Heart beating fast, my plams are sweaty.
Petrified. But totally excited.
Thoughts fill my brain like water fills the levy.
I feel like im going to burst...like i lost my lid.
Hmmm... do you ponder the question why?
I love this feeling its exhilarating.
Its not that im shy.
Its more deeper than that..more graduated.
Let me just get the nerve.
Ill just say it...Hello..hi
I enjoy your enegry as i watch and observe.
Beautiful nerd
Hello.
Hi


-Jennifer DeAngelo
Copyrighted 2016

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).

If you
Look at these
Handfuls of
What I have
To give
But your own
Palms are empty
Please, don't

If I'm willing
To give myself
Entirely to you
But you'll only
Take what
You can get
Please, don't

I want to save
My enegry
For better things
Please, be honest.

l.v.s

/the bore of moral relativism stemming from the eden metaphor:

i am sure, a satanic lie, but perhaps
a godly one too...
    type on the problem of the three
doherty brothers,
   with the husband having committed
suicide...
  the remaining brothers,
   with the remains of natalia doherty
in one of the remaining alive brothers...
the "disappearence" of
    natalia doherty from luton,
later found in the garden of one of the brothers...
drunk, she started shouting abuse
at the future suicide...
                clearly the story:
           the man who committed suicide
did the ******,
           the brothers stepped in
                  and covered up the burial...
i'm working from first impressions...
                   the husband killed, but could not
stomach the deed, so he took his own life,
his brothers stepped in
                          and took care of the ***** work
of making a crass burial...
                     justice is but water
       between the blood of familial ties...
as it were, brothers in arms...
                  but justice was served,
somehow, perhaps not the burial rites,
   but the fact that a suicide took place...
a g. madonim painting replaces my
aztec calendar, now hanging on my wall...
             and he lay with her for several days,
the brothers did the ***** work,
disposed of the body...
                           in that, they buried her
face down...
                       as if to imitate:
                        the shut mouth that once
took to drunk obscenity...
                    always the most mundane face
behind the most belitteling deeds...
     even if 12 years later...
                   and they say:
actions speak louder than words,
    sometimes words have unparalleled
consequence to be mismatched by deed...
                    guilty?
  who is guilty in this matter,
          if the actual murderer committed suicide?
too much of a brotherly love
        to leave the matter blatantly staring
in the face...
                       and what of the woman
without a grave?
        how much longer does the memory
of a person remain intact without
a "proper" western burial?
                             coffin unto slugs,
rot of wood,
                         or the immediate enegry
release from the Ganges?
                                       an abandoned grave
or no grave at all?
             justice would have been
served, if the murderer was still alive...
              then, of course,
            the remaining doherty brothers
would be guilty...
           but what if the same doherty brothers
didn't whisper a noose on the man
who strangled his wife?
              as they might have added:
    you did the ugly bit, we did you a favour
doing the ***** bit...
                   what respect for the dead
is there in rearranging the body, face up?
               a second dagger, a certainty,
and the two old brothers, with one playing
deaf, the other playing liar...
                      apparently in a fit of rage:
hell knows no fury like a woman scorned,
     but what is that of man?
                 heaven knows not of a man
castrated by a woman's words?
                  in the immediate sense -
                    oh gerald gerald...
said the two elder brothers...
                                if gerald was still alive...
you could judge the elder brothers
as accomplinces...
                                 at first i thought: b'ah!
but at least she wasn't buried as gerald would
have intended: chopped up and disposed
in dustbins...
                      she remained intact in
the ground...
                          since the undertaker walked
scot free...
                  3 months for the liar, aged 73.