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Everything seems to be happening at once:
Memories of every night out blur into one,
Aspirations to manifest now after so long,
And I am off-valence, so willing to be lost, to gain or be bound.

I wonder at our capacity for spontaneity
and wish I had asked for help sooner.

These sways don’t stop, the only thing to soothe them
is music. Those tunes are the most
reliable way this anxiety fades.
"Know thyself"
-inscription in the forecourt of the Temple to Apollo at Delphi
He walks for me now, out in the street, under the bough.
Definity; the feeling it, I know how.
Leave us, there is only one thing left for me now.
I miss . . . .

Whatever happened
to that quality, the character of life
that enticed me so?

Surreality broke my mind,
Ethereality left it behind,
Apotheosis deified,
Entheos sublimed.
The Empathion felt,
The Psychedelion knew,
Everything I did, I thought was true.

Maybe it is, according to point of view.
Take me with you.

I'm lost, alone, in a forest, in a room.
In this perfect darkness I can see you.
Here I feel true. Hold my hand
and let us renew.
Leave this plane of existence with me
and together we will surpass humanity.
Let us transcend the mind,
We will warp time
and alter the divine;
Together we will sublime.
Ethereality is what I've been searching for.
I must proclaim
at this juncture in my philosophy:


Apotheosis is idolatry,
Entheos is actuality
.
To deify anything other than being
detracts from the focus of our reality.
Such inarticulations of thought
as I meander, sometimes
lonely, longing for
company yet

content in emotion.
For when I quiet myself
I hear the world's rhythms
and their harmony;

I see dim summer's twilight
through heavy-quilted rain-clouds.
It is something to cycle through

after dusk, a time like no other,
About the town
ever-dear to me
Here I am, getting all O-PCEmotional
after a mere 7.5mg of that compound;
It is decent enough, a pleasant surprise.
Do nothing without intention,
Feel for the context.

Focus on others,
Be yourself.
You choose your friends
but not your family;

We can decide who we like
but never who we love.
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!
Time is of the essence.
I'm sorry if my back hurt your knife.
Been trying so hard to satisfy
the darkest of corners
and they seem
to become magnified, but I don't mind,
cause heaven is dark
and the dark is warm
;
When it envelopes me I feel at home.

"I'll be fine once I get it, yeah
I'll be good."
Just waiting till the half-light aligns,
When zero-point energy will grip my mind.
Quote:
Lines Nine & Ten from The Pursuit Of Happiness (feat. MGMT and Ratatat) by Kid Cudi {Steve Aoki Remix}.
Sometimes you have to feel reality
tear up, upon everything you called life
to recognize what lurks in those subtle eyes.

Hear society rip at the seams,
Appreciate,
We've become narcotic demons.

Everyday you act in defiance of life,
Do it with style
rather than strife.
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.
Should abstain from GABAics
for 1-2 weeks, will abstain from alcohol
for 1-2 months.
These summer times are what I crave;
Under an open ceiling, a place we can rave.
Those clear skies gave way to stars,
Around a campfire we take back what's ours.
We're out of the way, you'll never find us,
Reclaiming our hearts and souls
in the abandonment that surrounds us.
Just another generation to discover the profoundness.

Wake 'n bake's good to awake
but we don't sleep for dawn's sake.
Soft words linger in the swaying leaves,
Reminiscent of Medina's calm breeze.

This otherworldly stage set a silent scene
as fresh air whispers incantations to my being:
Azure haze of summer vibrancy.
Some daze inspiration takes me.

Comforted by Aer's eloquence.
I feel lost right now.
Come find me.
Stolen from tumblr.
Reality;
n.
The state or quality of having existence or substance in space/time.

Actuality;
n.
Connections in reality or determinants of perception/communication.
Physics is the study of nature and reality,
Concerning existence and substance.
It ultimately asks: what is there in nature
and what are its properties?

Metaphysics is the study of ideas and actuality,
Concerning patterns and signifiers.
It ultimately asks: what is there, what is it like?

'Pataphysics is the study of the insignificable and unreality,
Concerning contradictions and exceptions.
It ultimately asks: what is?
∀11 is 0Ω∃
If the momentum of being was liberated
all things would appear to man as they are, eternal.
Actuality is just one blue pill home.
Note:
Lines One and Two reference "the doors of perception"
from The Marriage of Heaven and Hell by William Blake
Its warmth apparent,
Those chill serotonin kicks
in the absence of close friends
recently seen.
Genesis/Realis - Introduction, determination and administration [from baseline].

Actualis - Onset, 'curve' [self/set/setting]
in perceptive faculties (redirection for ascension).

Anabasis - Coming up, 'ascent'.

Surrealis - Plateau/Peaking,
Juxtaposition of perceptions; altered state of consciousness
contrasts with the prototypical state-of-consciousness.

Katabasis - Coming down, 'descent'.

Liminalis - Aftereffect, [afterglow/aftershock/afterward],
‘Threshold’ of the experience (readjustment toward baseline).

Telos/Secularis - Conclusion, reflection and return [to baseline].
Judgement and assimilation/integration of the experience
into memory has taken place. Usually requires sleep/rest.
Chemical encounters (of a venturous kind);
Let the body breathe, exhale the mind.

I don't want to go in alone,
Sometimes you just need somebody to hold.
Love is a chemical
just like the rest of the world.
The city is quiet
on this stoney
Sunday evening.

Some students are hungover,
Some carry on the ReSession.

Dusk; and the streets are zen,
Clear-skies and lamplight
shining down as night sets in.

Who's on the recovery buzz,
Who's keeping it going?
The sauce is flowing,
What justice!
I still yearn
for those seeping rays
of zodiacal light

that creep into the horizon
as the long sesh comes to an end.
5-MAPB reminds me

of where it all began: youthful escapism.
A conviction that we were part of something,
Our transcendension rituals.

Do I still believe? I am so tempted
by flualprazolam, that it could lift me
away from anxiety, to feel the back-scatter

of thoughts adrift
in blissful weightlessness; but
it is only an apotheogen, whereas I long
for the Empatheon, because
dawn differs with
The birth-throes of adulthood is alteration unto its/our own state, the formation and growth of neural connections straining our minds, the brain adapting to phenomena in space and time, deeming it experience. It is this process I reckon to be consciousness.

It was only after adolescence I could begin to understand qualia. During this period my brain was busy going through the teenage 'motions of neurochemical upheaval. My mind was far too young to understand what it intuitively grasped. Something was memorable, meaningless, its qualities stuck in mind. This was how I began to understand qualia, meaningless memories which I treasured beyond measure without knowing why, the essence of nostalgia.

During this time emotion was a mysterious thing I could only feel as coming from my own experiencing ego, not as something occurring between two animals which one alone can never understand (though the narcissist might dispute that). Take love, an attachment, certainly an altered-state, a modifier of behavior, the serotonergic system implicit in its proper function (and if we're lucky, some oxytocin).

We'll hold this for further discussion.
Now for something mildly intresting.

My introduction and use of psychoactives was typical if quite comprehensive (and of course it felt 'special', I still feel this). Fascinated by what substances could do to elicit qualia (though no doubt unable to elucidate this) I lost myself thoroughly, great attracted to the culture around them. This accompanying ethos I could not hope to comprehend took me in its stride. At first I had no reservations as to indulgence, which taught me a few hard lessons. Later I would catch a rare glimpse of this ethos in its motions, gleaming it on occasion.

These times gave rise to specific feeling, recreation followed by reading into the neuroscience brought about a knowledge of some sort. The neurochemicals represented what my experiences were founded upon but not what they were.
I knew them in theory and from practice upon my consciousness,
This knowledge stayed with me long after my 'research' had finished. I would recognise familiar mental sensations in occasional sober interactions, minor alterations in mind brought on by certain foodstuffs (or lack thereof).

What does this answer in relation to qualia?
It tells us that moments are qualitatively conditioned by the given physical constraints.
What power mind and/or brain have over each other remains to be seen, as does the will's constituents and how it comes into being. Does it boil down to binary, exponential subject-object distinctions giving rise to abstract properties? Answers to the question of meta-consciousness continue to elude us.

We hypothesize that the given conditioning can evoke
a certain magnitude of qualia. We assert that qualia exist
to the extent that belief does (and is) but that they are ascribed
to experience by presentation rather than representation.
Belief and desire are propositional whereas qualia are proponents thereof which feedback into behavior, belief and desire.

Tentatively, we suggest that qualia might be measured in term analogous to wave patterns and spectral density while individual quale might be respective to individual neuronal constructs within the neuroplastic structure of the brain.

In this way a given pathway corresponds to a certain experience/memory.
Bureaucratic. Timocratic.
Stratocracy is not something
I was ever interested in. Is that
why I enlisted? Put these notions
to the test, challenge my philosophy,
And perhaps even change my worldview
which I had assumed was in opposition to this.
The institution, a cult of the state before which
I am canine.
The use of drill
to temper a group
in dynamism, to meld the pack
in subordination, to suppress reactions
and perhaps even tame critical thinking.
We are dogs of the state
and I should not be able to question so well.
My philosophical training may prove
troublesome.

It is oft' discipline without clear intention,
Values that lack coherent articulation,
The inheritance of a moral order
which is antiquated at best
or at worst entirely ill-suited
to the modern world.

If this is the soil from which
the crop of leaders are chosen
it's no surprise what's to follow.

What truly strikes me is the humor,
Which sometimes is incomprehensibly forced,
but as they say: hurry up and wait.
Make Haste, But Slowly.
The pace of life quickens, recognition
dawns in the dark corners of my mind,
To come alive, it's been so long, too long
to feel some; embrace these sways, to seek
eternity. Town
was such a remnant today. I could sense that
buzz hanging on the dusk: electric, ecstatic, but
I did not give chase.
Is it anhedonia when one's pleasures become mere
intellectual pursuits: my love of pharmacy, of music?

That recognition flickers
like a candle in the dark,
It was lit for you.
I stopped running away from life, and started running towards it.
Stay in touch with your dharma,
It will carry you through the anarchy.
The thought occurred to me again,
Whether we should praise forgetting.

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

You read the straw that broke the thought I rode in on.
It was a blade of grass once.
Hear my words,
This statement made:
All is dust,
Even stars and rain.

"Rise and shine,
Rise, and shine."

Ashes are adrift
on a glazen beach,
Time is passing
while you're asleep.

"Not that I wish to imply that
you have been sleeping"

Glass was born
of fire and sand;
Forget not
what you owe the land.

"And all the effort in the world
would have gone to waste until,"

Perfection,
This statement made:
I am here
to create and crave.

"The right man in the wrong place
can make all the difference in the world."

All is dust,
I find comfort in that;
Naught but ash,
No constrained path.

"So wake up 'Mister Freeman',
Wake up and smell the ashes."

Life is memory,
And that I crave;
Better not to ponder,
This statement made.
Half-stanzas borrowed from G-Man's introductory speech in/to Half-Life 2 (2004).
It usually goes something like this:
"Hey, where were you this morning?"
Wide awake and far too anxious
to think about socializing.

"Oh", [sheepishly] "I was sleeping."

"Yeah, what are up this weekend?"
Thinking about you,
I really like you, sighs

[exasperated sigh] "I'm working,
Really busy at the moment"

"You coming?"
I'm just not able
for it right now, have
to give it a miss.
[measured reply]
"Yeah, I might be around"

The thing about lying is you inevitably
do it without thinking, use it to cover
up what you are really thinking about.*

Of course you're only lying to yourself.
and it's 'cause I don't trust myself.
He had sunk into mediocrity, the inward facing tone of his poetry over the more recent years was proof enough to convince him there was nothing great about his purported foray into post-modernism.
He longs to change.
Some aesthetic, some anesthetic
were it my life flow, floating
through spheres by which
I conceive of the world,
Each with its gravity
and our lifelines
traced in the minds
of others. I used to live
like I was in an episode of
of Skins. Spirals move in and
out of view while I wonder how
we appear as characters, driven; we
build narratives, constructed of
the essence we perceive in
that scene: knowledge
of the moment as
Don't take this pain away
from me, it's all I have
left. Don't worry for me,
I have no regrets; I fell
in love with my loneliness
and then I was able to live
again.

Her name is Forlorn,
I'll never leave her
'cause, just 'cause,
We're in a good place
together, with no one
but each other; loners
forever.
Consciousness is chasing your dreams,
Humans are conscious beings.
I'd love something apotheogenic to get me out and unto
escapism, like some speed or *****. Halloween came
knocking again, the memories of her were so far away
it didn't matter. Give me an apotheogen over love

any day, the comedown/withdrawal is
more tolerable, I wanna be blown far far
away, adjust glutamate and GABA to keep
those fabled excitatory and inhibitory forces
bent to my pain; for which I'm responsible.
I hate having to curb my own autonomy.

I simply cannot fathom my own reason anymore
and it's conclusions are
killing me. "My mind
to your mind, my thoughts
to your thoughts". Of us three
which'll you trust? Psychonaut,
Dissonaut, or oneironaut. All this talk
of associatives, dissociates and spontaneity
has me lost. How will you find your way about?
Quote:
Lines Thirteen, Fourteen and Fifteen are taken from the Vulcan mind-meld performed by Spock in Star Trek: TOS.
I'm just trying to be happy
she told me, and I knew the weight of her words
having spoke them before.
A heaviness and loss of innocence linger. I wish
I could comfort her better,
I too am trying to get there,
She knows I love her as one of my dearest friends.

Whatever are we?
Whatever are we like?

These weekends take their toll
on our hardened souls
as we weather the comedown
like humans.
"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.
Quote:
Line One from Théoden King in Lord Of The Rings by J.R.R. Tolkien
Deep revelation while MDMAzing;
I moved through so many groups
just finding my bearings.
Inspiration:
Everyday - Rusko
A trenchant thought cut through the rest
to jolt me out of this haze (I savour), and
as the noxious redolence of Aetherius left
the fog of Endorphus settled in its stead;
While the mists of the oraculate cast
their insidious shadows upon
my bare chest.

Lughnasadh, Samhain, Imbolc and Beltane shall come to pass!
By harvest, hallows-even, spring and summer will it matter?
Pharmahuasca maelstrom drank the earth.
and I began to wander, in wonder again.
Last night the claw in my head ensnared me again,
This morning I listen to myself and try to forget.
Give me some early Caribou, Booka Shade,
Chemical Brothers, anything to help me
forget. Anything to make me feel;
Any anything‽ True neutral,
Like it's any better
than you:
My history, stories
about the town. My psychology,
Mental isn't it, we only know what's behavioral.
Things otherwise meaningless
crop up in memory.
What's trauma?
People so colorful.
Why is my heart grey,
Why does my head fade,
Why would someone chose
to seek comfort?
My head's ringing, that serotonin itch.
Everyone's doing things; all I wanted
was to be forgotten, some dreams do
come true. Now I stare up at the sky,
Face-up in the middle of my street,
Searching for the counterglow that's missing.
I catch myself
daydreaming;
I wish I would
just be.

I'm hungry,
Unfulfilled, I ache with potential;
And (stand) still
I catch myself
thinking about
transitioning.
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 wrote this about myself but dedicate it to a friend.
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".
Quote:
Line Thirteen from Bartleby, the Scrivener by Herman Melville
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.
Learned it a time ago.
The military is an olive tower.

Away from the rest of society
so long as the olive branch
remains unbroken; that
seems the position in
much of The West.

It concerns absolutes,
An extreme of experience,
The incomprehensibility of war.
It seeks imposition of will to defeat
an enemy, will which is bound in service

of The State, and we are like Dogs loosed
upon the grove.
There's too much of this city in me,
Too many memories, and
too many faces
that don't remember me.
Someone wanted my body, and it
made me remember how much I wanted to die.
It made me ask who would ever put their heart
in the hands of this bearded villain.
The struggle to be human
killed my ambition.
Thirsty bunch of dogs
baying at the stars,
Let loose and Come Find Yourself
down by the reservoir.

Shadows Of Ourselves
been walking insofar.
Heaven's Gonna Burn Your Eyes
down by the reservoir.

You know what they say,
Every dawg has its day
so we'll Smoke 'Em
down by the reservoir.
Schmoove.
Does information want to be free,
Does the law of entropy will it to be?
Even stars
must die.
“Our lives are not as limited as we think they are; the world is a wonderfully weird place; consensual reality is significantly flawed; no institution can be trusted, but love does work; all things are possible; and
we all could be happy and fulfilled
if we only had the guts to be truly free
and the wisdom to shrink our egos and quit taking ourselves so **** seriously.”
―Tom Robbins
on ingredients for
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.
This particle decay may take me for a fool,
Despite their weak nuclear attitude.
Everything looks perfect in the half-light,
Their reflections beautiful on flowing glass,
The whispering blades of quivering grass,
The silent sky of coming night,
An indigo horizon's illuminating light.

Those flawless young people at rest in the park,
That lay on their backs waiting for dark,
In an oasis of the city between cathedral and canal,
We found euphoria and were in it's thrall.
Heaven is dark, and the dark is warm.

It was here that I found my true home.
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