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
curiosity
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.