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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.
Since 4-**-MiPT and 5-MeO-MiPT have pronounced tactile and stimulant components (and DiPT is particularly aural) I expect MiPT to emphasise the haptic (and aural) over visual or psychic. The difference in pharmacological action between MiPT (and/or DiPT) and that of DMT, DPT or MPT may serve to highlight correlates which could indicate processes responsible for presenting/representing aural and tactile as distinguished from visual or semantic perception.
 Aug 2017 Michael Angelo
Slur pee
Foreign concepts implant themselves into grey terrain, like aliens;
Landing from a far away, vermillion planet to explore this lifeless place,
(Save for a pocketful of neurons that spend their days rubbing up against my spinal cord)
Blanketed in electricity, sparks cause reality to distort as if clouds fell apart and through the fog
Came God- to **** it. I don’t understand how we so skillfully secrete a monster in a man’s skeleton,
With his nerve endings begging to bend and touch any meagerly love, but they don’t reach far enough
So we inwardly self-destruct; leaving me so ****** that I crave cancer ‘tween my lips, even though I quit;
I want to taste you in my spit, a magical concoction of saliva, sweat and *****;
Concealment of a demon, tactical manipulation. Take my malleable form,
And stretch me out of shape; Use your destructive hands to create your image of perfection,
While I crawl like a spider with a twisted spine in our flawed perdition. Exorcise Christ,
And I’ll exercise my self-rights of freedom; where I’m permitted to be restricted by my own selfish ties.
Entwined in the unimaginable curves of Time, I’ll lay my eggs inside her and devour her line.
Dressed in sebum, I’m born a heathen; fresh out of the garden, apples clinging to my lips.
Give me a kiss soaked in the expensive blood of our sins and I’ll lie there pensive,
Holding on to extensive thoughts, herding them across wrinkles like cattle preparing for slaughter.
Breathe life into this helpless daughter, who’s bones have been hollowed by an ancestry of parasites
And she’ll hallow the saliva that sits on her sallow face as it digs into her blinded headsights.
She’s lying as a larva, trying to fly into a pupal state; her chrysalis diseased like syphilis,
Sores eat at pores and skin, inflamed, aches with itches that penetrate deep between layers of dermis
Her internal organs rot at the thought that this world is the final stop between an endless stretch
Of space and imagination; Let an extraterrestrial race escape from God’s hands through finger gaps
And find a place worthy of permanently marking where they were at.

-SLuR
 Aug 2017 Michael Angelo
Slur pee
Waves of syllables softly drift me into sleep, I want my dreams to be an endless sea of your soothing voice. Let your words wrap themselves around me and hold me tight as I fall from this great height, cushion me with your sighs; Heavily, against my neck- my thighs. You could breathe life, with the way you ignite my dormant nerves and get my lazy heart to work, double time. Electrify, every atom that makes up my existence with persistence and I’ll shrink down to their size, trying to hide from your naked eye. Bare your insecurities and I’d hurriedly grow and share my flaws that haunt me like a ghost disguised by my shadow. Wind blows cold as the sun crawls against the sky slowly shedding light into our separate lives, in different times; You’re in the future while I repeatedly hit rewind. I’d travel the seconds that separate us in miles, if only to see your smile- or rather, to see if I can conjure one. I’m imprisoned by the thought that I’d never be good enough, as if I’m a jester that can only birth a laugh by recorded track (Or dropping dead of heart attack.) I rehearse my jokes and practice magic on every turn of the world on its axis but I always choke when it’s time for the show, typing words that bore. The audience in my head is always snoring; tossing and turning in their eternal graves. Yet when you talk to me they’re born again like slaves to your hoodoo persuasion, erupting out of *****, grey skin; you make the wrinkles in my brain deteriorate. Clean slate, to etch myself a new face. Waiting for this dying sun to become snuffed and **** the day so I can lay myself thin against sheets and pray that you'll recite a bedtime story to me.

-SLuR
We are humans.
We are capable of loving.
And we are able to be loved.

However,
We can't force it.
Rather;
Embrace it.

You are scared of gifting a part of you to someone else.
A piece of your soul you do not get back.
Because you're not supposed to.
Give as much of your caring self to others as you can.

Let people in.
Allow them the chance to know you,
Show them your undomesticated imagination,
Your vivid thoughts.
Your loving heart.
Love as many people as you want to.
Be loved as much as you want to.
Love the way you would want to be.
Allow others to break your guards, stumble over the edges, and fall in love with every possible thing about you.
Because in the blink of an eye,
Your chances will have turned to regrets.
All of the love you wished and hoped to give,
and all the people you chose to love,
Could be gone.
At any
Given
Moment.
Kiss my sun nurtured scars,
Caress the cracks of my beautifully battered heart.
Open my healed wounds.
Break the fragile glass beneath our steps.
My love, I am a mess.
Stranger things have happened
The splitting of an atom led to all the Eves and Adams
We just keep climbing up this ladder
What happens when we reach the top of it
Does it matter?
Still, stranger things have happened
I hung myself with string theory gripped in madness
And visited the vast void dripped in blackness
Crippled past tense reminds us of what was
And how inevitable it is that everything gets crushed and
Deboned with time
My skeleton remains hesitant at 11:59
Still even stranger things have happened
I woke up as a lab rat with a hazmat and a gasmask
Phantom of the operating theater with the seats packed
Breathing in sterile air trying to feel the breeze
Strap my self into a gurney
To perform out of body surgery
I said I'd never turn the other cheek but
Stranger things have happened
Trapped on my pedestal lofted up high, shrouded by darkness, dreaming of sky, let me dance for you're enjoyment, let me pirouette and spin, release me from my prison it's you're jewelry box I'm in.
Alchemy- written from memories of my younger self and my first jewelry box which contained a tiny ballerina who spun to Claire du lune.
Am I old news?
No longer your muse?
Have you seen enough?
Is a new touch better than
a lasting love?
Like glass bottles kiss the pavement,

The Kωκυτός (Cocytus) and
The Ἀχέρων (Acheron) broke
around the stone I stood upon.
A mephitic fog enveloped me as
I left, it urged me to forget myself.
I ran from the mists of oblivion and
afterwards I swore an oath on the Styx,

Reminding me to let life
get under my skin and run
through my cavernous veins
,
Like the lines of some sibylline poem
uttered on the shore of a chthonic lake.
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