Had a lil' bitta 2C-T-21
last night just to test it out
and as I was nattering with a
new friend of mine
I mentioned I don't enjoy getting
high like I used to.
He suggests I might want to reevaluate
and I am struck by the obviousness of how
I continue to amble down this overgrown
path. I find I am enjoying myself for the
first time in years; having rediscovered
personal growth, the thrill of potential
adventure, a glimmer of hope. I know
better than to chalk this up to a drug,
For it is a thing of marvel, experience.
Thanks be to Aurora but it was set and
setting that shone through to bring us
unto dawn.
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 Sleazy Bed Track; and I wish that
opium 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.
Line Seven from Jip ("What Was I Talking About?") in Human Traffic (1999)
I feel like a sheep in wolves' clothing.
Afraid, angry, hungry, but more than
I am lonely.
A long summer's dusk
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?
The reply, they're still here.
This lonely fiend's new friends
remind him how temporary relief
because I have done this too many times
and I have lost interest in living
as I wander this town,
My sweet city
split me
I've come to view masculinity with such disdain
but I wonder if my own failures cause me
to find it so caustic?
The comments of my mates upset me
so much, I don't want to have to
hear this shit. I don't want
to have to accept that
people think like

this. I am a man

and I hate what I am.
My mind is a trap,
Drug sorcery
may keep me
occupied but
I'd rather not turn
to it again. Through
a promethazine stupor
I spotted something
friendly for but
a moment but ultimately
I am in pain.
I've done what I can to address
this, looking for health
in all the wrong places. Feels like my
journey was all for naught.
I am so afraid. I hope these thoughts pass.
It has been many months since
it first occurred to me and I'm scared
it's real. I'm not sure if I hate being a man or
just being who I am.
What things I've written
over the years, I wonder
what will they remember,
What image will be left for
those I leave behind? A few
weeks ago I had an intense
realisation. What would I do
if I were terminal?
I'm still wasting time trying to
come to terms with my question
and to find some strength from it.
I remembered to breathe today
(so often I forget). I had a couple tokes
and got a little stoned but I don't miss it
as much as I thought (though I miss the times
and the humility of tripping). I avoid work like
an expert, lapping up the sun while it shines and
buying synthesizers; I did just finish
8 months of therapy.

Another realisation, or rather
the application of knowledge
I already possessed, a cause is
merely something we construct.
Supposing how and deriving why
are a useful set of fictions to abide by
yet they cease to serve when I assume
it's my fault and I should be able to make
a change or difference.
I persecute and victimise, recuse myself from
my own life, wondering whatever could rescue
the person I was
as a child.
Music might.
☮ <3 ☯ & 尊
Shoot. Loot. Shoot.
Loot and shoot.

It's like half past ten PM
While it's true I've never been
the bread winner
I still wake and bake at dawn

Although, I'm losing sleep
They can see a tired person
hurting from existing as an
addictive personality

Although I'm losing sleep,
I'm positive this is the first
time I've felt fulfilled
since the last time

Believe me, my instruments are mine
when i'm the instrument - ally
conditioned queen
Believe me, my work is justified
when all it is, is time ill spent
in the end

Shoot. Loot. Shoot.
Loot and shoot.

Look at the
roll in

Oh yes, oh
yes, oh
yes, oh

Blue, purple,
and gold,
my goal


Shoot. Loot. Shoot.
Loot and shoot.

Oh joy, oh
joy, oh
joy, oh

How come in the meaning I'm promised new?
When you're my sole believer, what can I do?
What can I do but shoot and loot
til I become your monument?
Yeah yeah yeah.
-- but I just got to 275!
There is nothing I could ever do.
I could never give enough
To even begin to repay.
I sense the weight of debt paid.

My love and dedication falls short of this
Abundant grace as all the efforts of a world
That gives out of selfishness.

I often live in denial of what I must repay
Though I never could repay.
But the inclination must be there.
I carry the weight of debt paid.

I have learned to acknowledge the debt
And accept that I was debtor
To a weight that would surely have crushed me.

I have learned to freely give back
Of what was freely given to me.
I live under the weight of debt paid.

--Daniel Irwin Tucker
There is a price to pay for every negative action and reaction. This debt can become insurmountable after a while. There is a love which pays this debt in full. But even though grace is unmerited favour, love is not a one way street--you can never be free of responsibility.
When you learn this, you will find that the weight of being forgiven or forgiving, is worlds lighter than this weight of the personal & universal human debt you once owed.  True freedom does not come cheap, but it is so worth it!
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