#psychedelia
goddess of the celestial halls behind my eyes
who wears the rainbow as a cloak
and maps intergalactic terrains within me
Satyrs dance on the vaporous misty stairs
peeling the veil of synesthesia
to reveal a vanilla scented pan flute forrest
where clocks stand still for months to dissolve in a wink
telepathic machine elves step out from the shadows
bouncing in tangerine and turquoise gabardine's
offering silent secrets of holographic dimensions
where fragments all fuse into holistic singularity
handing me a cedar Midas-touched brush
before vanishing back into their black brane realm
hanging over the sky and down through the ground
on strings impenetrable by light & invisible to uninitiated eyes
transcendental transmissions cascade through me
fragmented constellations stream in luminous waves
emerging out of my vessel onto the canvas
with coalescent brush strokes in a full-bodied paint storm
the chapel of sacred mirrors shimmers
on the shore of springs undying ocean
under the dome where the apricot sun beams
feeding the flowering greenery rolling on ancient hills
ancestral voices whisper a spellbinding mantra
painting a coup de maître in sleeps dream kingdom
with hypnotic hallucination activating frequencies
i melt into the cosmic incense smoke pools of star dust
Mar 11
Mar 11, 2026 at 10:38 PM UTC
Phase III — Integration
(from The Psychedelic Trilogy of Infinity)
The fall was done; the air was still,
Yet mountains moved by ghostly will.
The stars were seeds that bloomed in mind,
Their roots in nothing left behind.
The sky was folded into sound,
A heartbeat hummed beneath the ground;
The echo asked, “What wakes in you,
When all the world is breaking through?”
The rivers ran with liquid glass,
Reflections drifted, none would pass;
Each face was mine, each eye the sea,
Each wave returned eternally.
The dream of waking bent to prayer,
The self unspooled like shining hair,
The silence whispered, soft, complete—
“There is no ground beneath your feet.”
So I released the need to climb,
To measure, reason, name, or time;
The pulse that once was breath and pain
Became the world, then hushed again.
I felt the dust become my skin,
The wind exhale, the void begin;
Each atom turned, each thought grew mild,
Creation dreaming reconciled.
No up, no down, no near, no far—
Just motes of peace in fields of star;
The dream of “I” began to fade,
A mirror where no mark was made.
Then every layer, every hue,
Collapsed into a single view:
A stillness vast, a lucid gleam,
The source that births and ends the dream.
I breathed that light; it breathed in me,
No edge, no form, no memory—
Only the hum the cosmos sings,
When silence beats its hidden wings.
And in that hum, all dreams aligned,
All ends entwined, all selves combined;
The fall, the rise, the lost, the found,
Were circles drawn without a sound.
So now I rest where endings start,
No body left, no broken heart;
The dreamer dreams, the dreamer gone—
The dreaming dreams itself alone.
Dec 1, 2025
Dec 1, 2025 at 4:58 PM UTC
Phase II — Ascent
(from “The Psychedelic Trilogy of Infinity”)
I rose through veils of molten glass,
Where echoes birthed what could not pass,
Each breath a door, each door a flame,
Each step a world that spoke my name.
The night rebuilt its broken frame,
The dawn returned, yet not the same,
The air was sweet with neon rain,
And memory sang through every vein.
I walked through cities spun from dust,
Their spires of chrome and faith and rust,
The people smiled with borrowed eyes,
Their laughter stitched from lullabies.
They called me waker, called me seer,
But every word bent into fear,
For though I rose through light’s reprise,
The ground above began to rise.
The heavens bent beneath my feet,
The stars became a pulsing beat,
The pulse became the heart of me,
The dream became reality.
Yet still a voice beneath the hum
Cried, “Rise again, for this is numb;
No waking ends, no dream is true—
Each dawn is only dusk renewed.”
So higher still I climbed the gleam,
Each thought a stair, each breath a beam,
And found upon the highest spire
A mirrored self of ash and fire.
It spoke, “You sleep within my skin,
And I within your deep begin;
We twist through loops of light and bone—
No soul ascends, it’s all alone.”
The mirror cracked; I fell once more,
Through every sleep I’d known before,
Through fields of gods who’d lost their names,
Through suns devoured by their own flames.
And down each fall a voice would say,
“To wake is just to lose the day;
To sleep is merely sight reversed;
To live is blessing’s echo cursed.”
The fabric tore; the dream bled wide,
I saw myself on every side,
Each version waking, none were free—
Each dreamer dreamed eternally.
And laughter rose, both bright and grim,
A cosmic hymn, a broken hymn,
Till silence quivered like a chord—
And I, the dream, became the word.
Dec 1, 2025
Dec 1, 2025 at 4:58 PM UTC
Phase I — Descent
(from “The Psychedelic Trilogy of Infinity”)
The stars fell down like shattered bone,
The sky unstitched by fire and moan,
The oceans rose, the cities screamed,
The world unmade what once it dreamed.
The towers wept their molten tears,
Their spines collapsed through smoke and gears,
The earth convulsed, a dying tune,
Beneath the ruins of the moon.
Ash filled the lungs of every wind,
The clocks ran backward, wings unpinned,
The rivers burned in crimson seams,
And time dissolved in fractured dreams.
I stood amid the breaking stone,
The gods long fled, the flesh alone,
And through the dust I heard my name—
A whisper coiled in static flame.
It said, “Descend, O child of breath,
Through dream’s abyss, through living death,
The end of worlds is but the door
To countless worlds that came before.”
I reached, I fell, I could not scream,
The ground became a thinning seam,
And through the cracks of mind and sky,
I slipped where worlds forgot to die.
The seas became a whirling glass,
Reflecting ghosts of futures past,
And each reflection, once it burned,
Returned to ash, and ash returned.
The sun unspooled its golden thread,
It wove through all the waking dead,
Each face I knew became my own,
Each voice a chord of undertone.
The air was thick with mirrored haze,
The echoes sang in endless phrase,
“You dream, you fall, you wake, you spin,
Each end a gate that folds within.”
The mountains folded, paper-thin,
Their veins of fire turned cold within,
The clouds were carved in human eyes—
They blinked and dreamt of my demise.
I reached the heart where silence hums,
Where every nightmare slowly comes,
And found beneath the dying spire
A door of smoke, a mouth of fire.
Its hinges breathed, its handle sighed,
The void within was amplified,
And though I trembled, burned, and bled,
I stepped beyond what “I” had said.
Then downward through the spiral glare,
Through gears of bone and strands of air,
I fell through dreams of dreams undone—
A thousand moons, a single sun.
Each layer whispered, “Wake again,”
But waking was another chain,
Each breath a deeper, softer scream,
Each heartbeat folded in a dream.
And when at last no motion stayed,
No self, no sound, no light arrayed,
I saw the shape of sleep’s abyss—
A fractal wound, a holy kiss.
Dec 1, 2025
Dec 1, 2025 at 4:56 PM UTC
The sun in the sky of an eternal night
The tractor swings and misses today
The drums are hit every day in anticipation
The butterfly's wings torn off and put on
The daily struggle of a pastor in modernity
Dying to go back to how life used to be
A monolith opened from dying sheep
A droning, long, darkened figure came
He took all the belongings of modern man
And left as quickly as he came, leaving ruination
The ruination spread through the world
And as the figure left, all our souls did, too
The pastor had prepared for this day, though
As all his sheep gathered into a herd...
He saw what had to be done and took off
The sheep, cried after their owner that night
But the man could not be swayed anymore
He took his gun and his scythe and his armor
In a world ever so confused, the pastor stuck out
Looking for something that wasn't there.
He saw gates of elected darkness and phantoms
He saw drops of rain be every color and none
He saw man become animal and **** one another
He saw buildings morph into pure liquid LSD
The bat wings on his back grew bigger evermore
And his eyes kept getting darker and darker
His head kept singing in liturgical Latin
And the grasp on his scythe kept getting weaker
But that was all okay, because he still had a goal
And once he found the Gate, it would all be fine
It went like that for what seemed like years
But in reality it was just a few days, maybe a week
His feet got more and more tired by the day
And by the fourth day, all he saw was the night
The prophet's words rang in his head forevermore
"Where is the night? Where is the Gate? Where, oh?"
By the time he'd reached the other world, too late
He had become a creature of darkness, himself
Ruining the world in his path step by step, he did
And when he stopped to take a breath, he felt weak
Little did he know, he was in fact stopping forever
And that he wouldn't find the man, but vica versa
On the 21st of June, an bystander found an old man
Breathing heavily, desperately looking all over
The old man seemed like he was 200 or more
His speech was slurred and hard to understand
The bystander took him to a hospital, where he spoke
Out loud, he said "I forgive you, brother."
Mar 23, 2019
Mar 23, 2019 at 6:29 PM UTC
I’m goofing with the pixies
Dancing with the elves
Leaving all the ogres
Snoring by themselves.
I’m flying with the will-of-the wisps
On the route of Santa Claus.
I rest a while on a passing cloud
Whenever I need a pause.
There’s lots of space you can freely share
When you are playing in castles in the air.
First you have to get that high on the slope
To launch yourself off with a wish and a hope.
Some lose because they don’t know the ropes
Or not keeping their vision in their scope.
I love to see imaginary friends
And smoke with the pipe dreams
While floating up and down
Along the flow of creative streams.
The idea is to set your mind free
To roam wide and as far as can be
Laughing with characters from the funnies
Or rollicking fun with egg laying bunnies.
There’s lots of space you can freely share
When you are playing in castles in the air.
First you have to get that high on the slope
To launch yourself off with a wish and a hope.
Some lose because they don’t know the ropes
Or not keeping their vision solidly in the scope.
So, look for the wiggle wobbles near you
And keep your eyes open for witches too.
Magicians may also come from time to time
Because making magic is never a crime.
Listen to the stories told by clever mimes;
The enchanting mysteries in their rhymes
That often turn out to be the most sublime.
And let that person know you have the time.
I love to see imaginary friends
And smoke with the pipe dreams
While floating up and down
Along the flow of creative streams.
The idea is to set your mind free
To roam wide and as far as can be
Laughing with characters from the funnies
Or rollicking fun with egg laying bunnies.
Apr 20, 2018
Apr 20, 2018 at 11:40 PM UTC
Jefferson Airplane performed
Let Me In.
It worked as a silent call
For those, who never heard it
From young women
- men watching, listening.
But their soul did
shout it with
tremendous joy,
in denial of all those
sentences of
Let Me Go.
Mar 12, 2018
Mar 12, 2018 at 1:41 PM UTC
Psyche--the soul
In a wave of abstract art
Living in one infinite painting
of dizzying swirls
The soul? It
Frolics in its hallucinations
In its nightly hallucinations
Dreams that don't come true
They are only in
MY
MIND
A vague psychedelia is this life
Because I walk, and I hear you
Calling my name
I fall asleep in what to me
Is your arms
In actuality only emptiness.
In the uncertain blur between
Sleep and Wake, I
am FALLING
from my dreams
I feel everything rushing past me
As I fall and I feel pain, out of breath
When I crash,
Fell from my bed, yet I landed
There as well.....And my eyes open
Wide with shock.
The spiders crawl all over me
And I am afraid, those nights I
CAN'T SLEEP
When you were here, you would
Comfort me, your words would
hold me, so close, so tight
And all my fear was gone,
Only love, your love, my love,
OUR LOVE.
But it is gone.
So I feel them alone.
Abstract painting...
I live there! Where all the
Colors blur, I can't even name them.
It makes my head hurt, my heart,
My very SOUL feel an icy chill.
You, my love, are no longer here
To melt my winters.
So all my symphonies,
My poems, HUMANITIES
Are kept to myself now;
They are alone.
And I live in psychedelia.
Mar 1, 2017
Mar 1, 2017 at 7:40 PM UTC
When you found me, I was lost
Dying from withdrawal
And your sick absolution
Hooked me worst of all
My blood burns without it
Body hurts without it
Heart Infernal, wounded
Hate is Love, Fermented
Wicked Angel!
***** of God!
Wicked Angel!
In my blood....
Wings of Love-Stained Velvet
Sing the lies of devils
Grace, befouled and hellish
Kiss with deadly venom
He who loved you is dead
Bonds lie broken, rusted
Despite all your trying
Your divine light is dying
Wicked Angel!
***** of God!
Wicked Angel!
In my blood....
Dec 6, 2015
Dec 6, 2015 at 6:28 PM UTC
The silence,
Haunting light
Illuminating tunnels
Terror’s teeth.
Horror is a face
The disaster, a cat!
Smiling with sharpness
Fangs hungry for blood
Calling:
“more”.
But that’s a crazy thought
Cat curled up with stripes
Lines and lives that fade the grid
Cruelly wound around
It's branch:
A deep hum and sly laughter:
Hands on cheeks
Mouth open
Fading, languid
Grasping, gaping
Giving up -
“we’re all mad here”
May 5, 2015
May 5, 2015 at 4:23 PM UTC
Hey ** don't you know
I've got a stitch for you to sow
Call me in the morning I'll be out of bed
Oh yes, "You can never get too much rest!"
Half a day working at the circus
How about we juggle an English breakfast, side of French Toast
Tie my lace and tighten my waist
I'd hate to have to save face, before the birds have barked
I can't wait to see you next evening
You know I might jump off the swing early
Hit the ground running
so you won't see me coming
Well anyway I've ruined the surprise now haven't I
But anyhow hey ** it was wishful thinking
I'll still step-stone through the snow
And you know it'll melt like it always does
Apr 8, 2015
Apr 8, 2015 at 5:22 PM UTC
The tone is a human,
a human is a being,
and a being,
is a tone.
The tone is a being.
When one human sings,
they create a tone.
A tone that carries
all tones within.
When two humans sing,
they create two tones.
Two tones that carry
all tones within.
They are making love,
They are making a harmony,
and the harmony
is a child.
The union of two,
the child carries all
the vibrations of one,
and all of the other.
Every harmony carries
all harmonies within.
The child is one,
The child is twice one,
The child is half of each,
and infinitely more than none.
The harmony is a child,
and the child sings.
The child is human,
and the human grows.
When a human sings
they create a tone.
This tone carries
all tones within.
The tone is a being.
The being is one,
The being is twice one,
The being is half of each,
and infinitely more than none.
Each being carries all beings within.
When the being sings,
it creates a tone,
this tone carries
all tones within.
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 7:27 PM UTC
pretty little sticky thing caught my tongue
and I think it’s time to come clean
and wipe down my benches
with fake lime liquid particles
and faded yellow cloths.
twisted the blue plastic out of my teeth,
wiped the mustard from my lips
(was laid on too thickly anyway)
popped the fishscales out from my eyes,
smiled.
let the rose water run thick and hot
in the bathtub, let in flow in and out
of all my cavities, like it and I were
almost one
(I’m already so much rose water
anyway),
opened my flabby mouth and swallowed.
pretty little green thing got stuck in my tongue.
time to come clean.
Aug 13, 2014
Aug 13, 2014 at 7:00 AM UTC
There’s a favorite culinary dish in town;
it’s known as the synapse shish kebab.
It’s high in protein as well as fat, and it comes
with a garlic-infused broccoli rabe,
available with a choice of couscous or rice.
The palate will most likely be enticed, just like
another common John who swears to us that he
again has done absolutely nothing wrong.
It pairs nicely with an eighties chenin blanc,
gray matter that’s grilled to sheer perfection,
smoked all day, and is guaranteed satisfaction,
seemingly like an old, rambling rolling stone.
The lights are on—but nobody’s buying homes.
An opera singer that is deaf to certain tones,
this is definitely not regal crumpets and tea—
“heart-healthy nutrition,” all our medics agree.
There’s a new critically acclaimed dish around;
it’s the slow-roasted synapse shish kebab,
moderately priced, and portions are family style—
passed-down secret recipes from west of the Nile,
and also numbers that won’t make your wallet sob
like a big, bad, dark, overly loaded cloud.
Give it a try, and then shout it out loud:
synapse shish kebab!
Jul 26, 2014
Jul 26, 2014 at 5:02 PM UTC
Stare
and
Stare
and
Stare
my eyes are dry and heavy
Wait
and
Wait
and
Wait
for something to breach the levy
but
Nothing
Nothing
Nothing
will ever set me free
I'm doomed to stay inside my mind
for all Eternity
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 11:34 PM UTC