chayefsky]
Character: Dr. Eddie Jessup
Actor: William Hurt

PostScript: I watched Altered States and thought it was silly, though I suppose it had some small measure of merit given this quote.
Post-PostScript: I read Nietzsche and reasoned there is no coherent self, only a bundle of drives which cannot be meaningful quantified across persons.
These social somersaults make me sick,
I find that I am consistently 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
but my head is buried
in the sand.
"I'm trying to be myself,
Understand everyone,
It's a mission and a half.

Looking at everyone,
Trying to learn something
but I am getting more confused;
It's hard being cool.

Our generation,
Have we a soul?

Techno emergency,
Virtual reality,
We're running out of new ideas?

Who is the Queen?"
Film: Human Traffic (1999)
Writer(/Director): Justin Kerrigan
Drink tea in space, listen to the moon baked.
Miracle rising, dopamine climaxing.
Interstellar weather, except in November.
Night sky indigo, beautiful vertigo.
The world ebbs and flows,
This self fades in flame,
I am in flux again;
Fired up, so many miles
to go, so little left of me.
This memory, this moment,
Poetic intuition born listening
to London Grammar
cover Wicked Game.

Feeling, genuine.
I wonder why, and I falter.
"Don't leave me high,
 *don't leave me dry."
Lines Twelve from High And Dry by Radiohead
How to reconcile
with the disparity

of realizing
entheos and apotheos
are two aspects of the one thing:

A metaphysique; this bridge
between logic and the world
has me
Dendrobium Nobile* is from the orchid family,
A plant containing 17 phenanthrenes
exemplī grātiā: 3,4,8-trimethoxyphenanthrene-2,5-diol.

A pharmacological stew, and a stimulant
of some kind.
I think sleep will be possible

after another while.
Spent the night dancing
to grime, garage and electronica.
Definitely Entactus, I felt that. Unsure what I learned
and as to the question of its implications on health.
There will be moderation, it is the key to growth.
Dear friends and fiends,
Those who'd weave poems
and lose themselves in dreams,
Let me tell you of the places I've been.

The hour of my writing
is late, as always, and tonight
I find myself trawling through
the deep dark web.
Seeking out the dark
stuff, I cast out the net
to catch a glimpse of fate
and to contemplate the death
of patterns that lurk inside my
head, gleaming all but nothing.

I will have the night always
and I'm wondering what
worth really is. Blasted
signifiers and infernal
meanings! Why can't
it all just go away?

So I spend some time in the darkness
until the end rears its eventual head
and I am left here, blind, grappling
in the dark. All we are, all our
shadows are; beautiful, ugly;
Powerful, ridiculous;
Good/bad, right/wrong,
Off/on; it's all the same really,
Tell me which side of the coin
becometh unseen?

No one's listening!
Insignificance is a powerful asset
given today's crazy, contrary world,
It serves as well as any sartorial shield;
Or, rather, should I say it is insignificable?
I am a being thinking no one's bothering
to listen to me yet I do much listening
and even reflecting. I'm not complaining,
Reliving seems a better choice of word.
I do like listening: I listen to the
quiet before morning and after night;
To the hustle and bustle when bathed
in that artificial light;
To other humans who
speak Other languages
in all their idiosyncrasies,
The content of which I'd not
grasp but the form of it I might
understand, from sweet Italian
to feisty Spanish, haunting Irish
to French's romance, the only tongue
I cannot see such quality in is English
because instead I see in it everything,
Some of which I'd rather forget, under-
lying meaning, miscommunication, dis-
information and each mistake and error,
Destroyed etymologies, broken referents
and the tyranny of endless signification;

Everything and Nothing,
∃xistence and ∀niverse.

Although I like to listen
I cannot help what it is
I hear. I do not control
perception though I try
very hard to fool the seer
into ignorance, to ignore
the pessimism I'd otherwise
embrace, to swallow those itty
bitter blue pills I'd otherwise taste.

God love every parent and sibling,
Friend, enemy and other acquaintance
for each of whom I have many mixed
multifaceted feelings but who I'd listen to
nonetheless for the sake of their heads, mental
wellbeing can be such a chore. I really don't know
anymore, I've no real purpose, I'm just a data-*****.

Not a chance nor even a hope of finding
work or love with hobbies like these, and
this for lounging-list of habits that I keep;
No meaning, or at least nothing significant.
Went away and now I've returned,
What do I have to show for it? Well,
I learned to love the weather, now
the rain makes me feel so much better.
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
at our simple universe.
Is it being high
or getting higher

to which we should aspire?
You know which feels better.
I was surprised when I realized
the corticosteroid had produced
a mild psychoactive effect in me.
I had not considered how it was
essentially a hormone and thus
could bear on my mood. Strange.
The next day was not unpleasant.
I felt good, confident, energetic, but
most of all, normal; I felt like a man.
This experience near convinced me
of a deficiency in natural hormones.
I wondered whether pharmacology
wasn't the answer, it had found me
once again. Random.
Clobetasol propionate.
Over the last eight months I tapered off
what I'd been medicating myself with
just to see the results. I'll go ahead
and clarify that my medications
were proscribed, not in fact
prescription. I reduced
my ministrations of
illegal drugs and
saw less of my
as such.

I've not been consuming cannabis as frequently
and've stopped taking psychedelics regularly
and I've got to say that the cessation of my
primary ******-activities have changed
something in me. Something I'd not
perceive within my being, a fear
of my own body, something I
know will depress me and
so it will be. I can deal.
I also have anxiety
though I notice it now
rather than accidentally
hospitalise myself with the
psychosomatic symptoms of
my mentality. Now I don't have
a distraction so I stress out. I don't
feel like myself. Sober me doesn't
feel very human so did I **** up
or what? Ha ha ha. If you can't
laugh with me
you're probably laughing at me.
I'm not sorry, nor should you be.
It's what people do. People did it
to me, nothing else. Me and them,
Them and I, tried to escape, here I
am and what am I? These shattered
fragments of a person, they were so gooey
he could be glued back together. Am I ever
going to be any good as a human?
I ask,
The true question is by what metric?
*Is it ever going to be enough?
She told me I wasn't broken enough
and left me for another
and I think that stuck because it still
scars me, to this day I am afraid of it,
That emotional pain.
Give me death or a better drug
any day. All of this because I wanted to
see whether I was as messed up as I suspected.
Who knows, amigo.
While it may be all in my head
I shan't hedge any bets
on me acting normal. As we say
(or shout) when in need
of non-specific relief: any anything!?
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