it's the 50th anniversary edition of william burrough's naked lunch, with the original cover, looking at all the annexes is like watching modern history with Russian annexing Crimea, anyway...

indeed the nature of addiction, i chose mine to
cure my insomnia - i *chose mine -
the less nasty less mythical name for it is indeed
metabolism - any hard-craft alcoholic walks into
a bar - drunk ******* and egoistically gluttonous
idiots come out like giraffes - vomiting into
the gutters, more Marilyn Monroe moments
showing off knickers even without the metro gust -
you drink enough and watch people drinking
for the psychoactive ingredient for dis-inhibiting
effects (buttered up talk, smooth there, quasi
Don Juan wannabes) - as Burroughs said: PLAN
YOUR ADDICTION - become addicted if some other
weakness is beating you - amtitriptyline doesn't
work without alcohol to what's desired as the lullaby
effect prior to K.O. - don't measure up to a veteran,
he'll beat you with experience, given it works -
i can imagine why hallucinogenics aren't metabolically
affecting - too much implants concerning the
world beyond, and god, and the secret of the universe -
you can't get addicted to these things - because there's
the bad trip, and you're off the hook - no more spiritual
trips looking for answers - repetition of the everyday
kills it off like flicking off a light switch - but, years
after the Beat movement, the Beats really did underestimate
the addiction of marijuana - they thought it was
the ****** drunk... oddly enough marijuana is linked to
alcohol and ****** addiction, it too is metabolic -
i'm not a medical expert... but i have heard of stoners
and their munchies - anything relating to food,
to metabolism is included, marijuana is the middle-guy
between the standards and Disney -
you heard of being monged, right? marijuana is as addictive
as alcohol - originally a giggly drug, a conversation
starter - marijuana - ends up being
an Jason Segel and Ed Helms film Jeff, who lives at Home,
it's this uncontrollable effect that proper intentions of
marijuana have: supreme thoughtlessness - or
the present vogue concerning "mindfulness" -
Jeff basically overthought himself on the high - he didn't
detach himself from thinking, now he's paying the price -
he's making completely random associations -
and why do stoners always waste their time in front
of t.v. or television - marijuana is a purely auditory drug -
******* to the park, pretend to be a fake Buddha imitation
and create the void in yourself to make your mind
the M25 at 3 a.m. - but this innocence with the Beat
movement associating itself with marijuana is partly
why it was legalised - the government wants rejects and,
to be frank? retards - that's why they legalised it -
they knew with the munchies jokes that marijuana had
the same metabolic addiction components as alcohol and
***** - you're metabolic dude! once addiction sets in
you're no longer in control of brain-freeze - you didn't
think it up on the psychoactive Everest - when the nice
sensation was still there, marijuana realised you zombie much
later - all the in-jokes of stoner culture suddenly passed you,
simulation dementia ensued - i'm way past the psychoactive
asset of alcohol, no slurred speech, no nothing -
but i retain the psychoactive point of metabolising excess
alcohol: if i didn't, i would sleep! i wouldn't sleep!
don't get me wrong, i get the point that i can't really
experience the negatives of reaching the psychoactive purpose
of alcohol and ***** in a street or join the football hooligans -
and surgeons drink to calm the nerves and calm the hand -
but alcohol is more cool headed and less phantasmagorical
than ***** addiction, for one thing your palette improves -
you find the most boring tasks liberating -
but the nights are the real nights, esp. if slumped on the sofa
watching t.v., unless you don't have a backlog of un-watched
Versailles or Billions episodes, you really need to go for
a 4 mile walk and breath the air - then half-sleep for
about an 2 hours (because you have limited money and
sometimes you pass a day without Auburn Whitney) -
you become rigorous - the prime solipsism - no time for
girlfriends, doesn't matter, my genitals weren't mutilated
as a child, no one forced a ****-*******-marriage-ring
on my finger - i can actually enjoy addiction - i end up
eating one meal a day - of course my face looks candyfloss
puffed up - but my soul is partly helium pubescent -
alcohol addiction is not ***** addiction even both
are primes of metabolism takeovers - no hung-overs too,
no blackouts - no fake "i can't remember" stories
when something ****** up happened - and certainly no
innocent look at the fact that marijuana is also a metabolic
addiction - unless of course you limit psychic ingestion
(excluding music, music is great to arrive at thoughtlessness),
but as most stoners (the next alcoholics) prove,
garbage the mind with American Dad and then get hungry -
binge eat - the stomach can drag the brain right down
into the acid pit and fry it - zombies galore - you won't be
able to catch yourself stopping thinking, the stomach
will do that for you, and you'll enter the zombie apocalypse:
just like my neighbour - there's a rat-like ritual involved,
for example, most people get sleepy from marijuana -
so it's not an addiction standing at a bus stop
pretending to be waiting for a bus and smoking?
that's addiction - the metabolic Gargantua has already caught-up,
addiction is primarily a solitary affair - it just depends
what you do with it... i'd be ashamed with my alcoholism
if i didn't write poems - the counter-effect is that i feel
some sort of social-inclusion when the day finishes -
i feed the cats, write invoices for my father (40% of
18 - 35 year olds live with their parents, because all
the foreigners bought all the houses intended as: buy to let -
is my money going down my drain, or is this
a post-Freud Oedipus stigmata killing familial relations
altogether?), cook, clean the house once a week,
cut the cats' nail and brush them - and to counter
what i don't do? can you imagine listening to a symphony
with only violins playing? not so genius hearing that
sort of Hollywood story with only cameo characters speaking.

overcast life not worth the open eyes
i need to rise above these clouds and lies
its overgrown and overdone
this way we go about
with chapels and tradition
rituals and true religion
why do we not fear these things?
tornadoes in the making
tsunami waves breaking
is it ever worth it all
overload

God wouldn't want this
God would'nt want this
God woul'dnt want this
God wou'ldnt want this

hideous mistakes and earthquakes
man has made a mess
blood and broken glass
and crusaders in the rain
overthrow the superficial
revolt yourself from overlords
floods in the making
covenants breaking
why do we not fear these things?
is it ever worth it all
overthought

My anxiety pulls me in my room and locks the door
My anxiety throws out the key that never existed and taunts me
Makes me think I am not loved
Makes me not reflect on my actions that cause pain
Makes me feel crazy even though I am not
Makes me feel like I am the only one in the world that feels this way
My anxiety ruins the good things in my life and turns it around to hurt me
But my anxiety can't hurt me
My anxiety is only in my head
AND because of this I have overthought and painful thoughts about what is going to happen to me so I stay in a state of fear
Torture
Anger
Sadness
I have even thought of how it must feel when I am gone
But once I thought that I realised once I am dead I am dead and who knows if you still feel the pain or not
So I decided to keep on living to get rid of this constant anxiety and live a better life.
SO
But my anxiety does not define me
It does not define my actions
My thoughts
My pain
My happiness
My tears
MY anxiety will not lock me in my own room in a state of fear and sadness
MY anxiety will not take away everthing I have ever loved and will love in the future
I threw my anxiety out the window and made a key to get my self out of this room
And If it comes out
I will throw it out over and over again and find and create new keys with the heart of people and my own
And although my anxiety is an emotion that makes me hate myself
I will continue to love myself and stay the amazing person that I know I am and not change for something that is insignificant and cruel as anxiety
And I will learn to grow, love and learn to never Ever let anxiety define ME
And so should YOU

I Tried! And Tried! I tried my best for you to show you that … I loved you. It wasn't good enough.
My heart wrote you poems for you. My heart wrote poems about you. It wasn’t good enough.
It wasn’t love at first site. But I loved you at your darkest.
The darkness came over you, but I never left you.
You will never know that I would come home and cry in the corner of the room, because of you.
Because of you! I lost my smile.
Because of you! I lost my temper with friends as I would stick up for you.
Because of you! I overthought.
Because of you!
Because of you! Because of ******* you!
Maybe you didn’t mean to rip out the veins of my heart. And yeah maybe you didn’t mean to call out the green eyed monster which sleeps inside of me.
You said you wanted to be with me, so why was you in such a rush to give me away.
I AM NOT A CHARITY CASE! I AM A HUMAN BEING WITH FEELINGS SO PLEASE TREAT ME LIKE ONE!
I can’t get mad at you because this is life.
Life will bring you up to the highest of heights and drop you.
Yes! I will always love you. But I’ll never forget the pain I was suffering in silence.
I’ll never forget the worthless feeling I would get.
I’ll never forget how I felt so unappreciated.
But now it’s time for me to find someone that will appreciate all the things I do for them.
Someone that will laugh at all my jokes, even if their cheesy.
We will look at each other with a smile and tell ourselves “how did we get like this?”
Yeah. I saw a future with you, it was so clear…. But clearly to you that was just a blur.

A man is only half of what he is; always leaning towards the dim
Lacking a flouted need which whorls in the mute within him
A man bigots an ideal and will lark it away at the hold of his routed pith
A smile is not worthwhile if the smile does not have anything to receive or to give

A man is skyless; bound to his back with his dreams fixed on a rapture
He gorges upon tasteless feasts gasping for that sup he hungers to recapture
He does not know nor recall the times that did once befall
Of the lossless suffers and how they ever meant anything at all

He will become the most that he can ever endeavour
Be the creature he needs to be and whichever
Way it may engross him and how it moulds or claims him
It will be still him but leaning not so far in the dim

He would be a whole man who would give himself wholly
Who would be more and only more to her and her solely
His full heart would be tendered for it would not be his own
If it was still partial of the heart that had since budded and grown

A man would be raised and the sky would be without border
A bliss amid clouds where the undiscerning muddle finds order
There would be a sense to the road an approach to the wander
A reason for all a kiss a need to ponder no longer

There would be such rise in his depth and a contest behind bit teeth
To fight for the purposed kiss to hold her and keep her from grief
To offer her all embrace not too tense and not too slack
For her to breathe is to breathe; now half new he would never give it back

To be back upon his back with eyes busy to the sky
His bones broken as her feet glide indifferently by
Over his stare among cloud where she impelled his descent
He’d lay fallen and broken beaten and bent

If Half a man became whole does a whole man not become naught?
If he fights for a dearest never afore dreamt dream then what is left to be fought?
Was it his minds misgivings that would lead to such a trite giving reliving to doubt?
That surfaced more than he knew; the intended whisper instead a floundering shout?

Would it have been his heart that threw him from his felicity?
Could his relish overwhelm and mutate into potent toxicity?
Could it be fact that without thought nor without tact he impelled her?
Either overthought or over loved he would have fallen the hardest and he would not rise
No he would not rise anymore

If there ever was such a man and ever such a she
He would have her for as long as that may be
Her greatest gift is after saying all this to you
Is that after knowing all that you could you would feel the same way too.

some days walk past me like shoes in a lost costco
wake up late, it's 9 AM somewhere so it's not like you slept in.

beauty in the backwards dance of corrugated cardboard contact lenses
seeing what I see like I see see see, for Godsakes all I need to do is see.

once.

The ineffable satisfaction
To say it's all my fault

The sad joy I sense
Dreaming about my vault

I feel so full of thoughts
I let only a few in

If I'm willing to comfort others
I can't appreciate me, myself, my own skin.

Thoughts thoughts thoughts thoughts don't stop they won't stop keep coming unbidden don't stop try to catch one examine exhausting roll it over six sides to a die random molecular structure quarks misfiring

it
is
exhausting

Gotta tell someone gotta tell you big plans for everybody just another bubble rising from the bottom of a Pilsner glass don't wanna over think this but who am I kidding I've already thought it over and decided I've already overthought it the dictionary is my friend Roget is my partner in crime

it
makes
very little sense

...but I won't twist it or turn it, mold it or meld it, sing it or speak it, let it lie let it die let it be let me see...

A general rule of catharsis the recovery process is often difficult the changes it affords take considerable time to assimilate and this is not always a smooth process as one tends to gravitate

Saturday Stings,
And all the lonely memories it brings,

Sundays Sufferings,
Slowly eating me up, expiered enduring,

Monday Moans,
Becoming motionless as silent stones,

Tuesday Tears,
Swept away by a sea of sobs,

Wednesday Worries,
Filling my mind overthought stories,

Thursday Thoughts,
Healing through our rewind past talks,

Friday Flashbacks,
Surviving on those life hacks,

___

Week after Week,
This continuously ongoing cycle,
I endlessly seek,
The day we once again meet.

~A.d | 12 Jan 2015

They say, “It must’ve been Fate”
       how we ended up here
I mean, “What a coincidence”
        we’d both be in this place?

But the more I learn to think,
the more I wish to turn
to turn and demand of them,

“Which is it then?”

Coincidence or Fate?

In a world of grey, this is a strict, straight line.
Orderly pattern
or lonely chance?
Predestined
or free to choose?

It’s a case of polar opposites,
Believe in both,
and you’ll never be able to operate.

So take your pick.
Most of us will.
Choose well, act accordingly, live your life-
move on.

But for those of us who can’t go without the truth,
        who always need the why what's what is what
With a question like that,
       how are we supposed to choose?

It is almost five a.m.
With each thump of the echoing bass,
of the synthetic revenge and heartbreak,
angry percussion wraps me closer than your arms ever could--
tremulous and heavy,
more absolute than the sunset fictions
you contentedly let me cling to.
A venomous chorus drips from my lips,
once-swollen eyes now itchy and dry.

This is the still serenity of the predawn slumber,
the yearning of the yetsummer,
the quiet before the birds begin scavenging
through grass, trash, and recycling.
I protest--
tongue, fingers heels teeth and lungs
restless in spite of themselves.

You have chased me out of bed,
across dew-dampened grass,
over uneven pavement as treacherous as your voice.
You follow me.

Sleep is merely a forlorn memory
peering sadly from a forgotten heap of warm cotton thread,
whimpering futilely against the anxious pulsing
of overworked headphones
and overthought peculiarities.

You introduced me to this time of day.
You summoned it once with impatient chords
and a staccato keystroke melody,
casually ignoring the plaintive honesty
I willingly accompanied you with.

But the sunrise casts a strange glow, I guess--
rosy and well-intentioned,
fickle and fleeting, like your grin
or the capricious depth of the summer sky.

No one remembers that wandering blue
the same color as her eyes;
but it seeps through your pores,
curls into the caverns of your chest,
an aching in azure only because you let it.
You have bathed too long in the sun.
As the scarlet sunrise erupts across your shoulders
the sky settles into your lungs.

But don’t trust that sky,
that constant companion.

That sky is a cannibal
and it will eat you alive.