Am I in the right headspace?
Do I travel the galaxies conjured by my thoughts just to end up in black holes?
I’m seeking epiphanies
You know, those elusive supernovas that defy even the eyes of gods
I claim to be rich in spirit, yes
Trying to measure my wealth with the hours I spend in the stratosphere
above every worry that injects my bones with the weight of 2 Earths-
the weight of a place that doesn’t want to ever wait
Yet it must
You can’t break a chrysalis and expect patterns on the wings
You’ll get misshapen kaleidoscopes
and fragmented isotopes
beings who’ve never climbed but will die trying to ascend ropes
Am I in the right headspace?
Is my consciousness a constellation waiting to take form?
What will be the shape?
I’ll never be strong enough to resemble the buckle on Orion’s belt
I’ll never be the mouth at the big dipper,
drunk on the secrets of the cosmos
I’d want to be the hands gripping Polaris
sharing light for the planets who only see a moon rise
Am I in the right headspace?
Because I’ve fallen into nebulas,
realms where humans stand on the heads of giants yet look no higher
I’ve seen flawed ideologies that challenge monuments with their size
I wonder what it’d take for us to realize that we could be immortals
free from the finite mentalities that stunt our growth from the very roots.

Get out of my headspace ...
It's too clouded.
I'm no longer able to decipher the view outside ,
my eyes are no longer a window,
the brain just a sham of the thoughts once creatively flowed.
A raging storm within.
How long will this go on?
days ? weeks? months? years?
or perhaps maybe even an eternity?
It's a blizzard unfit for humanity ,
my deepest innermost thoughts are frozen solid ,
no longer spirits they once were,
you need to leave.
This headspace of mine cannot bare it any longer.
It may spread to my body.
The cold is numbing,
dehabiliting to the mind.
Imagine what it could do to my body,
halt all movement,
solidify the blood in every vain,
creating a state of frozen paralysis.
The only outcome is death.
Please leave my headspace.
You are no longer welcome.
These chills down my spine are a foreshadowing of the destruction to come to my temple.

I thought it right to assess some antidepressants, which philosophers are more inclined to call mood enhancers.
This was during my foray into human enhancement, substances intended to enhance physicality, cognition or mood. Nootropic compounds concern the latter two categories.

The most commonly prescribed mood enhancers are serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SRIs), but it takes over a week for these compounds reach their peak effect.
Thus I approached them with the notion that a limited dosage might point to their character, though  not reveal. These considerations in mind, I set about acquiring a few miscellaneous anti-D's.

Fluoxetine was the first successful selective serotonin re-uptake inhibitor (SSRI), better known by its original brand-name Prozac. Fluoxetine has an acute biological half-life of between 1-3 days. Presence of a trifluoromethyl group on the compound deserves note, I wonder what the presence of electronegative fluorine atoms add to the psychoactive flavor of a compound (subjective effects).
I administered a single dose by mouth, there was some indication of subjective character. Light serotonergic sensations and seemingly benign mood-dampening, there is a ****** towards the positive. Waking headspace relatively uninteresting. Observed hints of oneirogenesis, did not manifest in enough character to be detailed - a sort of vivid, 'pulsive wandering, more pronounced in contrast to its waking character.
Good experiment, interesting results.
Ligand     Ki (nM)   Ki (nM)
Target      Flx            Nflx
SERT        1               19
NET         660           2700
DAT         4180         420
5-HT2A   200           300
5-HT2B    5000         5100
5-HT2C    72.6          91.2
α1             3000         3900
M1            870           1200
M2            2700         4600
M3            1000         760
M4            2900         2600
M5            2700         2200
H1            3250         10000

Sertraline is another popular SSRI, also known by it's original brand-name Zoloft. Sertraline has a variable half-life, on average 26 hours.
It's metabolite, desmethylsertraline, has a half life between 62-104 hours but is a far less potent Serotonin Releasing Agent (SRA).
The presence of two chlorine atoms is interesting. The usual, phenomenal serotonergicity is present and pushing towards the positive.
Some nausea, particularly when hungry (this disappeared after some minestrone soup). Some faintness after physical exertion. This dose did not promote onirogenesis. There was a moment of cognitive distortion when the proportions of a focal object seemed to be growing in-and-out, shifting in size.
Site                 Ki (nM)
SERT              0.15–3.3
NET               420–925
DAT               22–315
5-HT1A       >35,000
5-HT2A          2,207
5-HT2C          2,298
α1A        ­        1900
α1B                 3,500
α1D                 2,500
α2                  477–4,100
D2                  10,700
H1                  24,000
mACh           427–2,100
σ1                   32–57
σ2                   5,297

Escitalopram is an SSRI commonly prescribed for major depression and generalised anxiety. It is the (S)-stereoisomer of citalopram. The biological half-life is of escitalopram is between 27-32 hours.
I administered a dose and thought the phenomenal serotonergicity less apparent than fluoxetine but then gastro-intestinal disturbance was noted, I surmised it has a high affinity for 5-HT2C.
Any oneiric qualities were not readily apparent after a single dose, relatively little visual imagery which is understandable given its lack of affinity for 5-HT2A. I found this to be philosophically interesting. Mood elevation observed in bursts of conversation and as odd sensations, possible mental discomfort.
Ligand,
Recptr     Ki (nM)
SERT       2.5
NET        6,514
5-HT2C   2,531
α1            3,870
M1           1,242
H1           1,973

Venlafaxine is a selective serotonin-norepinephrine reuptake inhibitor (SNRI). Venlafaxine and its metabolites are active for about 11 hours.
Initial subjective effects similar to a very light empathogenic stimulant. Perception of altered attention-span/increased reflexive response; energizing yet paradoxically much yawning.
Ligand,  Vnfx      Dvnfx
Recptr    Ki(nM)  Ki(nM)
SERT  ­    82           40.2
NET       2480        558.4

Tianeptine is a tricyclic antidepressant (TCA) with an unusual mechanism of action. It is an atypical agonist of the μ-opioid receptor and has been described as a (selective) serotonin reuptake enhancer (SRE). It has a short duration as sodium salts [prescribed form] of between 2-4 hours but as sulfate this can be notably extended, some of its metabolites are active for longer than tianeptine itself.
Definitely anxiolytic, quite artificial; possible aphrodisiac. I find its opioid activity dissuading, requires caution.
Site          Ki (nM)
MOR       383–768 (Ki)
                 194 (EC50)
DOR      >10,000 (Ki)
                 37,400 (EC50)
KOR      >10,000 (Ki)
                 100,000 (EC50)
All other transporter/receptor/sub-receptor values are >10,000 (Ki).

Bupropion is a norepinephrine-dopamine reuptake inhibitor (NDRI) with affinity for some nicotinic receptors. Bupropion and its metabolites are active for between 12-36 hours. Interestingly it is a substituted cathinone.
Initial subjective effects similar to a fairly light stimulant. Perception of increased attention-span and improved cognition. It is an onirogen that is neutral in quality, enhancing vivid dreaming (a boon of its nicotinic affinity which is counteracted if the stimulant component impinges on sleep). Completely absent of serotonergicity, curious.
The N-tert-butyl group's effect is most interesting, how it affects metabolism and to what extent ROAs alter pharmacokinetics.
I took 150mg ******, as extended and as instant release (the latter was more pronounced). I thought an altered pharmakinetic profile might result from bypass of hepatic metabolism, so I tried 25mg insufflated and felt as if there was effect that it differed slightly from oral ROAs, but also worried that its metabolic fate is thence unknown (compare to the neurotoxic 3-CMC). What of other bupropiologues,
for example, 3-Methyl-N-tert-butyl-methcathinone? Indeed.
                        Bupropion    R,R-Hydroxybuprpn   Threo-hydrobuprpn
AUC               1                     23.8                                  11.2
Half-life         11 h                 19 h                                 31 h
IC50 (μM)
DAT               0.66                  inactive                          47 (rat)
NET               1.85                   9.9                                  16 (rat)
SERT              inactive          inactive               ­            67 (rat)
α3β4 nic         1.8                   6.5                                   14 (rat)
α4β2 nic         12                     31                                   no data
α1β1γδ nic     7.9                    7.6                                  no data

Moclobemide is a reversible inhibitor of monoamine oxidase A (RIMA), its monoamine oxidase inhibition lasts about 8–10 hours and wears off completely by 24 hours. Inhibiting the decomposition of monoamines (e.g. serotonin, norepinephrine and dopamine) increases their accumulation at an extracellular level. It tends to suppress REM sleep and so it lacks oneirogenic properties.
Feeling of well-being, less constrained by the usual anxieties; openness. Relatively unnoticeable side-effects when diet is carefully managed. Made the mistake of eating a cheese and turkey sandwich (i.e. foodstuff rich in tryptophan/tyramine), indications of serotonergicity later became apparent: feelings of overheating and flushing, slight sweating, racing thoughts and anxious discomfort. A stark reminder of Shulgin's old adage: "there is no casual experiment".
Combination with a select few tryptamines (not 5-MeO-xxT) should be safe, and synergistic (perfect for pharmahuasca); reputed to potentiate GHB. However, generally it is extremely dangerous to combine with serotonergic drugs.

Finally
remembering
how
to
forget.

the brain and mind are not the same thing.

a brain floats, suspended,
down to the tips of my toes
and the blue rivers underneath my skin.

it is a box; simple tasks and quiet construction.

the mind has no such manuals.

it sees baboons in filtered skylights,
eyes as red as the blushing dawn,
gushing about over the hilltops of my shoulders.

it sees stop signs in the glass cracks
of my wooden closet door,
where the dark seeps around the green-light-go.

it sees fingertip to lip,
raccoons at rusty roadways,
Remus and Romulus locked in eternal combat;
preserved in the grains in the cherry tree trunk.

the brain is in the head,
but the mind is somewhere a little above;

hiding away in a doomsday bunker,
loud warnings burning the air,
bathed in cobwebs and blue lights.

away from people who haven’t quite learned,

that the brain and mind are not the same thing.

Pad and pen,
here are Casey’s thoughts again...

Driving down the highway, Jason is strapped in because Casey’s in denial again. She doesn’t want to lose her little one.

Wake up Casey, you’re dreaming. He’s gone.
You drove under the influence.
What’s wrong with you?  
This is what you get. He’s never coming back.

Driving silent like a mime with its mouth sewn shut.
You’re just like a mime, living in a black and white world.
You’re gray matter Case.
You’re a nut-case.
Where’d you put your straight jacket?

You hit your brakes to assure Jason will be safe.
Convinced that at every intersection there’s a conspiracy against you,
sure to get hit.

But Casey, it’s too late. This is what you get.
He’s never coming back.

Why’d you have to reach for more?



Lock her up.
Strap her in.

Casey's off the deep end... again.

I often dream of running, I dream of fleeing
but every time I try to leave
they drag me back to this place they’ve deemed
reality.

I often find I’m lost in their uncertainty –
but I'm certain that I’m dying
in this place that I was never meant to
be.

That thing she did. It was so innocuous, so accidental, so minor, yet it awakened you. It consumes your headspace. Follows you through hours and days. Makes appearances in your dreams, kissing the edges of your mind. Because of it, you know what it feels like to want someone so much you grow a second heart. Such a gesture should be easily forgotten, but you can’t forget the belly-rolling starburst of it, the oh. That thing she did, it told you who you are. In one split-second act. It grabbed you by the collar, looked you in the eye, and said her. It’s her. Are you brave enough to listen?

2. You want to feign your own fall just so she will lean over you, blocking the sky, beautiful and concentrated. So she will hold your wrist and feel for your rabbit pulse. So you can blink up at her with an excuse for not looking away.

3. She’s sitting there sketching a tree in the margin of her notebook, and she is a miracle. You would die for her. The thought startles you. You want to kiss her, want it savagely, which startles you, too. Your hands stay balled in your lap, half-clenched and trembling.

4. You move and it’s just enough to push the two of you together. Which is, god, the best thing you have ever felt. She draws her eyes toward you with the soft look that takes you out every time. Her arm is pressing yours, solid and warm. You flush and can’t understand why, but you should. That blush knows everything you haven’t yet figured out.

5. You watch her when she leaves, always. You can’t help it. She’s furiously lovely, so much your chest is sore at the sight of her. She hurts you, this girl. She moves you.

This trail leads to the animal crossing
It fails to accommodate intrepid adventurers,
Bushy tailed explorers, mountain climbers,
Talkers to squirrels and chewers of pine pitch.
The divine medicine denies us the headspace to believe we're really dead,
The reclined estrogen felt good against twenty million years of insecurity
Golden-layered, factually flawed
It lay exposed for decades
Rusting innards and misfiring sparks
None of the heavy equipment does what it says
Robot arms move with intensity
No programmer yet programs tenderness
The limiting factor has always attracted the acting crowd
Always desperate for theatrical work they magically appear
When it's clear that they're needed
But heed the warnings, they're known to be cheaters; the people who say so could also be wife-beaters
No need to wait for a stereotype
Follow the one you haven't lost touch with

Sometimes the words you say
make me look down and blush,
delve into my own headspace,
wondering what brings such
wondrous sounds pouring forth
from your lips.
And these things you say,
they aren't obscene in any way,
but oh sir, do they twist me up inside
and steal my breaths straight
out of my lungs.

he wasn't in the right headspace
he wasn't in the wonted circumstance

it happened neither occasionally, but on numerous occasions

however, his surrounding be approaching and expecting his so-called tough shoulders..

..to be cried on, to be leaned on or to be the place they can dwell in for some considerable time.

his heart was made of gold, but it felt like a block of ice.

nodded his head; means acceptance.
tossed a yes; means a welcome.
painted a genuine smile; means he's all about to listen.

he was there for people, and he will always be there.

but where are the people pace their footsteps out while 911 numbers were pressed on his life's phone button?

nought. zero calls back. all dead. stone deaf.

that's how we live in, being a living buttress to people as in fact people won't ever spend their seconds to be your place to go.

aside from the bitter truth,

survive.

Sheers of shimmering gloss grace her torso.
And I have broken her bones,
imploring that I love her so.
Blueberry lips belly the cold;
hold her too deep, hold her I'm told.

I.

He says Call me Mr. G.
G for Gore, Greed, that Green.
An atypical stoner
with hair wetter than his mouth.
With more ******* than a pound,
he says, With an understanding of
all the suffering in the global delusion
that is the Earth. Mr. G, his name.

Oily brunette, Mr. G., would smoke
Marlboro Green Blend -- menthol --
and spit shot out between stained lips
after each extracurricular exhale.
The saliva would land, tremendously,
and puddles of Rasta shooting stars
would lay, stretching across concrete galaxy.

Hazel eyes invaded and shamed him,
for he wished to be green, like life,
but only envisioned a contradiction:
death (see nature),
for which he learned to embrace, stoically,
like a shepherd of an endangered breed
meant to die among skewed perspective.

II.

This house could be mistaken
for a cinderblock purgatory;
between color and absence of,
eternal and temporary.

A raptor laughter purged the tension --
he abided by no accommodation of civility.
As smoke followed his hyena howl,
the landline lay suddenly of purpose.

Resin raided the clunky, black buttons;
a voice was whispered like a blue phantom:
*******' cheese, pineapple, pepperoni
-- no, extra ******' cheese, extra pep --
Sure, add some more pep with your driver:
he, she -- honestly, man -- they better have
pep-in-their-******-step-you-feel?

Minutes passed like sentient matchbooks
dropping towards a skeletal fire.
G threw the phone across the room
and, like a disenchanted drunk dance,
his words wobbled over each other,
I ordered a 'za, a pizza for the layman.
About thirty, probably thirty-one
minutes, that is.

Passing me the flower-stitched ****,
I ****** in one, maybe two, three,
blasts that I swore
had some sort of nano-insects
bite and burrow into the holes
of my sponge for a throat.

Wringing my rubbery neck,
watching my words leave my toothy cave,
I found out that G doesn't believe in beer.
Believes in souls but not beer,
believes in green men, not beer.

Alcoholic splash is what we all need,
at times. So I told him the obvious,
I'm going to get a case of
(Insert your ****** choice)
and I'll be back as soon as possible.

G stared at me and made a guttural noise,
Do whatcha please, I'll stay here and
protect us from vampires.
You know, blood-suckas.

Pale stoner vampires.


III.

The leather painted door was wide open
like the legs of ominous spider cave,
but the doors of a car
I had never seen before
were as closed as the lips of a VCR.
There's nothing but silence in these situations --
is this one of those situations? Grassy knoll?

Approaching the mouth of purgatory,
I entered with the hesitancy of a lost dog.
On the plastic covered couch,
two people sat atop the invisible cloud
above the patterned fabric
and above the fingers of time.

Blonde hair sprouted from her scalp,
raining down upon vanilla shoulder blades,
her chest a harbor for two pale, freshly mounds,
with crooked, beige diamonds in the center.

She trembled when G said, Meet Steph
-- can I call you Steph, Steph? --
Meet Steph, the artist formerly known as
Stephanie, holding up her licence,
Vanmeter, of 441 1/2 Locust Ave.

That's creepy, huh, Steph? Locust Ave?
Are you something that lives in the ground,
comes up every several years, making noise?
Has this been years in the making?
Are you bound to make noise in my house?

You know this is a house, right?
Whatsa matter, unfamiliar due to ya
living-in-the-*******-ground
or is it because you share a house,
an apartment, Steph? Is it one of those?
Pizza deliveries ain't paying the bills?

G gets up, I, a coward, approaching him
about to say -- Hold up, brother, he says.
Not another move, pulling his hand from
behind her shaking, confused head,
a silver cannon an extension of his arm.

She's here to **** our blood,
She's here to ****. our. blood.
Whether she means to or not,
I know you don't think you want to, Steph,
I know you don't mean to,
But you're here to
drain-us-like-the-Red-Cross.

I tell G that she isn't,
What have you done, G,
You need to let her go
before this gets worse.
That cliche dialogue.
Because these things always do,
cliche or not.

Brother, you don't understand these things
-- It's impossible for a godless man
to understand the mechanisms
of something bigger, something holy --
but you need to listen, G said, You need to --
she tried to move, quickly,
but G grabbed her by her blonde strands,
pulled her back towards the couch,
She swiped at his eye, drawing blood.

There was a pause, a deathly silence,
by the hair, she was rendered motionless,
Oh, no, he echoed, Love, you shouldn't,
You ought not do those things.
Looking at me, he asked me to listen,
Always remember this wasn't your fault.
Sometimes, you can't be in control

Holstering her neck with his gun hand,
G picked her up, slamming her,
head first,
into the drug covered,
resin sprinkled
coffee table.

He dropped on top of her,
Looked at me, Remember, okay?
and beat her head with the **** of the gun,
until the cracking of a larger M&M; shell
muffled towards all eardrums,
maybe even hers.

With blood,
that could be mistaken as war paint,
swimming across his jaw and neck,
and sprinkled on his forehead,
G whispered, You are free,
and I was never sure
who he was talking about.

My feet left before I did,
I was suddenly in my car
with only the ignition
and G's voice registering.
I passed car after car,
pastel metal wagon after
metallic matte creation,
not sure if I ever saw him,
not sure if he ever existed,
if I ever existed.

IV.

Sheers of shimmering gloss grace her torso.
And I have broken her bones,
imploring that I love her so.
Blueberry lips belly the cold;
hold her too deep, hold her I'm told.

Waking up in a cavern darkness,
my dreams disintegrate from my eyes,
swirl in my headspace, evaporating to
heaven knows where.

Scattered pitter-patter
drowns midnight Seattle,
killing and washing away
cluttered, modern filth,
******* carnivorous minds
into hungrier gutters.

This is the part
where the screen of my life reveals:
SIX MONTHS LATER,
in yellow, stenciled letters.
But what it wouldn't say is
how I still feel like I'm dipped
in the ink of Ithaca, NY.

If this were the indulgent
autobiography of my life
it wouldn't say that
the distance doesn't matter,
because that'd be a lie;
I feel like I have only escaped myself.

The rain swells, sounding as
thick as blood, swishing around
the veins of the city.

Stephanie dies every night,
disappearing and reappearing
behind secret doors only she can open.

When she comes to me in sleep,
she is baptized in green, head caved,
Forget-Me-Nots sprouting
between fragmented skull
and select spots of brain soil,
the flowers singing jazz
with a different voice, every time.

One time she spoke.
With blueberry lips that belly cold,
she sounds like my mother:
I am so proud of you, she statically says.
You saved me. Remember.

V.

To be continued.

I downloaded my honest expression of feelings for you
but it came as a zip file
and I’m hardly tech savvy
so It sits in my hardrive with the other long lost files
like that first bike ride without training wheels
and christmas back before it all got so painfully awkward
two spaces above it
is the memory of being chased by angry farmers on tractors
and the file I edited last
was my self-image profile picture

I want you.
but sometimes wires don’t connect and the connection tends to
falter - lag
so I sent my mind to the pornographic district
where the lights flicker so red, like your favorite shade of lipstick
and for a few minutes there I committed biblical abomination
which is a fancy ******* way of saying I jacked off
before checking my local news site for the five day forecast
rain, rain, rain, rain, but a hint of sunshine

Woah! That’s a risky site! Are you sure you still want to continue?
not really. But last time I checked I never asked you for anything
so I’m buying the ingredients for happiness on ebay
two parts forty ounces of malt liquor
three parts resin stained smoking apparatus
two parts the wrong crowd
and ten parts stupid *** decisions
now I’m stumbling upon locked door keyholes
to see bootleg copies of your next summer blockbuster
they’re worth the ten dollars a pop - I’m just broke

I tried to upload a **** shaming video of you to youtube
but it was taking too **** long to process
so instead I tweeted all 140 of the characters I have played
and wrote you a bittersweet, scathing review
4.5 stars out of 5 - would not recommend
#FuckYou
I would still swipe right to your front door on silent nights
smelling like a bad rock and roll cliche
saying the same one liners over and over again

I listened to your swan song on spotify
and yeah, I’ll admit, It had me swaying
but that might just be the new “Twenty dollar a week diet”
I was forwarded online
so skype with my self-esteem
and IM me your holy of holies
and I’ll pretend whichever God you follow is up there somewhere
maybe I am just a post on your blog
maybe I’m just the virus causing you to curse at low speed internet
but I think you should leave your ISP a nasty voicemail
because this headspace is corrupted
and this computer is crashing towards an eternal shutdown

I am not an Amazement

People do not look at me and find gold

I am a blank canvas and Empty

And there are no stars inside because everything

Exists outside of me

I’m Mad because I do not like how I caught your eye

You thought I was Beautiful

But now your eyes have faded so they can’t see this far

And so my Beauty goes unnoticed and my scars are red

I’m a Scared, pessimistic girl

With no headspace for dreams

A lot of life doesn’t exist in my world

And it feels like the trees are blocking me

Like the curtains are drawn to keep you from seeing inside of me

Like the artists don’t want to paint me anymore

Like I am stuck staring at the mirror in my bedroom that used to give me nightmares

Like in my dreams I keep asking people who have died

If they would come back to life

And every time they tell me No, I don’t deserve that anymore

No, I don’t deserve that anymore

I like to think I don’t deserve the bad things anymore

Like I am a sculpture that’s been glued to the ground

Where I cannot stop people from staring

What if I don’t want to be seen?

What if I want to be read

What if I want to be felt

For the things you can’t touch?

But they keep carving me down to a figure

They keep painting over the parts where I used to bleed

if I were asked , are you okay
I would know not what to say
The way my feelings work
the way they ebb and flow
turns my headspace into an auditorium
full of noise
full of sorrow
full of love
with hopes for a better tomorrow
I guess I'll say I'm okay because
I've got to chase this wolf away
It breathes down my neck
It haunts every step
it salivates at the thought
of sinking it's fangs in again
and again and again
I'm hoping the meds take effect
like a huntsman
please release me from this beast
Until that time comes
I won't stop believing that I can be
free

It's cheap because this place is haunted.
The hallways echo with the laughter of its last occupant.
Who was she?
More of a squatter, really.
She lived here for a long time without paying any rent.
I tried in vain to kick her out repeatedly.
("Legal issues, you see.")
At least, that's what I told my accountant.

She was something else, I'll say.
Seeing her was always a major event.
What happened?
Just up and disappeared one day.
Must've took up residence in some other poor sucker's head.
Part of her spirit still lingers, however, as I've already said.
She left me with little more than her safety deposit, and a ghost.
I'll always resent her for leaving like she did.

I could have loved her the most.

Every Monday when I face you.
Your ball-shaped absorbing eyes.
Your pointy little nose as I observe a mouse.
Your reddish hot-lip.
Astonishing colored auburn faded into fair curvy hair.
All in all a fascinating facade.
But at all, just a facade.

She drowns behind her mirror.
Broken under the surface of the ocean.

Too often I think about her, to help her.
I ask her what she thinks about the world.
I know she has rotten roots inside her.
Carries and buries them deep inside her.
That's why I want to help her.
Illustrate the importance of her.
Create an urge to live and love.

We see us eye to eye.
Ask her to figure her situation.
An incomparable conversation.
It's like apples and oranges.
I let her know that her style is magnificent.
I wanna hug her. After I asked
May I hug you?
She feels cosily warm and comfortably soft.

Slowly I realise that reality distorts my reality.
Confused, I realise that we never talked
together.
Swiftly, I perceive that we just looked
at each other.
Sadly, since we know that we like
to one another.
Finally, we admit that we are
broken beings.

Clenched teeth.
My heart is beating fast and slow.
The love of my life,
His words,
Were not as beautiful.
And they were,
At the very best,
Un-welcomed in this heart of mine.
I itch for a pencil and a yellow book.
I itch for my tears to fall.
I want my heart to be taken out
I am not him
And I am not his
He is the fairytale
While he is the broken knight.
I am neither and
All I can say is my heart is closed.
As my anger towards only me
Start to consume my headspace.

but that could be said of anywhere.
However, some places
seem to have hypnotic hips and easy eyes
with a mischevious, seductive scarab grin.
Like magic, it pulls me in.
Here, labels like good or bad are trite,  
there is only this magnetic whirling
energy culling myself and others inside
simply because we picked up the phone and showed up.

But now it's our responsibility to find balance
amidst serene listless apathy on the beach
and party hardy into the midnight arty energy scene jack & coke down the rabbit hole we go.

Some Bedouins say Dahab means "time  goes,"
which has me convinced Moses and his folks weren't lost
in terms of location but lost when it relates to time,
trying to find a middle path
between excess and sloth
in this south Sinai town.


Yes, not two but three schools of thought,
forming a triangle in this hypnotizing spiral;
two points of excess and one of balance!
All three balance each other,
and it's hell trying to stay in the center of this eye
of this metaphorical storm of enlightenment.
Naturally, gravitational forces pull some to the
gray matter island headspace of echoed sins
and carnivorous lascivious pandemonium.  
Not everyone will find what they seek on the warm beaches here,
or the raving, bubble foam dance parties in strobe light nights.
That's just the way it is;
there's not enough room for everyone in the center.

And this is where we learn to accept ones place,
because only then can we move on to another plane,
on another beach with more to learn and some to teach.

Demons to so many are simply metaphors
Symbols of our darker side
A rational mind may discern what is real
Even with spectres seen and voices heard

Seemingly real what our senses feel
We can swear that we heard a disembodied voice
Or saw a ghost or spirit
But they may be an illusion
Our eyes and ears do play
Tricks on our minds
Like hysterical blindness being all in the head

As in dreams by night
Perhaps these things
Are conscious dreams by day--
Our minds trying to tell us something
In its own symbolic and abstract way
Just as real as physical symptoms
Deeply rooted in the mind

It has been said that your perception is your reality
If so, these things are then your personal reality
These things may be real
But only to you
Or whoever is in your headspace
Or our collective headspace
Where our senses peak

Your reality or your orientation is defined
By what you focus on
And what you look through
Day after day--
You truly are what you eat

But are the negative effects of what you see
Compounded by further distorted perception?

Are you focusing on something through

     <A spider web-cracked window?
     <A spider’s web built across your
             Window?
     <A fogged-up or frosted window?
     <A coloured or tinted window?
     <A *****  smudged window?
     <A window partially or totally obscured
            By bushes or trees?        
     <A window at night where what you
            See beyond the window is 
            Superimposed with your own
            Reflection and that of
            Objects and lights that are               
            Behind you in the room?
     <A window with the blinds closed?
                             Or
     <Are you trying to look through just
             A picture of a window hanging on
                        Your wall?  
                                ~
Whatever windows we peer through
Or whenever we enter
Humankind’s collective and connected
Head-space
We see and hear these demons and spectres
Dancing through the dark empty rooms
And hallways of mind

Waiting for the right time
To bring the party to the light of day
Where they will forever stay
Since we have been inviting them
And have been preparing the way for them
For a very
Long time

                               --Daniel Irwin Tucker

I go inside
when I'm feeling down,
when I need some space.
And there I find my buddies,
real mofos I could really count on.
When your life is in the balance,
those are the people you want around.
That's why I go inside my head,
to keep their memory alive,
to protect me from
the phony people
out here,
out here on the outside.

>walkin in the rain, footsteps shake, head throbs, but I still hear your silent echoes as if they follow me in the dark, my whispers are silent thunders, as if screaming in the past, it won't bring you back.

<I walk on, mud at my feet. Stepping to the trail of my own weathered beat. Nature touches my senses and the space between.

>Always in my headspace, cannot get out, still stuck, cannot move.
Though I found a way out, but you never go away, so I guess I gotta stay. I hope someday I make it out alive, whether it burns or not.

<I'll feel the flames reach higher as I gasp for air
I hope the rain comes and washes away the pain and I can dance freely again
with the sun.

>The sun in my arms, I got no space for air, breathing frantically, I hold out my last to you. But in the distance, as my voice stops, I see a shadow, squinting, eyes nearly closed, I know it's not you.

<It is a part of me
The part I don't want to see
clearly
Running will save no one.

>I'm done, words filtrate, my thoughts are bare. ****, my mind is exposed, no one who cares.

Are an interesting thing.

Because they appear in all headspace
And stratum of conscious
Orchestra slow walk of life-

In the hazy Druid gaze of early morning waking days
To the moment of the crystal revelation;
The hardwood can look dreamlike, soft
But just as easily manifest creation.

Sinewy contortions of the multicoloured drapes
To the kind and gentle ghosty in the sun;
A derealized 'umm, wait a sec' march backwards in the mind
Or the truth that I and this wood frame are one.

when i close my eyes
i go to places i've been to
maybe not
i decorate memories
in short breaths
i see neighborhoods
i see miles of desert
driving through dilated sunsets
i see the light hanging
kissing me through the window
warm sun caresses my body
while i'm laying in silken sheets
and then familiar sounds of summer
the intense feeling of being home
when i was young and nothing mattered
my thoughts and talks from those days are gone
but i'm left with the sensation
everything could've been a dream
im drifting now
i'm a child at the airport
the excitement of whats to come
fills my lungs
i need that now
i need to be young
i am young
let me fly

Oh your shy very shy
You will never get the job you want because you are very shy
You want to be s s baker
Too flaming hard
You want to be lawyer
Too flaming bad
You want to be a doctor
I shake too much
I want to be a super market packer
Too ****** cheap
I want yo be an actor
Keep laughing when the teacher is showing me the ropes I want to be a waiter
But I need to understand
There is not much money involved
I want to be a security guard
Too fucken weak
I want to be s police man
Not in the eight headspace
I want to be an AFL. Player
But I need to be signed on
I hear oh your shy very shy
I am cool and you are shy
The only way to achieve your dreams in come out of your shell and i ain't gay though
I want to succeed

When my lips form charming smile
And in my eyes you see sunshine,
Be careful, darling, it's a warning sign.

Cause once sweet whispers touch your mind
And flirty laugh blurs track of time,
You won't notice that your heart is mine.

And when you watch the moves I make
And then you skip a breath intake,
Be cautious, darling, of heartbreak.

Cause once I get into headspace,
I live rent-free for weeks and days
Before I kiss goodbye and leave a trace.

We’re playing the long game.
We share things, we’re lovers,
we slip in and out of each other’s lives
like jackets hanging on the back of a door.

Relationships are like instruments,
they must be played, kept in tune,
the carnal and the corny balanced,
carefully, like sections of an orchestra.

Sometimes, I feel that I have to bring the energy,
BE the entertainment - and I can do that - in spades
but not forever - I’m not a tireless-giver - in fact,
I'm atavistically Parisien (we admit loving nothing).

I’m learning that when a relationship’s conducted,
at great remove, the basics - like punctuality,
dependability and preparation - become a big deal.

When I’m in an optimistic headspace, I think we can do it,
maybe, that we know what we want and who we are.

That we’re playing the long game

Thank you
for removing yourself
from my day to day Life.

I can't say I would have made that choice, but
I'm sure ******* glad I now don't have to;
I'm sure ******* glad to have my headspace back.


This isn't an attack;
it's a sigh of relief
on some levels.

This isn't surrender;
it's a work in progress
on some levels.

This isn't excommunication;
it's a period of change
on lots of levels.

I'm sure you can understand that.

It takes me Time to come to terms with the things I find within my Mind;
it doesn't help that a lot of Entropy has been introduced;
pardon me for taking my sweet-*** Time.

I know I can express myself abrasively,
but, you see,
Life is abrasive.

I find
abrasive expression itself
can be cathartic, when
existence itself
is abrasive.

This isn't an attack,
this isn't surrender,
this isn't excommunication,
this is a period of renewal and growth;

moving onward
moving forward
moving upward
moving inward

all at once.

I hope you can understand;
I, myself, tend to forget,
believe it or not.

Its hard to concentrate
When your thoughts rattle around
Like machinegun fire
Caught in complicated clockwork
Trying to captivate
One cognitive idea
About Life
Conglomerate

While the tapestries
Of cliches attempt
To coalesce as they
Cascade
Only to fall away
As they dribble out my ears
The critics are unimpressed.

There is no one on this earth
Who is still interested
In simple lyrics backed by
Overwhelming overtures
When the focus is on expenditures
And the bottom line wont budge

Its as if it holds a grudge
Torturing visionary artists
Hiding in their closets
From monsters under the bed
And detained by superego authorities
While alone and afraid
Locked in Negative Headspace

But the artists becon of light
Is an ironic twist of common life
In a pedestrian plight
Captured on 8mm film
And put on Lifetime.

How do you write a song when
The melody is wrong
But the lyrics flow from the hand
Like the last latent ramblings
Of a dying, possessed man
Onto the page as
The imaginary lines fade
And the surreal becomes real

And in your head its something you can hear

In your gut, its something you can feel

But the fingers on the guitar
Cant catch these falling stars
And before we go to far
Its time to take a step back
To breathe

The guitar bleeds
But its blood isnt music
And if you turn away you lose it
As the sound gets trapped behind
The saturated limitations of the mind
The brass threads slowly unwind
Only to stab you in the neck.

And still,
The critics are unimpressed.

It is the birth day de mi padre,
I lay, grateful for the conversations before we had to part ways.
Inside of myself I see your face,
Calm, still, and happy fills my summer headspace
The void used to be a bruise to me, and I bumped it all the time.  Subconsciously moreso, but it brought me to my rhymes.  Thanks for helping me realize all will be alright.  It's now 111, I'm seeing special signs.  The beginning only begins once you let it in your mind.  One can never be defined, but my bias helps allow me to see the depth in your eyes.  Eternally a part of the design, reminding spines that they're intricate & divine.  Thank you for your choices, and the genesis it bred.  Thank you for the time, and the warm thoughts to blanket my head.  In the end, it came down to what was said.  I can rest in bed smiling because the timing was perfect, for had you waited to say anything then it would have never been worded.  There stands Mars, staring at the stars.  Inebriated and contemplating just how far you really are.  Imagination fills the dark, in my pocket there's a spark, and when ya wanna speak it will go straight into my heart.
I long left the cage made of rage when I decided to turn the page in order to set the stage.  Unfortunately sometimes it takes a tragedy for us to come of age.  Blessed in the ways we can seize the current day.  Jump in, the water's great, and here comes another wave,~  Underneath the splash crashes I heard my name, it was you, telling me everything is okay - and to float back up and become a mirror for those already saved.  I miss you, and wish you could stay.  I remain a child longing, with a mystery to taste.  So here eye am, unafraid, and destined to forever play among the blades of grass.  Appreciate what was, but know there is no home within the past.  Release the anxious worry over how long on this earth we're going to last.  Over-exerted circuits in the brain retire too fast - which doesn't allow the proper growth to know patience.  Ascension is not always painless.  I once was a patient desperately waiting to be seen.  dabbling around chemistry with a head full of steam.  Then I let go and a black hole swallowed those walls whole, along with the notion that we had no control.  Now I row, straight into my dream with intention.  Hoping to see you there for some sort of healthy lesson.  Apologies to my surroundings for the jumbled mess of stresses.  Embracing it all and cutting away the self to delve with introspection.  Abundantly grateful to exist, and find solace in these confessions.

I love you, Happy birthday Dad, rest easy