Drugs.
Illegal drugs.
Marijuana, *******, ecstasy, mushrooms, LSD.
All taken by the governments.
And they picked the right drugs to take away from us.

Drugs can be a very good thing as they can also be a very bad thing.

Because with drugs,
one can get closer to what is real, as,
one can get further away to what is real.

Everybody carries the freedom to explore and experiment with what ever they want.

But the governments do not want people to experiment with them-selves and with these substances.

The governments want to keep things organized in their own chosen structure so that they can control people.

And they know that drugs can actually help and be useful.

They know that drugs can be used for spiritual practices and that in these practices one can become a realized man of truth.

Every drug gives you a different effect,
a different experience,
and as you experience the effect of which ever drug,
this will bring about an opportunity to encounter reality.

Because when one sees what is NOT real,
one begins to see what IS real.

Drugs allow you,
the opportunity,
to realize that you are the observer behind the experience.



Marijuana is such an amazing substance,
such an amazing plant.

It brings upon such deep relaxation.

And when one is "high",
present is the opportunity to understand the simplicity of what is truly happening:
that the body and mind are becoming still,
your body feels lighter and more at ease.

Here,
in this state,
it could be easier to watch and recognize your true self.

Your body and mind are elevated by the effects of marijuana,
and if you become very silent and you close your eyes and you stay there,
and you start watching and experiencing,
you might just feel as if you are separate from the body and mind,
and though the body and mind feel so relaxed,
you are somewhere else,
very very still.

Trying **** can change your whole view and perspective towards life.

The simple act of doing something that is illegal,
gives you a sense of freedom.

It can amplify and support the freedom that you have.

There are other drugs,
stronger more intense drugs like ecstasy.

Here is another opportunity to experience a different feeling in the body.

Ecstasy is a little bit riskier and more harmful to the body.

It provokes an amazing feeling called ecstasy.

Though many are not aware,
we all already carry that feeling within us.

One just needs to activate it.

The pill simply skips the whole meditation and takes one straight to  ecstasy.

If you have ever tried ecstasy,
wonder and contemplate the following question:
what happens when in ecstasy...??

When one is  on ecstasy,
there is nothing more but the present moment.

You are totally IN the moment,
you are extremely happy IN the present moment,
you are feeling everything IN the present moment,
you see everything,
hear everything.

You become so utterly loving.

You start sharing your love,
and this brings even more ecstasy.

If you are highly aware and alert,
it will not take too many pills to realize that though you get this awesome feeling of ecstasy,
there is also a bad,
sometimes horrible,
side to it:
When your body doesn't feel healthy with it.



The mushroom is a very,
very,
revealing drug.

Natural to begin with,
And very revealing.

Because the mushroom is a poison,
when the poison is in you,
in a very subtle way,
you experience a slow form of death.

If one eats a sufficient amount of mushrooms,
one might just poison oneself to death.

But when one consumes just a little bit,
One goes threw this interesting experience.

The body recognizes that this is a source of poison,
and with its own intelligence,
it tries to get rid of the mushroom.

So one might **** it, or,
one might ***** it.

The point is that it is a poison.

And as one experiences this poison inside one's body,
because one is coming closer to death,
one is coming closer to life also.

In that moment,
again it happens,
that there is only THAT moment.

You do not care about anything else because you are so in-to that moment.

You feel so connected to nature and the environment,
as if you are one with it all.

And here,
once again,
another opportunity to realize that you are not the one who is experiencing the whole trip,
but that you are the one who is watching the experiencer.

And if you are watching the body-mind go threw this whole process,
you can not be the body-mind.

So it does not matter whether you die or you don't in that moment,
because in that moment you can free yourself from the idea of death.



LSD is the greatest one of them all.
Because LSD does not give  a feeling of being poisoned.

LSD enhances all senses,
one can feel ten times more,
one can see ten times better, hear, taste, etc..

All of ones senses are amplified.

And again ,
this is simply just another opportunity to realize that one is far away as the witnessing presence to what is happening to the body-mind and to the senses.

When you experiment with all these drugs,
and you realize that you are  just the watcher of it all and not the experimenter,
you will not keep experimenting with them.

Because like i said,
drugs can get you closer to the truth,
to what is real.

And once one realizes certain truths like:
one is not the body,
one is not the experiencer,
one will realize deeper truths like:
one is with no form just a watcher,
a witness.

And having gone beyond all drugs and experiences,
one will not continue using drugs,
since one is aware that they will only harm the body.

It does not matter what drug one does,
one has already known the truth about ones self.

The only new thing in a new drug,
would be the new experience,
the new feelings,
the new emotions that come about.

But when one sees that one is greater than all these things,
one realizes,
that thou the body-mind is affected by the effects of drugs,
ones true self is not affected by any-thing.

Your true self does not change at all,
it remains the same,
always,
that peaceful awareness.

If you are not aware and alert,
you will start doing drugs and you will start to get lost in them.

You will get lost in your own mind,
in your own "reality",
in your own projection of life.


I get the feeling that the governments know about the potential transformation that drugs can bring to a person.

Because of this,
they have made all these substances illegal.

Not only because of economical reasons.

But also,
so that people remain firm and steady in the manner and in the way that they want you to be.

They do not want you to experience all these extra-ordinary experiences.

They want to keep you straight in THEIR straight line.

They do not want you to go drifting in-to these realizations.

Beause you might just awaken yourself threw them and realize that you are totally free.

And how then can a fully realized individual be ruled?

How do I speak of my love for you without any ludeness?
Why are you such a ****** creature to me?
There is no dimension which is not ****** to me, why?
That you have never spoken about any theory? Or any event?
Should you not just be detached from the world to me?
Not concerned with the wider world, but with your own people?

She concentrates on attracting others.
She wants good money, a good job to get the things she wants.
I try to find a way within to behold her desire, her beauty.
Like there was a secret door that could make her step out of my body and into my room.
Like my heart must subtly feel for her presence.
I must make her my goddess to be worshipped in the land of beauty.
To let my heart be swept up in her world of people.
People talked about, people hated and loved.
A world of opinions about people.
So many people.

I fear her beauty will one day fade.
Not in ten years, or even twenty years perhaps.
But later in life.
I hope that by that time her world will grow beyond people, beyond drinking and fun.
I hope she reflects on her life, and comes to great discoveries about herself.
But she reminds me of the song "girls just want to have fun".
I've never known how to be with that kind of girl except to drink, smoke, or do the drugs that they are doing.
At that point I become an experiencer who thinks only of my reality.
The other people, even her, would become secondary.
I would seek the mysteries of reality and seek to explain them.
To unravel what aspects of life are that could build a bridge to the mystery.

Yes, she is a beauty to behold, a dear to interact with.
But I feel my destiny of love lies elsewhere, not in ****** beauty, but in beauty of thought.

Sudden new pressure to make sense,
you see, you know I say you make believe.

Mystic realms realized in meditations,
ancient tails of firebrands, embers glowing
{Isaiah assisting intel…ai ahmen, ok}
embers in the darkness, embers glowing
like cigarettes across the stubble field,
leading to a still dark pond tonight
- this is a way
- we pray, we listen
- for morning
pealing rooster, humming electricity
and my thoughts, my resting peace

perceived reception, acknowledging
the idea that holds truth in bits
in the perifity peripheral ambition,
at ambits
edge of civilized authority, unknown
unknowns offering and making sacred
known uses
we used to know.

On the side of knowledge not falsely so called,
science branches into all we may think
to ask if it were ever witnessed,
face to face, first hand.
Messaging face to face, suffered to be so.
Angelos means messenger, bearer of information,
holder of unknown knowns, becoming angelic.
Guardians of knowledge, root, branch and seed.

Get the message, make it plain, listening,
where would one knock

--I am the door
--I am the truth

hmmmm, so it is written, the message
to the meek, to such minds as let this mind be
earth bound
thinking what would a god with no power
not common
to mankind,
a true mortal experiencer, ask-
think what would, not could or should,
what would, the will that set the galaxies awhirl, do?

If he were such as you, taken with all the learning
available for such as you, who loved to know why,
and how, and when and where,

then and there, tell us, in the spirit realm, words live.
Yes, itself, and No, in all its proofs, still reproving,
living words redeemed and reused
for proverbial instances, reproof is the way of life,
Reproving you know that knowing was never outlawed.

Not by any representative of wisdom.
Subtler than any created thing, this shining thing,
child's eye ignores the lecture, to watch a mote in a sunbeam,
and remember
that
this long later.

------------------------------- Part two

Minding my manners, make yourself
comfortable, slow
thinking takes each letter
push the orders intention to stretch
incredulity to the snapping point,
chaos and chirality clap,
fingers snap, slow think
what possessed me to make me think

{this does not end here}

a
break up
he was sitting inside
the church.
Thinking
Is
Love Failure
heavier than the Cross..

When you see, seer
The perfection in it all, bang
You’ve lost a point of view
Then are you utterly alone
Like the clown
All around the three ring
Circus-goers
Laugh at the absurd thing
Never suspecting how utterly profound.
Is the life of a clown.

How many bangs have birthed you then
Imprisoned primordial bangs
Bursting the unsuspecting cosmos
What a long childhood you’ve had,
While god watched
From his bang, bang launch pad
Millions of light years went by
Bang, bang
Billions of light tears he cried
Eventually, bang you appear
After
A lustful specialty bang  
Sped spermful and hopeful
To an ultimate conclusion
Destinies union.
You then,
Orchestrating bang-bang moments of between
Beautiful verdant in bloom bangs
Hang from your spring and summer tree
Of your budding truth
Of your hopeful youth
Time capsuled shutter flutter
Contemplative baby bangs soothing
The Epiphanius bang of instant recognition
Bangs so soft
They're hardly bangs at all
Being more like a soft bubble bursting
A quiescent sound
Infinite in its stillness.
Nothing to forgiveness

Then came
The bangs of the winter of your discontent
Explosive in its silent rage
Shattering the iron of its irony
The rage in its engage
The fury in its fleeing
Blind-sighted by seeing
Justified in its sage rage

Follow the bang gang
Puerile and untouched
In its rarest invisible form
Placated and felted
Velvet experiencer
Must touch.
Must taste
Must be seen
Must be to be to be.

Without the sacrificial lamb
You stand
Alone
Neither prey nor predator
Merely a spectator
To a dictator.
You’ve known all along

And frown at the clown
That was only trying to make you laugh.

SPIRIT
It seems my reality is connected to 'Abdu'l-Baha and Baha'u'llah inasmuch as I recite their words.  Also, the Bab.  Perhaps too Muhammad inasmuch as I obey Hadith and read the Qur'an.  Is my lack of reality really God? What does it mean to be God's servant but not His son? That seriousness born of the Seal of the Prophets? Or, that seriousness born of irresponsibility and wickedness? What can come from mere presence? "This cyclic scheme is to Him but a stare." Thoughts of Hindu statues of the gods and goddesses. Yes, the spiritual reality doesn't work for me at command. It doesn't entertain me either. It usually requires some input to show me anything.

MIND
That lack of any changing form going through my mind. Thoughts of a previous text and its sender. Conversations via text. The heart feels betrayed by a friend for not showing up. Memories of my friend's neighborhood. Anything of substance except the interactions I have on my phone and the memories which our words and persons reveal? Do I have any unconscious left? Anything hiding? Fears of reincarnation. Anxiety about work due to not staying in the "now". Unfulfilled plans of society. Is there anyone coming to my Group of Silence devotional? Odds unlikely. Alone on Zoom.

The conviction of medication and meditation, which changed my D's and F's into A's and B's in college. My lack of use of the knowledge I gained. Still hopeful of discovering some new form of mathematics, even if on my deathbed - I'm guessing around 80 if I keep smoking.

"There is no pain you are receding" and "*******" whisper in my mind. "Comfortably numb" - it seems like the highest spiritual state, but a state of incapacity for the investigating mind. "Is there anybody in there?" A German seven that looks like kanji.

BODY
Maybe a serious eye? Those eyes with nothing to do. Can a mirror not truly tell me about myself? For what information can come from a blank stare? A ****** in the nose. A worry-filled stare. One ear a little pulled out due to wearing COVID masks. I haven't trimmed my beard for five days. I haven't gotten a new face. My eyes are the same color. My hair, not darker nor lighter. The bags under my eyes betrays youths. My distinguished, yet still rounded cheeks. My beard hides my ****-chin. My less distinguished jaw, ovalish but with a point. Those searching eyes. A neck with so much stress built up that I unconsciously twist and crack it. Memory of the first time it spasmed. Vitamin care. Laundry drying. It must be this blank stare that is highest of high, that can be low, low.  I rub my scalp to ease muscle tension. I think about aligning my chakras, but a blank stare seems more worthwhile.

I consider smoking a touch of nutmeg, but I'm concerned how anxious it will make me, and how I lack ability in communication afterwards. I make coffee, a caffeine high will do. The cream gives me comfort. The workers getting off work add to my austerity. All those songs stored in neurons of my brain, waiting to be plugged-in. Somehow old rock songs from the 70's give me a place.

Now that beautiful lady appears to me saying "come, come" or rather "***, ***". I was so empty of everything, and she now fills my brain with connections to desire. I give in to the pressure and put a small dob of nutmeg on the end of my cigarette. Not enough for a full high, but just a little joy. Now there is experience and experiencer, not just a blank stare.

I can see my *** stare. I am as a baby in my mother's arms, I am so irresponsible. My body is a temple, with rooms, that I'm somehow detached from as if I'm in a dream witnessing it. Now I swim in this temple but I am not its fullness. I am not its command. I am no longer the tree but the twig. I am this plant called nutmeg. This is my vibration - pharmaceutical.

My buzz cut portrays a Buddhist monk's sitting. My coworker cut off all her hair once. Is she monkish as well? My body, as a sitter, full of reflection, why is this such an archetype? Does it know all, no, it only knows one, me. Is that all I am required of? To know simply me. Is there anything of depth in me?

Repose in my eye. I think of the faithful not under the influence. Have I missed a spark of truth which I would've found? My browline reminds me of a Klingon. So aggressive. I rock back and forth and around and around. I'm mixing this tonic drink in my skull. Is my body too full and big for my neck and head? how much does it matter? When will I do my next ab workout?

Memories of doing nutmeg, the cool let down off the high. The feeling it will never really subside.  Moving around in my seat like a Sufi dancer. Looking like I'm a ghost in the machine. The wetness of the white in my eye portrays tears of passion for Chloe. The residue of oil on my brow and cheek portrays sweating out the nutmeg.

My chrome dome and short beard remind me of a wizard, rather of my high school physics teacher. Science seems like wizardry at times. Contorting my face with my hands shows all sorts of masks: Asian clown and Cabbage Patch doll. Pressing on my forehead makes me look Romulan. Contorting my nose to a pig's or what I see as an English nobleman.

My head swings around like a medieval flail. Like I'm in a roller coaster. Like an Indian in devotion. Like a magician performing an act. Like a wolf ripping apart its prey. Like the monks who hit their heads with boards in "Camelot": "Oh ee eh Oh dominae, Oh ee eh Oh requi eh". Coming to the conclusion that the body doesn't change so quickly that it can by observed. But when I consciously change it, similitudes appear from memory.

CONCLUSION
Is all observation a metaphor or simile? Or, judgment and reason made out of a group of observations? Math is made from first geometry: a basic point, and then a line. Math is a physical reality, or abstractions from basic physical reality. Therefore, speaking merely in basic simile is also an abstraction from physical reality.

All there is is the physical.  Mind is due to my frontal lobe. Spirit is reduced to feeling, even if transcending regular feeling - mere EMF pattern of the body.

Their is no solitude in cry
When you cry, you split..
You become two
the experiencer and the
experiencing,
Or
Sometimes become few
depend on
the number of people left you.

i have no contemporaries... i live among no contemporaries... i live among the contempt zombies: some dead here thrown... to suckle at the grinding of flesh: some... peter sinfield wrote... i have no contemporaries... i have this vacant breath: thank god i didn't invest in "family"... less a funeral... more a disappearing act! repeat the tides of spring... repeat the glimmer of ancient winter... remind me... Europe: funnel of the deaf earth... beside our Turkic past... before the Ottoman altar at the grinding: whip... lash... of the pride that once was Constantinople... tide: the currency of time: us nuanced: new... new Brazilian... all mixed up and holy Babel: come the crashing urn: my "utopia" of... my... fading suntan...  kupfernacken... i scribble itching: pretending them to be letters: born from Greenwich... ghostly freelance... such a tidy little place i can ghost... align myself to past: to pass trivial concerns... women marry... men dissolve into a figment of their imagination... the best doggy... the walking abortions that they were already sentenced with... i have no contemporaries... all my compatriots of now are... still in high-school... i have no contemporaries... befitting... all i have ever read was by those already dead: necromancer: reads.... conjure up the devil without fire... with smoke and mirrors he comes... or came... with a cat screaming: cite Bulgakov! i do the *****... rather: i do the ***... he play more the backgammon because... chess is... ******* boring... given the adventure allowed by FFVII... for example... we were teenage boys once... we still are... come to think of it... i don't want to learn of the universe of women and... at least with prostitutes... i have a heart that's the size of a pebble... and a tear the size of a lake... yes... that's plenty.


either the day begins like: pouring some milk into
a glass of water...
or the day ends like: pouring some water
into a glass of milk...

the day, sober... began with:

cussons' imperial leather:
cotton clouds & white cashmere...
a shower fragrance like
no other...
    well... if a shower gel reminds
you of a mythological
sweet / pastry you had
aged circa 4... on a train...
going from Danzig back home...
i guess that's probably right...

but if i'm wrong about that
i'm certainly right about:
a splash of ***... or whiskey...
in a black coffee...
why did i ever bother with cream?!

then defrosting two refrigerators
got in the day...
house chores: cleaning the "stanzas":
the square...
one remorseful hour with
the road on my bicycle...
no thought: just spatial coordination:
unconscious arithmetic...

linger until midnight...
past midnight pretend to sleep for
an hour... then get up and "hunt" for
a glass of milk...

eclipse heritage: mount gay Barbados ***...
a fine fine ***...
finer than any mr. whiskers or ms. amber
has to offer...

why has it not dawned upon the western:
liberal man that...
he's somehow... not... the... universal man?
translated in Afghanistan?
who the hell is going to bemoan
the rise-up of Taliban "two-point-oh"?!
i'm celebrating...
like the partisan h'americans are still trying
to celebrate the Hebrews having their
land back!

i'm happy for the Afghan people!
why wouldn't you be?
well thank you: mr. universal man...
thank you for the railroads...
thank you for your chemistry...
thank you for so much...
but... don't you have an incel "problem":
trying to shove it under a bright orange
carpet of psychiatry...
it's going to be much harder to bribe
these monks...
than it would take to bribe the Jihadis
with 72 virgins...
after all: ever heard of a jihadi that
performed an act of Jihad by killing
his mother, first?

it's like that joke akin to: a priest,
a rabbi and an imam walk into a bar...
an incel, a jihadi and a...
walk into... a nunnery...

mr. universal man... thank god you're
finally leaving Afghanistan...
are the Hebrews the only sacred
cows in your Hindu zodiac?
i believe firmly: leave the people to their
own fate... or demise...
last time i heard... Afghan women
were waterfalls of poetry with their
Landays...

                     mr. universal man has attracted
a multi-cultural palette...
even the Armenian bread like lavash was
some story...
sorry... when was the last time you
heard the ******* backstory of
a croissant?!
only the "noble savages" have stories...
we have turkey-t.v.:
we have no stories... no heritage...
nothing at all concerning
the French fries... we didn't invent
anything: culinary...
never used mint... rosemary... thyme...
we just ******* nuked nuked nuked...

the flat-chested flat-bread paupers
who were beaten by a pancake
and never hunted down: yeast! yeast!
rise! miracle of flour!
rise! like the sun!

cheap-****-sushi...
let them be... let them shove a stick
and a rubber shoe into the mountain
to draw some water to nourish their
goats...

mr. universal man...
why are westerners so concerned with
what might happen to Afghanistan?
probably something less terrible than
what already took place:
i'm of the maxim:
the terrible has already happened...
Viet-Now...

mr. universal man has problems re-abstracting
what is concrete to others...
since... mr. universal man
hasn't lived long enough to have lost
what others are vying for...

he invented all such splendorous games
and amusements befitting a cosmopolitan
echo chamber that he forgot what
a tree or a rock might imply...

he's so blind to churn out an introspection:
a new breed of terrorist he hides
under a blanket of psychiatry...
thinking: this one more time... this time again:
the sun will rise...

these need breeds start with killing
their mother! or end with killing their mother!
jihadis aim for collateral fog...
they're aiming for 72 virgins...
what have you to bribe these "monks"?

eh... there's a romance to be had with
Afghanistan and the Taliban...
it's not unlike
the amphetamine fuelled antics
of the Syrian pseudo-caliphate...
an Afghani is not ****
in the eyes of the Hindu...
he's a less sensitive breed: almost alien...
somewhat teasing the Iranian...
but then again... what do i know?

reminiscence of a time when a troll
of a girl chased me in high-school...
i was cycling up to the top of Bower Hill
when i stopped to change the music...
a woman was jogging against
the tide of traffic i was encompassing...
she too decided to stop "jogging"
to change her soundtrack...
she must have been admiring my Turkish
take on ****** hair... if i had a mirror
i too would be... in between itching
to squeeze the last maggot of phlegm
and acne from my face:
because Beelzebub took a **** on my face!
if he was a she i'd imagine it
would run along the lines of:
she sat with her fully fattened *****
onto my face and told me to slurp!
whizz-kid concerning oysters...
n'est c'est pas?

i feel inclined to dream about joining
the Tally-*** band of brothers...
i'm bored with the music...
last time i heard they were into listening to:
pretending to listen to: listening to:
silence...
next comes a Hegel or a Kant...
attacked by bouts of schizophrenia:

loose term... i much prefer the older
noun... dementia praecox...
premature dementia...
it's less a metaphor...
after all: what is the experience of consciousness:
the science of: drugging up the experiencer?
to dull the experience?
what senses are we inviting when
the schizoid is hardly: half-of-hearing?

ha ha!
of those philosophers' ivory towers that are books:
some followed-through: some unchallenged:
some unread...
like Kjartan on Heidegger in Knausgaard's
vol. 4...
apparently living in London:
well... it's not like you can be ever bored
of London... south of the Thames:
esp. circa the central projects of attracting
postcards... is all the same...
but south of London... isn't it... Kent... Sussex?
that's most certainly not...
the grand underground wheelie of...
Hainault is Greater London...
but Chigwell is Essex... proper...
south London is a different country...
it might as well be Northumbria!