Light was wandering on the hill,
A promise I seal...
We can see a road and the tree
Through a filter made of tears
And I don’t agree
with us touching the spring of our fears.

Feel the acid in your throat,
the chemistry of your burning thought;
You are close to my soul without being near at all!


Three cigarettes and a bowl,
She eats her salad, ... very slow
a movement.
Scents promised to the air
telltale.
The hills are green
but wear the skin
of Gold;
The copper light is wandering on
the site.
She thought of mountains
blue and strong,
of high bright skies
with a trace of foam,
she heard the whisper of that morning’s Sun
when she left home.

Last night was cold...
When home, she felt
his spirit move around:”
“... release of a sound...
- not sold! -
She felt inspired and at peace
with everything within her being...
“And all was love and love was all they need”

The door shut loud!

Observing the autumn trees in the middle of spring,...
I am touching the bud of eternity!

“-Come back! You’re mine!”
he screamed.

The darkness’s swallowing his being,
she brings her light to him...
He touches the Spring: “-What am I seeing?!”
She felt they’re doomed,
“The bud of eternity has bloomed!”

Carrying the vision of a young man in her heart
And his lightning beam.

“-Come here! You’re mine!”
she dared.

The darkness of those days was about to end,
His bright light inspiring her being...
She took it in!

“Hold on, hold it in!”


My brain catches the beams of light;
That power inside
shows through the veil
I hide behind my sight.
An echo I seal;
I have become so un-Real!”

“I watch the arrows made of coal
“I have a goal!”
Before I know I am dissecting my soul.

I step aside,
The door has opened wide!
“-Pictures and words, put on a wall
to be shot at then left alone”
Lone.

*
The table holds an ashtray on,
two pencils and a bowl;
She ate her salad, ... very slow
a thought …
Three cigarettes were smoking on,
in the middle of the ashtray
right next to the door.

A last call: ...
‘-Hold on!

“Hold It On!”

Light was wandering on...”

From: Theodora Oniceanu. “Time Files”. PersonAll.

never rub another man's rhubarb.

so this article comes along
about aya-huskie,
****... what was it?
                              ayahuasca
and i'm reading it,
and i'm reading into it,
and i'm like:
     it's not unusual for 100+
ceremonies ingesting
this drug happen in new york
on a daily basis...
****'s more potent that
corresponding a war...
   the female enegry *madre:
hocus pokus
          harry houdini
       eating a pear as a magic
            trick *******...
nope...
   i'm fine my beer, my love
of home-cooked food,
my music...
       what am i implying?
   the ****'s contaminated -
just like the beatnik poets
contaminated peyote...
contaminated, how?
  they wrote about it...
who the **** is going to moan
and complain about me
writing about drinking?
                           um... no one?
the brew is so abused that
when sometimes comes
along and writes about its
effects, in a positive way:
you don't really start moaning...
all those soppy:
  papa was an alcoholic type
stories...
   mama drank a bottle
of wine before putting me to bed:
too bad *******!
    live with the fact,
that somewhere, somehow,
there's a drunk who could
juggle a monkey, a tambourine
and banana:
  and call it a musical instrument!
you ingest something
for a sense of humour -
or you ingest something for
a sense of wonder...
aya-hoo-haha-caska
   is of the latter category...
alcohol?
            ugh: the former!

and to be honest?
    the only and at the same
time the most spiritual experience
i ever had or will have:
will remain:
          hearing myself laughing.
that's it!

the sort of laugh imitating a fox,
the sort of laugh imitating muttley,
and the laugh that feels
like easing a **** of crunching
the stomach...
      the visionaries can keep their
discontent with dreams,
and experience them wide-awake...

but reading this article is numbing...
always the ******* westerners,
the white "bad boys",
what they'll do with ayahuasca
is what they did with cows, pigs,
dogs and cats...
   they'll domesticate the drug...
oh look... already domesticated
being categorised as a drug, rather
than the original of: medicine...

and that's what western society does...
find me a shaman using
alcohol and i'll find you a pair
of scissors in an ayahuasca experience...
but i just hate the idea
of domesticating something so
spiritually governed...

people really think that taking this
drug, in the centre of new york
will somehow create an actual
organic potency of the drug?
          in new york the experience
will be inorganic -
        and most probably horrific -

well **** me: jump off a roof and
hallucinate a pair torn off icarus!
    up here, in the hinterlands,
in catholic schools,
   they still told us what the ukrainians
used to do: sniff glue
   (can i recommend a film?
    lilya 4-ever) -
       or don't get me strated with poles
drinking purple denaturat,
     (denatonium, methanol -
                         in short? toxins!) -

personall i don't like the idea where
this ahaya ahooya, whatever thing is going...
to me it has a scent of a process
of domestication...
        but i suppose if you're going
to deforest the amazon,
    you also have to attack the spirit -

now that i've read about the experience,
i'm rather keen on trying to
unravel the problem of antidepressants:
also in the same newspaper...
   namely escitalopram (lexarpo)
  & sertraline & clonazepam
  & paroxetine (seroxat) - all of them being
anti-depressants; so no:

i wouldn't disturb the amazonian shamans
for some "bogus" life-changing
experiences, i'd look at the situation where
drugs have moved beyond the stage
of being domesticated from their natural
environment... and... therefore?
                                    industrialised!

talk to random schizophrenic in the middle
of a night over a kalimotxo (basque drink,
red wine and coca-cola - kali kali kali
m'oh ch'oh) -
and he'll tell you: yeah, knew a guy,
was on antipsychotic medication:
                                 grew a pair of ****!

oh yeah, tobacco & alcohol are baaah!
baaah! bad! (please invoke a sheepish
stutter within the confines of the italics).