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singingghosts Jun 2017
okay. so if you've been paying any attention to me, you know i've spent my entire week on ketamine (a drug i have always felt was too deep for me) and also forcing people to listen to joanna newsom. and now i somehow feel like i've learned so much that i can actually apply it to be the person i thought i never wanted to be.

here's what happened.

i have been having inner struggles against myself, feeling like i'm getting older and more comfortable with being average and just living until i eventually die in a hospital bed though i would prefer it be in my own.

this has been destroying me. not so much death as it's been dying without any significant understanding, telling people without hesitation that i am going to **** myself. and it's not immediate either. it's just a general i'm gonna die one day but it'll be by my hands.

i've been back and forth with my ego and my logic self or whoever else is here, so far that i actually considered maybe i had a split personality disorder everyone else was aware of and never told me. and it's been ******* me up.


so i had an episode halfway through joanna newsom Have One On Me album, maybe my favorite album. Ys is up there but i often wonder if it's the album that gets to me or Only Skin dominating.  

friday i got some people together. gave them ketamine. played the Ys album. what happened was unexpected as 1 i personally have never listened to joanna newsom on dissociatives and 2 i have never had anyone have the reaction to her i saw happen.  

my friend's wife is in her 40s. i'm not entirely sure what she does but she is a pianist and she likes art and she doesn't eat meat and all in all there's many things i need to discuss with her. it's become now almost a calling to sit down with her and talk to her. i am driven to her power and before we had this exchange together i had been absolutely terrified of her.  

we did not have enough time for what i realized needed to happen.

sunday i had time though with other people. i will feed my friends ketamine and play joanna newsom's entire discography, every hour giving them a higher dose of K.

by 'sadie' my friends were in holes. mind you, these are people who don't listen to joanna newsom.  they listen from post modern jukebox to classic rock. they aren't casually drawn to joanna, sober, the way i am. and for any joanna fan this is something we have grown accustom to. we don't get offended when people don't get her but when they DO get her, really get her, it's a religious experience.

i don't know what they experienced completely. i was in egypt. i was swallowed by sand, surfing pyramids, bursting through the warmth of the sun. i was traveling. trying to write this now has become difficult as i have just done another two lines and feel these hands trying to lay me down.

only skin comes on. 16 minutes felt like 2 minutes once it ended but those 16 minutes felt like 40 days while it played. i had been patched together. the sound now coming from inside my body. my body buried in this darkness pure darkness. the only way to explain what k holing is is the hypnotized scene of Get Out where the dude is lowered into his subconsciousness watching through his eyes from a well staring up at images
of what is happening. sorta watching yourself go on its own

i'm not sure if this is the case for everyone, but that scene is a real feeling and it's one i adore

my thought process was "i need everyone to get here and hear this" it felt almost therapeutic for me and to see everyone have a similar reaction to her, people who don't even listen to her, maybe people who would've just been like "ok" hearing her, be completely cleansed by this sequence.
that's what i called it. a sequence. each album was a phase and a journey we must endure together. keeping each other safe. and i could feel our panic and our madness. i could feel us unraveling and i kept us all together. taking brief intermissions and cigarette breaks.

.  

i put headphones on to get there. the sensory deprivation the sensory isolation pulls my consciousness pulls my body away. it's an incredible feeling.

i take the headphones off though i cannot feel them on my head. i am aware that is the power source. i am in bed. i take a second to remind myself where my body is though my mind is anticipating it's escape.

i breathe. i put headphones back on.

days pass. days have spent time without me though i am still here. i've been writing so much. so many things i don't remember i wrote but when i see it again i remind myself there are places unexplored in my brain. places i thought didn't exist. i accepted the perimeter of my thoughts and feelings so long that i was just this clay blob of grey without motivation. without the ability to see through it or above it. i accepted wherever i've been mentally for the last half of my life was where i would stay for the remainder of it.

i was wrong. i was so wrong.

i watched my friend watch the girl he loves at work. she's a dancer. he never came to her job before and i was afraid for her. i was afraid he would make a scene and i had to talk to him before we went in to make sure he could handle it.

he didn't handle it well. at first

at first he kept staring her down talking to some dude and i kept talking in his ear "it's okay she's just working it's okay please she'll come to us when she can. don't distract her" and he kept insisting she didn't see him but she saw us. we made eye contact and i knew she knew what i knew and that was that i needed to get him to understand he needed to let go of this bitterness and disgust he felt for her career choice.

and it worked. i did calm him down. and she did come to us. and they probably ****** like they never ****** before when they got home.

and i've been talking to people. really talking to people. listening. reading. i can focus again. i can pay attention. i can keep myself in a present moment and process it without getting distracted or bored.

i met so many people this week. so many people i would've never met even though i go to the same bars and see them i never talked to them but this week we all finally talked and we all connected and we all realized we felt the same way the way i was reading my timeline saying "it's so sad people feel like me across the world too" and they're right here near me near us and we are so blinded by ourselves, i was blinded by myself, to see who they are as people and their relation and positioning and significance. and it feels so good

i don't want opiates anymore. over a decade i've done drugs. all drugs. drinking. weird *** ****. i've been gluttonous in my pleasures each corner of them i've relished and raved and grinned about my existence to somehow feel this awful part of me i couldn't control is what made me stand out, made me better, made me more human. it's garbage. everything i've believed is garbage. it's trash.

and now i CARE. for the first time in my life i actually care about things because i WANT to and not because i'm told i probably should, finding myself tossing about looking for the right words and actions to give the illusion i know what i'm doing. i had no idea what i was doing. i was just doing things because i wanted to imitate what everyone else was.

it feels so good to finally experience people and life the way i thought people just fabricated to sell books and movies. all of the things and life i believed were shallow and disingenuous, i was wrong. it was me. i was shallow, disingenuous. i was selfish. i was cutting myself off from life and blaming the world around me for not seeing things my way. i was a perpetual child and ketamine has finally made me grow up.

i'm not saying throw away your meds and eat better but that's what i am gonna do because i hated when people would say **** like that. like, no. *******. eating raw broccoli won't cure my depression. it won't but having the experience i had this week, having the tools to actualize my mental instability and now, god, somehow now really believing in myself and my goals and lifestyle, i have this unknown drive and faith in my ability as a person that i would get when my meds actually did work. but this isn't something i have to take every single day for the rest of my life. this is something that gave me insight i never realized for myself before, just heard, just read. like am writing this now and there's people who felt the way i felt before i did this saying "oh god" because honestly a few days ago i would've felt the same way. i can't believe the things i'm saying are so real to me and this IS new for me and it is something i want to explore and learn more about. i'm researching clinical trials and reading articles and experiences and seeing.... this might actually be the future of mental health and well being and if it is, i need to learn how i can take my experiences and have someone way smarter than me figure out how to make use of it to benefit everyone from my family to people who aren't born yet. i lived my whole life in such a bad place. no one deserves that. we deserve better quality of life. i've been on so many different meds and lifestyle paths and drugs and everything they tell you to do and NONE OF IT WORKED FOR ME. therapy didn't work for me. cleanses didn't work for me. love didn't work for me. running didn't work for me. water. greens. positive thinking. but i'm gonna figure this **** out and i want this experience to be beneficial to everyone who has ever known who i am.

my only fear is that when i start to sink back into my murky brain it'll be hard to get back here. i've been somewhere close to where i am now but i never made it over until now. i don't want to go back. god please don't take me back
so weird reading other posts where i had close realizations to where i am now. i was so close.
Zach Gomes Feb 2010
Orange peel Thursdays and the Velcro shoes
Of children hordes
Who spider up Alice on toadstools in Central Park
Dusted psilocybin shoots my eyes through
With the clarity of ice and sliced mushroom
Steeping in stomach acid before finding blood
The kids are tripping like madmen or halloween candy
Like its time to release and give up to the nonsense
And let your young self congeal to a saccharine sludge

I don’t stroll in the park to keep my mind sharp
I’m here because it’s a riot
My head can throb to the jittery birds
And the blasts of carsong
It’s the right kind of rhythm to walk to

* *

Ketamine days and the lolling slums
To make sure the insane stay insane
And the hobos are washed with spit from the clouds
And the subway exhaust always hangs in our hair
And the old Coney Island burns again and twice more

We don’t pretend to understand what we see
In subway grates thirty feet wide
Like the earth punching out of work for a bit
Opening to you her *** belly
So you can check out the strips of metal inside
Before she slurps you down and with an esophageal squeeze
Shoots you through the turnstiles

The train squeals and grinds down our eyes
With thoughts as slow as ketamine
Makes room for schizophrenia in a conversation
We’re listening to ‘til sundown

* *

Years full of Brooklyn and the assorted pills
Makes offal fit for punks in name brand shoes
Squared off with police in the park
Being beaten for the fun of being beaten
Peacoat locals pass the days in supermarkets
And you grow up to the loony mumble
Of the woman who knows the boat
Moored at the end of the street
Mansion of the stray cat colony
You help her with her daily chore to feed them
Tabbies popping the pills of the homeless
And puking in tandem all over their house
Living off generous dying folk
like know just time mind life feel world lost say we're things think love there's does people night away way thought got words long reality want better left make end eyes day man human dark experience remember really right death memory going place high good live city thoughts soul meaning great pain home sky believe shall change living oh fall light choice god consciousness existence years cause hard feeling thinking fear times 'cause dreams ask alive heart need past felt days dream sensation truth true use power knowledge wrong stars understand baby tell state thing face wave broken old you'll wave new broken nature you'll **** mental look far ah drug moment best ago air lose sleep dare try leave beautiful blue born lives escape sublime doesn't body dawn friends waiting feels young daze game control perception gone story mean sun head given writing act difference reason poetry philosophy psyche little trying touch deep greatest wonder choose drugs exist we'll moments score hold play 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ethics survived definition reasoning internet feedback vibrancy serotonin cyclone hacker sardonic surreality virtuality here's he's sunyata temporality ******'s empathos apotheotelos flash shining green forever anger carry son moon selfish written supposed feed ya quite loop hooked pure feet hole paper flag sick voice burning attention fly utter wicked tremble endless form infinity talking piece shores verse chest rules food placed plan hallelujah called gun fading drinking emotional measure inspiration suffering belong west read sly instead bear erase furious shame conclusion drunk roll ******* depressed calls taught died defined tire everyday answers sacred acknowledge speaks perfection games ground spoke stood motion sway keeping pretend hell movement magic park key spin kick sake jump hanging animal begins orange streetlights fade crazy honest warp puppet chained survive apathy chains claim prey science diamonds begging grip tale hang powerful wonderland heal dealing plant twice 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job romantic gazed envelope elements identity group sell foolish lucid dimensions brothers owe education november difficult recognition express properties glitter considering illusion appreciate discover resonance derived transcendental buzz notion risk scares riot rainy teaching drizzle direct experiences elation normality quote evolution versus lamplight method reflective endeavour cloth eats teenagers eventually haul club result relative breed threat subjective concerning solstice interpretations allows rational ultimately basis aligned numbness hypocrite charade morality dope chaser continuum undead exploits aeons research freeman appropriate ion ****** teachings dilation binge beatific intuitive transcendent escapism psychedelia metaphysical beta untitled mescaline otherworldly dreampt contextual experiential symbiosis codex dissociation cybernetic weren't life's let's mirror's well-being any-more entheogenic junkiedom signifiers mescalito zero-summing won't 'pataphysics window 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Composed on 00:53, 21/09/2016 using Hello Poetry's 'Words' algorithm. We don't assume this means something.
like know just time mind feel life world say people things lost we're does love think there's away long way thought night got words want better day human left right remember man dark end reality memory experience going make really eyes place 'cause good death tell great feeling soul home high consciousness live pain thoughts fear understand fall thing city sky believe god meaning thinking lose change oh felt hard ask heart times years shall need past light living existence choice use dreams power days cause poetry talking state we'll alive knowledge **** true moment little hope old wrong mental stars wave ago gone broken look brain dream far given truth feels head you'll best sensation baby try leave forget young sleep face stop escape blue dare drug lives wish doesn't drugs work earth new acid game nature bad sublime gods break beautiful ah writing hold born trying coming friends hold writing ah space daze burn body reason rain real moments wonder music memories exist psyche control 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psychedelion ******* apotheon substance isn't study bliss selfish ends warm dopamine explain fix addiction culture respect wisdom calm hurricane problem contradiction heaven forlorn vain gold sweet hidden effort fast she's breaking changed engine faith dance maze alas girl sigma watch grand heavy justice wait tried doors appear phenomena definitions somebody ignore feelings process sonder cybran soft depression chasing taken throw answer action relief having wandering compounds quantum necessary effects empathion ethos begin everybody rising clouds emotions indigo falls ecstasy fresh american walking glow outside speak force grow physical says view voice happiness shame sought age understanding lay individual billion explore crave pretty lights comprehension tears big sands crime waves taught forever venture adolescence welcome humanity comes zero storm wise claim swear sounds pass **** met he's internet mr table company repetition heard playing ***** mirror lets awake sorry doing dreaming states pondering ridiculous simply greater heal hear natural mydriasis mydriatic substances fades asking measure worse scoreboard destroy erase blood leaves worlds abandoned skin twisted walk grace smile fading illuminate hearts bed food ignorance admit drunk spring exile apart killed talk master meet waking chose neon adventure join **** mist aren't breathe psi laughing feet river trance wonderful floor hair desire breeze birth desert fade looked urban continue nation probably second belong willing alike criminals progress cyberspace sole survive names pills fears beginning digital you'd sadness easily depressed perceive surreality poets merely remains sober closer prose fact growing died save insanity defined session soon realm empyreal taste suicide science skins quality peace raise ashamed azure quit yearn piece notions absurd noble liberty entheogenesis reckoning feedback particles object reconcile baseline chain sardonic false weather hallowed intoxication wasted 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won't medium empathos essence events reflect apotheotelos actual determine house issues worked begging virtuality swore gleaming sly gentleman wicked abyss feed lands tea moon miracle honest streetlights tale lust nights early chained allow placed life's actions emotional plant plan drizzle speaks spin hypocrite conviction watching rules jump application chains forged angel fail reflections lot illuminating flag grip fly sick wonderfully create freeman shine job supposed eggs draw pupil dripping tremble mescaline singularity subjective darkens alpha needed atlas orange discover rabbit warp joint wonderland perfection ponder souls silence ahead roll magic ease bag sorrow escapism sake chest magnitude chaser cloud infinity replaced revelation survived vs carry yearning school slip games begins curiosity heavens powerful typhoon furious theory hypothesis apathy serenity mind's marks window humankind cybernetic fraternity liberate cut movement excuse stopped thunder tire apparent mastery occurs motion paper masses throes falling race hanging bear follows sardonicism endless burning idea ideas burden court ya verse consume kick method stood temporary flash realized eat kindness occur advice shades properties shores hang shining ink rolling minutes street deem tools autumn empatheon entheos reach echoes remix diamonds gets worthy identity thoroughly stuck happens recall conclusion choices fiend dealing finding gun son stimulant experiencing depth twice starshine whilst chosen thereof hooked confused enables painful desires serotonergic teleology prey loop wishing relation neural animal hallelujah ultimately projection communication actuality significant experiences remind transcendention notion proposition works illusion puppet offers chalk series occasion calling degrees ended sin figure slick ending ash sentence glance rend november eve drum rainy destruction romantic drawn shadow observe ghosts bodies wandered atmosphere box familiar children honor road serve beliefs strong avoid lessons returns poison relax exhale whispered intention liquid stare dope needs ****** smoking club relative glitter reached fractured stones junkiedom aspect ketamine heavenly scares domain excess robes vast euphoria grass thrall elation buzz renew dr waste let's morality wanna bottle immortal owe intuitive wouldn't teachings transcendent nocturnal education eternal divinity drive aligned illegal lamplight sell sail insomnia curious beatific seeing insane continuum kiss beta void soar roar fog basis **** town cost regrets appropriate brave threat using emptiness fountain short stole shield riot shade ghost numbness stained steam dreampt october ion derived hazy money message sing quote metaphysical scene swept plain colors nirvana alright unlike dear low teens nonetheless pick considering teenagers beneath door electronic kids build pulse teaching kid mistake teach tear contextual political civilization vision dissociation completely tells normal nevermind raised brings laughed melody spot streets holding coffee praying violence appreciate vengeance law trust exploits slowly trouble mirror's refrain compassion eats recognition discovered blaze otherworldly pieces darkest angst brothers sit win buckfast vicious binge breaks undead forgot demands able notice lucid dimensions evolution sunrise plans philosopher killing produce working cloth produced painter gazing favourite track bunch haul arrives started chemistry prevent awaits definitive strive versus rule dread bare slow stayed onward altered helps lifestyle losing followed woke fight event innocence charade child ventures higher y'all acceptance pay any-more bay vicissitudes codex cannabis pleasures planes doses awareness steal beat zero-summing narcotic lest strength matters reading easy sons drift solstice half formed normality weren't hungry hopes declare research tales envelope regret tired breed release honestly haven't it'll blow entheogenic stories amidst insofar technology direct binary pushing gotten patience danger symbiosis dilation gleam untitled risk remembering aeons contemplate suppose allows goal certainly virtues well-being popular regard result tornado mescalito usually distant creating skyglow behold manifest psychedelia representation endeavour excitation transcendental resonance odd growth hedonism possibly focus proper assert formation described interpretations reflective determination rational consuming cherish expressed pathos psychoactive eventually significance dissociative strings author experiential specific oxytocin loves glimpse frames loneliness elements created 'pataphysics craft betrayal typical built wall wonders concerning critique signifiers books failing assume effect 'auld subject-object lethe scorn wants shroud understands enhanced ascend tides finality collapse lake reclamation beach proclamation justify junkies hood teen streetlight caressing lips other's comprised harvest midnight blink aching lesson responsible native fortune 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evening deeply whisper flicker enter book apathetic streetlamps trespass spun turned clean underworld disguise viewed despair tunes melancholy reverence unsaid noise o' groups turning swallow dropped lead confident veracious offend talked switch teenager shouldn't paying allure variable humane inspiring ex 11 matrix flickers offering receive signal news chant exhaustion access background commence summer's arcadia deja vu complex realization vivid stick sublimeoblivious deliverance belonging creed symbionts pendent sane smiling rumination plane glint resembles conversation web corporeal solace theft burned they'll sensations shivers satisfied enslaved mire comfortable shattered arch medina's fragmented plead achieve woman stage swaying dismiss entire numb lord type chapter infamous conquest aspects proving leads bloom floating precipitation artificial renewal spill beating midst petrol mad hands exploit movements examine women sublimation occurred eternally notes dizziness perceptive guys haunts spark poems poetic pull remained gazed vagabond presented blanket cried stranger glad lucidity turns sum details pour valuable exceed represent surprise continuity occasionally relinquish gravity likes weeks wrought gathering entirely reaper rays aging root laid balance four-twenty provide double-edged ceased exploration mates world's walls alteration faces breach million grey tidal unknown price absolute garden haunting train jungle aloud allowed habits closed syntax difficulty alter scratch glimmering drifting quenched explained forfeit in-between clearly ideals ubiquitous chemicals happening abandon supreme drifted soothing reveal alcohol stimulants psychonautes indescribable conscience closest dying andor travel gentle foodstuffs tree worried demons pair recognise inability ensure including hey graciously prove logic rhetoric 15 galaxy lately hearth ethereality forsake wanting steps memorable 'round player moves del you- encourage finished suspect frequently intoxicants acts aer veil qualities animals remembered karma kissed burying shooting bold scattered input howling design forsaken banish seraphim wide cola united democracy meandering -one zed's hot commit self-sufficiency thought's psychosis flows unreality immersion aesthetics realms struggle wisely immanence absolutely member add writings coin avoidance naturally boys inseparable standard convinced concerns passed prudence quick external suffer choosing produces letter proclaimed myths pains shroom bright absurdity awhile prospect sad distribution recreation responsibly ghb adrenergic minor neurotransmission cyclica lonesome foolishness cometh 5-ht2a beings golden pitch cathinone suggest conclude cognitive motions ethical condensate precious abuse compound underlying adult bask push damage attachment originally determinative heaviness concept facts today's regress detract step ugly absence cosmic note imagination psychedelos noumena noumenon reader haunt determining error questioning habit measured limitations manifestation learning arcadian joke hallucinogens material diethylamide mysterious exists 'twas response proportionate quantized nervous anyways identify qualify device analysis moderate moderation alterations accompanying totality fascinated gradually 'the represented brief juxtaposition played t'was resides tribe stead vote period liminality delete recurring mirror-neurons alexithymia craic ar positive drank maelstrom pharmahuasca wondered reflecting lovely facebook typing quale implicit dispute occurring fallacy treasure exactly reduction distinction discussion man's construct couple contain lovers failed confidence writer's integrity worst psychiatrist sesh rare chronology scale drug's definitely title sesh-heads who'd asks unable tomorrow plucked picture alphabet named coherence task pretends inevitable contemporary trips graces wrote entertain vice elicit psychoactives feens conform deface replace grin h-bomb atomic bleeding 20 bloodless unequalibrium following quench hunger bent euphoric display interstellar vertigo influence waited sunlight explored paradise soaring faded sitting unafraid aqua tinted source itches optional differently stem rich greed forbidden negative privacy react earned ails charity gift couch courage endlessly fascinating boyfriend phrase movies hopelessly loud admission inherent hypocrites intoned devil laconic sinful vein surrounded movie contempla
Composed on 01:33, 27/02/2017 using Hello Poetry's 'Words' algorithm. We still don't assume this means something.
softcomponent Jan 2014
in the crazy clasp of a darker place is the beginning of a laughing statue and it was nothing like any of this as far as the ketamine kept me floating above every objectivity so who was I beyond the flattery becoming bespecalled across my essence by surrounding loveships in-order to my left-: Sibelle, a mysterious artisan I believe all writers with a habit to smoke most certainly would (or have) fallen in love with at some point after an introduction; she's got these feline eyes of curious enamour and curly, short hair like Picasso curls and a soft, tough speech to her (INTEGRITY!!) perhaps a hard nut to crack sometimes but worth the effort to sit and get to know her, highly definitley one of the most beautiful women I've ever met-- where the existential confusion in her eyes twists to a smile in-which manifested is happiness-of-the-absurd, she secretly loves everybody like we all do but won't quite venture forth into extradimension to mention (to mention) ((but she does now because drugs bring us into Mind At Large as Huxley called it))

Greg-- a well-spoken sage of preference to beautiful confusion, a legitimately happy Boddhisatva who has found his bliss in the random number generator of life.. he showers everyone with praise and every love he harbours is a very very true love you just want to hold him close and cuddle, me particularly in a way that forgets the ******* connotation that says 2 men can't hold hands as good friends.. who invented my mind anyway? a culture vulture? or culture as represented in sculpture? forget it, Greg is a good looking fellow but not just that he has the brains and brilliance, there is no doubt in my mind he is eternal. sometimes I wonder if he forgets me in the throng of university personages like Kelvin has, but what a beautiful place to start-- I'm glad I met him and he is already a best friend.

Hunter-- classiest person I have ever met he's got a crick in every step that softly whispers his manifestation of the human condition in an art-gallery frame for centuries of witness to come. He is quickly taking the place of a very best friend to me but I never like to say there is one above the rest as it's impossible to make love exclusive.. but he has always been in my life in his rusty little class-car Jerry (or so it feels) and I hope the four of us know each other unto death... a soft-hearted punk-rocker with a temporal soul of glowing brilliance and lucidity, I love the guy like a long-lost brother I intend to never lose again; he is somewhere between on-screen and behind-the-camera in all situations, like a movie character who appeared to show us all Holy Moments needn't be framed becuz yer eyes are cameras and this is the nature of reality (a filmmaker if I ever knew one).
excerpt- - 'the mystic hat of esquimalt'
I've been acquainted with the following psychoactives compounds:

Depressants & Dissociatives;
Ethanol / drinking alcohol
β-Phenyl-γ-aminobutyric acid / PhGABA / Phenibut
γ-Hydroxybutyric acid / GHB / G, fantasy
Morphine / *****
Thebaine / Paramorphine
Codeine / 3-Methylmorphine
Dihydrocodeine / DHC
Tramadol / Ultram
Diazepam / ******
Chlordiazepoxide / Librium
2'-Chlorodiazepam / Ro5-3448 / Diclazepam
4'-Chlorodiazepam / Ro5-4864
Alprazolam / Xanax
Clonazolam, Clonitrazolam / Clam
Etizolam / Etilaam, Etizest
Flubromazolam
Zopiclone / Zimovane
Quetiapine / Seroquel
Thiopental / Sodium Pentothal
Nitrous Oxide / N2O / NOs, laughing gas
Amyl Nitrite / Poppers
Promethazine / Phenergan
Cetirizine / Zyrtec
Dextromethorphan / DXM / Benylin, Robitussin
Ketamine [racemic] / K, Kitty
Esketamine [S-isomer] / Special K
Deschloroketamine / 2'-Oxo-PCM / DXE / DCK
Methoxetamine / 3-MeO-2'-Oxo-PCE / MXE /  Mexxy
3-Methoxyphencyclidine / 3-MeO-***

Stimulants & Nootropics;
Benzoylmethylecgonine / ******* / Charlie, nose candy
1,3,7-Trimethylpurine-2,6-dione / Caffeine / Coffee, Black Tea
3,7-dimethylxanthine / Theobromine / [constituent of] Chocolate
N-Ethyl-L-glutamine / L-Theanine / [constituent of] Green Tea
(2R)-2-acetamido-3-sulfanylpropanoic acid / N-Acetylcysteine / NAC
2-Hydroxy-N,N,N-trimethylethan-1-aminium / Choline bitartrate
L-alpha glycerylphosphorylcholine / Alpha-GPC, Choline alfoscerate
Cytidine 5'-diphosphocholine / CDP-choline, Citicoline
2-Dimethylaminoethyl (4-chlorophenoxy)acetate / Meclofenoxate
N-Phenylacetyl-L-prolylglycine ethyl ester / Omberacetam / Noopept
Coluracetam / BCI-540
(R,S)-2-(2-oxo-4-phenylpyrrolidin-1-yl)acetamide / 4-Phenylpiracetam
(RS)-1-(1-methylethylamino)-3-(1-naphthyloxy)pr­opan-2-ol / Propranolol
(±)-2-Benzhydrylsulfinylethanehydroxamic acid / Adrafinil
(±)-2-[(Diphenylmethyl)sulfinyl]acetamide / Modafinil
(–)-2-[(R)-(diphenylmethyl)sulfinyl]acetamide / Armodafinil
(S)-3-[1-Methylpyrrolidin-2-yl]pyridine / Nicotine / Tobacco
3,4,8-Trimethoxyphenanthrene-2,5-diol / Dendrobium Nobile
Mesembrine / Sceletium Tortuosum, Kanna
3,4-Methylenedioxymethamphetamine / MDMA / Molly, Mandy, ecstasy
3,4-Methylenedioxymethcathinone / MDMC / βk-MDMA / Methylone
β-Keto-methylbenzodioxolylpentanamine / βk-MBDP / Pentylone
α-Methylphenethylamine / αMP / Amphetamines / Speed
4-Methoxyamphetamine / PMA, 4-MA / Death
4-Fluoroamphetamine / 4-FMP, 4-FA /  PAL-303 / Flux
2-Fluoromethamphetamine / 2-FMA
Methythiolpropamine / MPA / Blow
3-Methylmethcathinone / 3-MMC / Metaphedrone
4-Methylmethcathinone / 4-MMC / Mephedrone
4-Methylethcathinone / 4-MEC
4-Chloromethcathinone / 4-CMC / Clephedrone
4-Fluoromethcathinone / 4-FMC / Flephedrone
4-Fluoromethylphenidate / 4F-MPH
4-Fluoroethylphenidate / 4F-EPH
3-Fluorophenmetrazine / 3-FPM / PAL-593
4-Fluoro-α-methylaminovalerophenone / 4-Fluoropentedrone / 4-FPD
α-Ethylaminocaprophenone / N-Ethylhexedrone / NEH / Hexen
alpha-Pyrrolidinohexiophenone / alpha-PHP / α-PHP / PV-7
4-desoxy-MDA / 6-(2-Aminopropyl)-2,3-dihydrobenzofuran / 6-APDB
4-chloro-N-(2-morpholin-4-ylethyl)benzamide / Moclobemide
5-Hydroxytryptophan / 5-HTP / Oxitryptan
Escitalopram / Cipralex, Lexapro
Fluoxetine / Prozac
Venlafaxine / Effexor
Amitriptyline / Elavil
Tianeptine / Coaxil, Stablon
NSI-189

Hallucinogens & Psychedelics;
Δ9-Tetrahydrocannabinol / THC / Cannabis Sativa/Indica, Marijuana
Cannabidiol / CBD / Herbal Cannabis, Cannabis Resin
AM-2201 / Synth-'noid, Spice
NM-2201 / CBL-2201
5C-AB-PINICA
Harmine / Peganum Harmala / Syrian Rue
Salvinorin A  / Salvia Divinorum / Diviner's Sage
d-Lysergic acid amide / d-Lysergamide / LSA / Ergine
Lysergic acid diethylamide / Lysergide / LSD / Acid, Lucy
1-Acetyl-lysergic acid diethylamide / 1A-LSD / ALD-52
1-Propionyl-lysergic acid diethylamide / 1P-LSD
6-Allyl-6-nor-lysergic acid diethylamide / AL-LAD / Aladdin
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-methylamphetamine / DOM / Dominic
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-bromoamphetamine / DOB / Aphrodite
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-chloroamphetamine / DOC / Doctor
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-methylthioamphetamine / DOT / Aleph
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-iodophenethylamine / 2C-I / Infinity
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-ethylphenethylamine / 2C-E / Eternity
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-bromophenethylamine / 2C-B / Nexus
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-methylthiophenethylamine / 2C-T / Tesseract
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-ethylthiophenethylamine / 2C-T-2 / Rosy
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-fluoroethylthiophenethylamine / 2C-T-21 / Aurora
2,5-Dimethoxy-4-bromo-β-keto-phenethylamine / βk-2C-B
2,3,6,7-Benzo-dihydro-difuran-8-bromo-ethylamine / 2C-B-FLY
2,5-Dimethoxy-N-(2-methoxybenzyl)-4-bromophenethylamine / 25B
2,5-Dimethoxy-N-(2-methoxybenzyl)-4-chlorophenethylamine / 25C
2,5-Dimethoxy-N-(2-methoxybenzyl)-4-iodophenethylamine / 25I
3,4-Methylenedioxyamphetamine / MDA / Sass, Sally
3,4,5-Trimethoxyphenethylamine / Mescaline / M
3,5-Dimethoxy-4-ethoxyphenethylamine / Escaline
3,5-Dimethoxy-4-methallyloxyphenethylamine / Methallylescaline / MAL
N,N-dimethyltryptamine / DMT / The Spirit
N,N-dipropyltryptamine / DPT / The Light
N-Methyl-N-ethyltryptamine / MET / The Colour
N-Methyl-N-isopropyltryptamine / MiPT / The Touch
4-Hydroxy-dimethyltryptamine / 4-**-DMT / Psilocin
4-Acetoxy-dimethyltryptamine / 4-AcO-DMT / Psilacetin
4-Hydroxy-N-methyl-N-ethyltryptamine / 4-**-MET / Metocin
4-Acetoxy-N-methyl-N-ethyltryptamine / 4-AcO-MET / Metacetin
4-Phosphoryloxy-N,N-dimethyltryptamine / 4-PO-DMT / Psilocybin
4-Acetoxy-N-methyl-N-cyclopropyltryptmine / 4-AcO-McPT
4-Acetoxy-N-methyl-N-isopropyltryptamine / 4-AcO-MiPT / Mipracetin
4-Hydroxy-N-methyl-N-isopropyltryptamine / 4-**-MiPT / Miprocin
5-Methoxy-N,N-diallyltryptamine / 5-MeO-DALT / Foxtrot
5-Methoxy-N-methyl-N-isopropyltryptamine / 5-MeO-MiPT / Moxy

‒=≡End of Line≡=–
Losers
can't help
but keep score.
a.
i'm hooked on existence

b.
time is a river,
memory is a fountain

c.
what is intangible shall remain

d.
reality is relative

e.
A god's pupils were never so dilate

f.
wave/particle duality, eternal/infinite singularity

g.
arcadian theoxeny

h.
lost palindrome

i.
through venturous exploits, discovery awaits

j.
urban streetlamps' radiant bloom

k.
run for it,
feel it

l.
take me away

m.
contradiction is our benediction,
to acknowledge hypocrisy

n.
human difference engine

o.
"the strangest life I've ever known"

p.
interstellar weather: hear the void in november

q.
let's break perception

r.
sinful philanthropy

s.
sociality, society, what to make to it

t.
sly, sardonic, cynical and wicked

u.
neon euphoria;
we bring rapture unto the night

v.
breathe with me

w.
like a steam engine eats black diamonds are my pupils

x.
rainy daze in winter ecstasy

y.
acid cyclone on the horizon

z.
love, and ketamine
{[lower-case](subjective)}
softcomponent Dec 2013
JS
caricature fiction like a functioning don't-ask- but- I'll-tell
it was a clover and a daisy's birthday by way of default and
Jesus Christ, this girl likes Terrence McKenna? In all immediate alleyway stores of coke and ketamine is the period at the end of every written sentence,
so the wait is something beyond me. the slate is a cleanliness devoid of practice

but whose really watching, kid.

you? or the television?
dedicated to Jen Sawyer.
Moments Before Mar 2012
Losing it cause..
I think I've found
You

The everlasting search
For the nearest sound
Holds true

It's far off, like the missing

Holes

In rain clouds

Hell bound...
So I climb for safety

Heavens steeple shining loud
When they sing in harmony

So I too sing in harmony

And my lotus legs are rooted
In the cities underground

I can feel the flood from far out coming

Channeling me from somewhere
It's off, like the missing

Light

Up with the profound

Now we are all singing loud!

"I don't know
What to believe!

Cause most of the believers
Have all gone and drowned!"

Deep in my throat

I am
Burning with the new sound

Roaring with the wind
Setting fire to this
Ghost town

We all swallow water

This is how I blow out
Still pondering that next sound
Creepstar Feb 2016
The gloy of the better men
Enjoy a line of ketamine

Gotta love that dreamy haze
Inside your mind like a maze

I could stay here for days and day
I love the feeling,in so many ways

Its pure bliss to tranquilize
To see so much without your eyes

Forget what I do despise
From fear and doubt to the lies

Warriors of a dreamscape plane
Enjoying life outside time frame

Don't worry,I won't go insane
But I may melt more than half my brain
My favorite kind of crystals
kaylene- mary Feb 2018
I frame the means of his work,
Faceless and boyful
Dissolving somewhere between love and abuse
Successfully regenerated in some rigid idealism
Shaking the wings of his terrible youth
Calling to join him -
The wretched and plastic
No more alone or himself could he be
No shortage of sordid,
No protest from me

He's The Angel of Death in The Ketamine Scene

Feeling less human and hooked on his flesh
Straight from the fields,
All frightened and fertile
****** and raw,
But I swear it is sweet
Lease the unsettling,
I'll wonder the concrete
Wonder if better now having survived

*He's The Angel of Death in The Ketamine Scene
Doll Aug 2015
The answer is i don't know..
Or do i know?

coke
xtc
mdma
tramadol
eph
xanax
cannabis
hasj
speed/amphetamine
2cc
flunitrazepam
codeine
vallium
ritalin
concerta
lsd/acid
bromazepam
lorazepam
2cb
etizolam
4fa
ketamine
2fa/2fma
ghb
mephedrone (meow meow)
methox

And i'm pretty sure my list won't end there.

It's not that i can't stop but i just don't want to feel reality.
SP Blackwell Mar 2013
I am sitting on a broken branch

under the drug addled canopy of insecurities and lies.

I am feeling the steady sway of an oxycontin daze.

Walking slowly through a ketamine daydream that pulls at my core

like a phantom puppet master controlling my limbs.

It crashes into my brain like the breaking waves on the shore.

Breathing in nicotine filtered filth as I wait to catch a breath of fresh air.

Lungs filled with recycled tar that prevents me from gasping.

In darkened corners where lies sleep and rumors are hidden,

I wait.

I dance on a tightrope between conscious and subconscious

that is held by reality and dreams.

Dark sunglasses on to avoid

the blinding stinging light of what is real.

Mirrored glasses are reflecting the reflections back at intruders.

Deflecting glances, shifty eyes, and dilated pupils

searching for a focus point of truth  

in a neon technicoloured blur of hypocrisy.

The background blaring horns blended with a steady bass line

mimics my heartbeat.

Thump thump. Thump thump.

The fading noises pass quickly,

highlighted with insults and curses of hate and gossip

that are forgotten before you can make them out.

Spun truths turned into lies

intermixed with resin

left from yesterday.

The litter paved streets break under my heels.

Click clack. Click clack.

Broken and cracked

like the false promises

And hopes

And dreams

of those who have walked here before.

The monotonous pace is repeated

only pausing to notice the gum under the stiletto

that fails to hold her in place

as she runs towards the wet cement that has replaced

another sheet of cracked concrete.

The wet cement that has covered another lie

in order to show the simplicity of fake appearances.

A reminder of how easy it is to replace and mask

the hate filled holes that get trampled on.

The flicker of hope is suddenly unseen

like the street light lined alley that is now dark.

The stench of garbage, decay, and rotting flesh

is mixed with expensive perfume, sweat, make-up, and spilled *****.

Garbage cans are filled with the leftovers of last night.

A *** stained dress with no owner draws no attention

as the sound of snapping latex is muffled

by the screams of ecstasy that rapidly fade

like the fleeting feeling of MDMA.

Thick white ****** fluid oozes out like human glue

in an attempt to mend the lack of connection.

Strangers intertwined in hasty conversations

waiting for human contact to forget

that they are in dark alleys.

To forget

that they live in dark places

where no one lays down wet cement.

The distorted reality of alleys deceive passer bys

into thinking that they are not menacing

has been weaved like a web by street sweepers and garbage men.

The pressing sense of the need to avoid the sweepers

is unsaid but felt.

They falsely clean what will always be *****.

The *** filled backstreets yearn for love

like the treacherous woman guarding its corner.

Daddy issue lined dresses are asking to be undone

just like her lost innocence that can never be mended.

The issues and clothing that can never be fixed

abandoned on top of garbage cans for someone else to pick up.

Patches of dead grass are left

untended, unwatered, and unwanted

waiting to be replaced by wet cement.

Wet cement that soon enough will crack and break

under the heavy heated pressure of the stomping heels

of lost Girls in a desolate city.

Blood trickled trails are left behind

that have dried into the cigarette lined streets that lead nowhere.

The injured egos of men are left to linger at back doors

that will never be opened.

******* induced insanity whirls around a flurry

of whispers and paranoia wanting to here the Truth

between the spewed anger and rage of the low toned hushed voices

that wish not to be heard.

Whiskey hinted murmurs pressing on the sidewalk cracks

knowing that they will never be heard.

Looking into the dark where

Truth will never be seen.

The constant beat of narcotic users searching

for salvation in pre-packed bags of white powder,

digging for redemption in empty bottles of multi-colored pills.

Screaming through the silence,

They are not heard.

The desperation can be heard through the whining moans

of the junkies that are tethered to addiction.

The over whelming sound of

Want and Need and Lust

move through the streets like the overflowing gutter water.

Heartbeats are replaced with the impatient pacing of

her stilettos waiting for her pain to cease.

Stilettos stomping on broken dreams

waiting to cross broken streets.

She gazes at the other side as if it is different.

Stilettos tapping on the street

waiting for the firm grasp of a sweaty hand to distract her from reality.

Waiting to be touched

And grabbed

And ******

                                              In hopes that love will arise from ****** ****** encounter with

strange men in uncomfortable places.

Clothes are feverishly removed with the promise of

flesh on flesh enveloped in a hazy cloud of body heat

that warns off the internal coldness.

Heavy breath and touch and kiss release chemicals

to replace the drug depleted emptiness.

The rhythmic sound of rubbing flesh mingles with

the moaning of the streets.

It fuses with the short lived pleasure laden moans of

lonely people and un-climatic *******.

Awkward silences are brief as the sound of her heels owns the street.

Click clack. Click clack.

The sound of stilettos on cement hurriedly walking away when there is

no longer a need for his body heat.

That unmistakable click clack click clack

on uneven, *****, dangerous streets.

Red lipstick smeared stains are the only trace of her that is.

That is the only trace of me that is left.

Click clack steady on the street.

Steady like mimicking bass line

Click clack heartbeat.

The crunch of broken glass under the stiletto

echoes her broken dreams.

Click clack.

Head held high never looking at the ground as she walks forward.

Click clack. Click clack.

Click clack.

The urban mud of

Wet cement goes

Squish!

under her stiletto.



V.Mata
Äŧül Jun 2013
****** - Nay!
******* - Nay!
Fentanyl - Nay!!!

I'm addicted to a different one.

***** - Nay!
Smack - Nay!!
Tobacco - Nay!!!

I'm addicted to a unique one.

Mescaline - Nay!
Marijuana - Nay!!
Ketamine - Klose!!!

I'm addicted to Poetry ever since I was borm.
My HP Poem #333
©Atul Kaushal
Brad Lambert Mar 2012
How do you feel about the word: Insatiable. That is my mind, forever devoid of what I can’t seem to pin. It is dull, throbbing hunger for more-more than a distant attraction claiming to be mine. Picture sent and picture received, but my body receives nothing more-more than desperate experiments. Countless hours of sexing in the darkness of a toxic Hummer. Toxic money burning a hole in my pocket, inches from the burning of his slick on my ****. I hope his *** bleeds.

Let's light another cigarette, and watch the cherry bloom. A single rose, shimmering and flaring like a nuclear waste, and the light is out. So let's smoke some more-more mirrors. I often peer alone through those sheets of glass. “Substance, ketamine, satiate me,” I plead as I see me and I hate men. My faith in God is never mutual. These prayers are useless. His want for me is beyond repulsing. His money is useless. My body is rotten from the mind, out. I am the king of self loathing. I am useless.

Yet I go back for more-more pain. More quarrels. More lies. More-more. He only takes more. And I take him, too. Wait for it...wait for it...wait for him to; Come! O gentle souls. See how my confidence sways in thine wake. You are purity. You’re innocence. You're what I crave. To be free. To be whole. To be done. So do me like the ****** you know I am. I hope mine bleeds, too.

My veins are coursing, pulsing, shattering at the edges with blue. I am blue in both my complexion and my complex feelings and thoughts and pains. My veins are blue, and I am cold. Taste the metallic crush of my slang. It is intolerable, and I must not tolerate. The ripe stench of escape burdens my mind. My mind is escaping. I know there’s more. Toss the rug over the barbed wire and run. Run. **** that ***** and make her beg. Make her plead. Make her run. Sanguine with ketamine. Run, ******, run.
A Mareship May 2014
I wake up in the garden. The wisteria hovers over me like the ****** Mary. The wisteria was a present from Dee’s mother, except she didn’t call it wisteria, she called it ‘Bethany’s Flower’ because it had first been grown by great aunt Bethany over one hundred years ago. The wisteria is sky blue, passed down through the family like a blue-eyed gene.
I stumble into the house and shamble upstairs. Maria is in my bed - a **** vision, a lovely blur. The mirror laughs at me as I pull at my eyelids, staring into myself. My eyes have a sort of skin on them, a dull film, like two brown bottles left to collect dust in the cellar.
“Morning.” Maria says.
“Morning.” I say, breaking away from the mirror.
“Where did you go?”
“Nowhere.” I grab my mobile from the bedside. “Excuse me a minute, I need to phone someone.”
I go back into the garden and dial.
“Dan?”
“Good morning arsehat.” He laughs. “Hungover much?”
“Yeah. Listen, Dan-“
“Maria still there?”
“Yeah she is. Listen Dan…”
“What happened with you two last night?”
“I’m not sure. Listen Dan – this is going to sound stupid, but can ketamine turn you blind?”
“What?”
“Ketamine. Can it turn you blind?”
“****. I don’t know. I don’t think so.”
“Ok. See, I think I might need to see a doctor. It’s my right eye. My right eye.” I sit down on the white chair, holding on. “I can’t see a ******* thing.”
Vidya Jul 2011
the ****** on fifth street
don’t ask you to buy whiskey;
they take it from you.

there are too many
words—lascivious, lewd, *****—
used to describe them.

and too many names—
**** ***** harlot ***** *****—
used to deride them.

you want one tonight
someone who’ll snort ketamine
whose laugh sounds like bells.

someone to talk to
for thirty bucks an hour;
the best ones come cheap.

the best ones come drunk
(when they’re not doing molly)
and dance in the street.

the best ones wear rouge
that glows under streetlights and
rubs off on your lips.

the best ones **** quick
and leave quicker—out through the
back door, and lights out.
Duke Thompson Oct 2014
Got new job today
After hanging up phone
Went for smoke on deck
Looking up at gloom laden sky
Down at wet vermilion leaves
Felt nothing (empty blessing sickness)

Bored
Want for whole charade to be over
All this *******
Therapy and

ADD meds
That make me feel like a zombie
(Dead eyes in mirror look through you)
Abuse them anyway
I don't want to stop

Pretending
To be so much better for family
Really still useless (dead weight anvil)
Really still high dreaming
Of tall buildings on rainy nights
Or ketamine bathtubs
Ready for the end

Tired
Of worrying about the girl
Remorseful poison
Afraid it will take her away
Says she can't stop
Don't want her to go
Mateuš Conrad May 2016
only today i came across what interested Heidegger
after writing being and time, a selection
of essays, revealing that he came to be interested
in language - not knowing this, by mere study
of the introduction some things became apparent -
being quiet democratic in my reading it's a shame
i don't have the academic leisurely pace of becoming
a Heidegger specialist - it's the almost damnable
pulling-apart having to cite many influences and not
focusing on one, but since i don't have academic
leisure, the summary in the introduction
by jeffrey powell (editor) of the book heidegger
and language
will just have to do: apropos this
being an antidote to those bemoaning that we only
write about reading books, carefully choreographic
our lives for mints and espressos and ammoniac
(inhalants in a boxing ring nearing a knock-out) -
hide pretty bird, hide, hide pretty pretty bird
first your song inside a cage, then the cage inside
the heart, and thus the song with the cage,
silenced inside the cage, raging mad inside the heart.
well, the antidote is that i already have some ideas,
and reading the essays contained in this book would
put me off what i was intending to write about,
so, in summary, read the major work, then read introductions
of critical books from those studying the subject,
invent an original approach from that, and elsewhere.
before i venture into the whole affair of having to
reread certain passages from the introduction as to
guide me in this Bermuda Delta i what to do a little
sidewinder interlude:
in chemistry there are two major bonds (for the purpose
of what i'm intending, let us just assume that
we're only talking about π and σ bonds) -
and while psychology dehumanises man to strict
theories without clear proofs to a universal standard,
i want to do what will come later regarding Heidegger's
take on language, for me there's no clear philosophical
vocabulary to be used - i'm not into orthodoxy and
rigidity which says

                piquant sun strokes against
                the bargains of spring's last
                hope for a kept bazaar
                to bloom to then deflower
                petals from trees fall to earth
                like glasses, the tree stands
                as a reflection of shattered glass
                the petals remain the tree intact
                worn at the Royal Ascot
                or in a woman's hair.

obviously something like this is a poem - what i mean,
however, concerning what's identifiable as philosophy is
to me the following:  
                                        blah = monotone x algebraic
                                                    for­ non-differential
                                                    purposes, just filling up
                                                    the page

            blah blah blah blah blah blah subjectivity blah blah blah blah blah blah essentially blah blah blah blah blah blah in-itself blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah thing-external v. thing-internalised blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah metaphysics blah etc.
                      
                          and so on and so forth, a fixation on using a certain vocabulary to be equivalent or justification to be "apparently" talking philosophy... yet still no gain from the words of grammatical categorisation... for me? too many propositions, the basis of what the academic environment deems to be "pure" verbiage, or none (akin Wittgenstein) - that famous quote about a lion and having tea on Tuesday... or as Buddha would say: said so to shatter thus the fear of ketamine thoughtlessness;

but that's beside the point, i want to return to
how any chemist might treat psychology as a science,
keep it up to date, given that psychology likes
to shove its nose in everyday activities for a strict
expression of equivalent rubric that mathematics already
possesses and shoves into a child's brain to make
the child become accustomed to symbol encoding;
so π and σ bonds, let's say between two carbons atoms...
but in psychology we don't have the luxury of
many alternative examples...
me and language: to write in terms of optics,
to encode images rather than sounds,
language as optometry rather than a hearing-aid...
so what "elements" do we have in psychology,
essentially what defines consciousness, its sub-plot
and its unfamiliar territory - the using the dusty
Freudian units, we know the concept of the superman
(superman was a bad bad boy) from Nietzsche
evolved into the super mm hmm, and we know
there are two other units, mm hmm and the id /
it or that? it is for me, that is for scalpel for the analyst,
the prober, unlucky for the person who took to
objectifying himself, but better than being objectified -
still, remember i'm working with language in terms
of optics rather than phonetics - enough organic chemistry
diagrams and you will see that the bonding between
mm hmm, the super mm hmm and the gemini id
(one the patient, the second the analyst) trapped inside
an electron cloud of bio-electric processes is rigid and
stable due to the opposite of π and σ,
i chose the optic route using the bonds δ and ψ -
symbolically δ is the mathematical term for sum -
summation, the total of - currently i have no clue about
the significance of ψ just yet, but ψ is a symbol of
psychology like caduceus is the symbol of medicine;
a brief expansion on the natures of the bonds,
quack-science δ bonds being all alike meaning uniform
meaning holding every aspect uniformly, meaning
that a δ bond is of the same nature between mm hmm
and super mm hmm in a petri dish within the
solvent of the conscious sub-plot, likewise other variations
δ bonds are uniform bonds, i.e. ensuring one detail
is related to the other, and so to others.
ψ bonds, not much expansion here as promising detail,
asthma the highest research of breath, and all
major theoretical squeezing through the Suez -
depending on the measure of breaths, we can depend
on the internal things - but never so much Pamplona encierro
cleaning-up to do theorising an affirmative sound
like mm hmm, or other affirmative synonyms -
if it were can *****, it would be mince rather than
a clean dissection - mince meat, should mm hmm be
not an *****, let alone a body. so many attachments
to mm hmm these days, it should be attached to zoological
studies than activities of breathing: theory as a cage,
one after the over, eventually not even cages but
the caged animal turning into matryoshka doll -
Kant doesn't venture into the dynamic of his thing-in-itself
represented by the matryoshka as ad continuum -
maybe he does, but to me here merely pinpoints it,
coins the phrase noumenon and ensures the thing
is opened, god or nothing is put in it, the thing is
closed, locked and the key to unlocking it is thrown
away and never found (i'll mention a short process of
his argument some other time, most notably his
three impossibilities concerning proving the existence
of god: ontological, physico-theological and cosmological).
yes, i know, when reading these ****** books
i have to paint the arguments, i need to simplify
them, a poet reading a philosophy has to paint
the words - the best poetic technique applicable to
understanding philosophical books is imagery,
not as a technique of for the purpose of writing my own,
but as a way to paint what was written by some boffin -
precursor to understanding the three impossibilities
of proof, i find it strange that such proof is necessary,
what would you do with it? prove it once on
paper, or in your head, show it to everyone and then
slowly everyone is able, then the so called "man in
the sky" - it seems strange that scientific positivism
of the Enlightenment supposed such a proof, the proof
is more implausible than the existence - Bertrand...
just smoke your pipe and sit in the easy-chair talking
******* with Wittgenstein... more on that later.
i promised quotes from the above mentioned book
(heidegger and language)...

           das wort kommt zur sprache,
             das seyn bring sich zum wort.


working from phenomenology, to later reject it,
thus precipitating the school of deconstruction-ism,
and with Heidegger we do get to atomic elements
from words, from compounds, thank god there are
no sub-atomic ventures with language, quiet impossible
to de-construct language beyond this point,
let's face it, if you go as far as:
'as preparatory for raising the question of being...
language is one of three constituent moments in
the analysis of the being of the da in dasein (being there)'
furthered by equal atom bombardment replacing
the un-compounded sein (verb, be) with seyn (conjunction /
noun, being) - this is modern physics to my understanding,
i'm not particularly interested what he's saying,
i'm interested in painting what he's saying -
i'll spare you the details of what philosophical systematisation
is actually involved in: restricted vocabulary -
a certain limit is allowed, rigid meanings are involved,
rigidity of drilling in of non-deviation, philosophical
systems are not dishonest in that they are consistent with
a limited vocabulary - i will spare you the torture of
seeing one ball being juggled - the shrapnel of the English
language makes it even more distracting to understand,
as with the above, another e.g.?
'every saying of beyng is held in words and meanings
which are understandable in the view of everyday
references of beings, and are exclusively thought in
that view, but which as expressions of beyng,
are misunderstood...' of course i could be cherry picking
Heidegger like a Jehovah's witness cherry picking
the bible, but i'm not interested in what he's saying,
merely painting you the picture, to scale then:

books                      -              celestial objects
chapters                 -               cycles of celestial objects
paragraphs            -               prime features of
                                                 celestial objects
                                                 (e.g. Jupiter's red eye,
                                                  Saturn's ring,
                                                  Earth's oceans
                                                  and continents)
sentences                 -              
words                       -
syllables                   -
letters                        -             atoms / elements  
                                           ah, it was going oh so well,
i think i started too big, and went into too small,
which made visualising sentences and words and syllables
hard to compare what could fit between
Australia and and atoms of RuXe - by chance ruxe is
an actual word, no as stated ruthenium and xenon,
although that too, ruxir (ruxo, ruxin, ruxido) in Galician
meaning to roar.
Hannah Feb 2017
I'm up in the sky,
and everything is fine.
I'm higher than life,
I'm riding cloud nine.
I'm sleeping while awake,
and stepping over mines.
I'm pushing my body,
and crossing the line.
It's the feeling I chase,
when the ketamine is fine.
I get out my plate,
and rack out a line.
It puts me to sleep,
and feels better than wine,
but it leaves me hollow,
and empty in mind.
It's the come down that hurts,
when I'm dead inside.
It's a vicious cycle
in the addicts mind.
It's always one more.
It's always the last time.
It's easy to say,
as I rack out a line,
and easy to forget,
once I'm high in the sky.
It's the devils words,
those two little lines.
There's no such thing,
when I'm riding cloud nine.
~ for anyone that is strugging with drug addiction.
~for my friends & my family, that are trapped in the addicts mind.
softcomponent Feb 2015
What made Anthony so elaborately cold in those early autumn months? What made him glare so sourly at my exhaustion whenever I slithered past his adonis figure in our overwhelmingly ***** kitchen? Was I the quintessence of a terrible roommate? Irresponsible? Ditzy? Was the kitchen—in its pig-trough pig-sty bacon-grease glory—tacitly my fault, despite the observation it'd been I who had purged the mess last? Or was it my drug habits and the fact that on the night Anthony returned from his impulsive trip to Alaska, I was with Chris—blasting Bob Dylan and the Tallest Man on Earth—cradling my chin on the jean-sand islands of my cramping knees, high as a shuttle in the ketamine nebula? These were all questions that stoked the fires of internal doubt whether I liked it or not. People pretend to talk themselves out of status anxiety as if it were possible to entirely neutralize such a natural reaction—as if it were possible not to wonder what earned such irrational disfavor in the eyes of another. Especially when “another” is a roommate, an almost omnipotent staple in day to day life even if efforts are taken to ignore or avoid—a constant weave of growing atmospheric pressure and a pang of anxiety at the sight of his shoes or the sound of his grunts and clangs while at work on a meal in the kitchen—of course, as is obvious, I can take things far too personally. But there were points in which his silence or indifference would scare me—as if he might've wound up a psychopath and broke my neck in a fit of overboiled passive-aggression.
To be fair and give the reader a clearer picture of Anthony, he had—historically—been an incredibly generous fellow and a relatively close friend long before we approached one another on the idea of potential roommates. He was large in build—not overweight in any sense—but incredibly fit with an active agenda to exercise and eat right, both habits of which I had never had the stamina to maintain. Girls loved him. Physically, he was gorgeous—puffy curled hair deliberately stylized into a modern European pompadour; dark hazel eyes with a constantly evolving dynamism in the way they gazed... and a masculine stubble that seemed to naturally grow-out to look as posh as David Beckham, just without all the effort and pomp. Mentally, he was the perfect synthesis of adorable geek, thoughtful philosopher, and strikingly suave, dapper, athletic, and goofy 'good-guy'—he was always out with his friends or at home reading Terry Goodkind's fantasy novels, and on occasion I would see that his looks were almost burdensome to him. As if they were a superfluous gift and a personal curse—constantly forcing him into social over-exertion as an extrovert when he, at heart, was a closet introvert unable to disentangle his self-reflective image from his internal reality. As if he were unable to process the amount of attention he received.
I had tacitly wondered, at times, if he was also in-the-closet regarding something else as well, though I had always admired his effeminate qualities and mannerisms as he never once hinted at a negative self-consciousness about their strange manifestations in open view of the world. Externally, at least, he never acted like they were problems or indicative of some internal lack of found-definition, even on the comical occasion when I walked in on him bathing on his lonesome, quietly listening to Miley Cyrus and playing with a troupe of three rubber duckies—the bathroom light off and several candles burning in aesthetically strategic corners of the room. He also constantly brewed tea using an adorable teapot designed to look like an elephants head, with the hot liquid pouring from the Disney-like characters trunk. This—I reflected—was most certainly connected to his love for the 1941 children's classic, Dumbo. It was a movie he and I held in common, having watched it together on multiple occasions before our cohabiting turned sour. Of course, what was most indicative of this private wandering judgement of mine was the fact that he worked at the city's only gay bar as the youngest bartender employed. At 1 AM every night, all the bartenders (whom were pre-screened eye candy for the patrons' sake) would peel off their skin-tight neon tops and romp around shirtless, shouting last-call through the bright-eyed frey of top 40 hits and cannonading flirtations.  
Not that I wish to put him under the microscope, as if any feminine qualities in a man were something strange or problematic to me—nor do I wish to study his mannerisms like a condescending anthropologist of imperial Britain, establishing pathological definitions for what was never an illness to begin with. No... I ask these questions because he decided, one day, that he didn't like me. I ask these questions because I came upon him in the living room multiple times listening to Alan Watts's lectures on taoism—a strange anxious-emptiness behind his eyes—and when I began to worry he was dipping into some sort of existential depression, I approached him with an Alan Watts book—The Wisdom of Insecurity—in order to make a recommendation and strike up therapeutic conversation on the basis of  a philosopher we had in common. As I did so, he would frantically nod and avert eye-contact, hiding any perturbation well enough for me to assume he was still with me as I spoke. I later found the book on top of the fridge and placed it back on my shelf thinking, 'he probably has a ton to read as is.' It only became apparent when I finally decided to ask him if he was unhappy with me—this was about 2 weeks before he finally moved out—and he responded with, “I've definitely been annoyed that you use my stuff and eat my food all the time without compensation or asking,” which I understood at first until I realized I only did so because he did the same—constantly eating my cereal, using my milk, reorganizing my couches in the living room—but I didn't mind because I assumed it was a reciprocal arrangement and thus took his eggs and his bacon on the assumption (and belief) in pooled communal resources. But he continued: “And you talk at me all the time about things I have no interest in which is kinda frustrating,” which confused me even further when it was only friendly concern I was tacitly attempting to translate into his feeling wanted and liked by the person he lived with. These words, in the end, released the built-tension between us like a bursting pressure valve. He eventually apologized for how he'd behaved, and then largely disappeared from my life.

Sometimes I'll be brushing my teeth, and I'll wonder if he's doing alright. I'll wonder if he found his taoist balance in either silence or speech.
originally written as a personal assignment for my Creative Nonfiction class.
Alexandria Hope Jul 2015
I woke in the night air,
Damp from the grass, stale breath and smoggy eyed
You played with my hair as it turned from green to blue and back
And I held your paper skin in my palm, as familiar as a lighter
The air smelled of weeks ago, of dust
I had to leave in my tracks, violets grew where I stepped away
You curled into them and I wished you a rainstorm
Recovering my jacket from where we'd tossed it,
And your favorite necklace
When the veil lifts again, you'll think you might have lost it
I'm a walking dream, crisscrossing lines of red from every toy
I discard in the real world,
It's miles to the Ocean
Counting every block
I am noiseless and vapid, listless, light
You may be waking up tonight,
Wondering where your blanket went,
Wondering who left the kiss marks on your hips
This is all I leave you, the aggravating half-memories
A trilling laugh, a groan, a caress
As the waves guide me out
And the lights lead me down
I am home in the silt beneath your feet,
And my disregard as deep.
Paul Kuntz Jun 2013
I think my cat's a drug addict,
but it's difficult to know.
It could be a problem with *******,
by the way he bats at snow.
I've already considered amphetamines
seeing the way his ear's perk;
though maybe its caffeine withdrawal,
some days he's such a ****.
He could be hooked on ecstasy,
his pupils often grow wide.
Sometimes I suspect he's dropping acid
since he just stares outside.
It's possible he's smoking ***,
he's always in a haze.
Maybe he's popping too many pills,
as sleep takes up most days.
My cat could be on ketamine
and eating magic shrooms.
It explains his invisible friends at night
that he chases from room to room.
He could be 'Chasing The Dragon'
like he chases his tail or ball;
Or ****, or hash, or bath salts,
hell, he's probably on them all!
I should do something about it soon,
he's becoming very dramatic.
Tomorrow I'll check him into rehab,
because I think my cat's an addict.
Meat Stevens Jan 13
Microdosing mushrooms and brandy  
Pots and pans to bang
Walking round gallery’s and show rooms
You say no I say dang
I’m whacked out and bleeding garlic
I stank like frat boy boat shoe
You look disheveled and I love it
I unoriginally ask about your tattoo

You know I really want to *******
I want you to take me home
Don’t want you to see my apartment
Don’t want you to see my zone
Living in ***** laundry and unopened letters
Allstate  insurance and catalogs
When’s the last time I took the trash out
When’s the last time I walked the dog

You ask me if it’s *******
I say no it’s ketamine
You ask me if you can try it
You ask me if it’s clean
I say baby there ain’t nothing better
It’s the bees knees and the bugaloo
Just stay away from the edge now deary
Or I’ll have to go fishing for you
angelwarm Sep 2014
wondering about swallowing lysol in cute plastic shot
       this morning i saw a gum print handbag, finger ***** tease,
so those are the prayers you save for your knees.
i know, it's terrifying; and the thought of ******* makes
         you tired. it makes me tired.
we pretended to love
         for protection from this. head against the seat
closer next to kiss. you smiled but i thought about so much time
             les vacances and the dirtier brooklyn romps
    through teeth, "no, i don't know the nyc scene"
     and then, off! we were headed for each word of love.
  everything went out as day, we remained in there. the tall
     glasses of milk and the shaky hands. how nice the breeze
     to slap my cheek in a summer pop ****. the one where i'm
     already on fours while the elevator door, closing; down in his head as though walking on madison. i pick off the beauty marks from the
mouths of mean angels (/ the angle of your body makes me soaked through and warm.
        duck and stay with me, even if you promise to wait.
you were smiling at "sounds like you," the screen and the taxi horn
   scraping in the ****** of a thunderstorm. and me and you and jesus,
  all pries of lips and teeth.
solemnly striking mary as he pleased, crawling surprised through
the egyptian's dreams like he was made for it. like ancient honey centipedes. like you and like me
       god got sure he made you angry. moving about his eyes he wrapped you up in that redwood chest and you crawled right through
it. look at the hole you left! sound comes as well to thank you,
                in scopes of soft, strangled moans. the ones where i have
        my tiny hand around your throat, and god rings his hands
       in defeat because we ****** so ***** we made the world clean,
    the **** finds its home where bacteria grows.
bite 'til there's blood, if that's
              what you want. our friends always tried to make martyrs
     of us. "i want to know you," he says, but the mountains moan loud
    on the ear hairs, those baby ones, that get tickled in the chicago wind
or when you stick your tongue in and i like it.
                when a girl says get gone she means it; now rip off
            your pretty pink lips i want them to bruise my **** i want
         you to get off from it. but you want love
fifth and twenty-second, legs less fervent less eager to bend
        over the sink, in the shower, in your bed. so again with the play:
read something about warmth .some thing warm like a body
        like your body. some/thing like a brown powder
                              and now it’s warm all over
                        here i dip my pinky finger, here spread that on your
          gums. baby, you look so good with a finger in your mouth.
   i can take the coke drips and the starchy pain of paper cuts,
   the first taste of blood and missing the last step, "just dope sick,
   alright, *******/"
                 but the silence is so


                                                            ­it's so
                    
                       when i wild and bare teeth, it's dreaming
                                  because i can handle the coke drips, the softer butter
                       shards, real fine i can keep steady all handlebars
                                a little hype for ketamine like crazy eyes, hear you
                  repeat to me for two hours one night, "your face! your face!"
          and the men they apologize because "it's not mine" but the elbow
      won't tear from the socket i'm eating my eyeball i'm shooting the
  *** rockets all over manhattan. so what's it to hustle, when the
       scene can't even bump it. i'm waiting to nod out to miles davis'
           trumpet. tell me how the drug girl can find some one to keep
up/ can one-up the crazy and puff the exhaust. i'm only looking
for a partner in my disgust; so you and me and jesus should talk
                laugh over )a real one) "yes i love tequila,
                                             darling you're a *****, meet me at the
                                  bar, ill ******* at your own game ;)"
        "oh you'll **** me ? ;)"
                                            "yea i'd *******, so what, i'd **** a lot of
                                              people,"
                                              Read 2:43 am
        "..."        
                                             "what are you typing"
                                              Read 3:24 am
Mateuš Conrad May 2017
if you won't learn a second tongue, that's foreign to you, like, let's say french, or spanish... don't expect me to "integrate" into your society, and leave my mothertongue in a ditch, in the gutter, in a forgetfullness... i'm keeping mine, and you'll have to cut my tongue off, to make me forget it!

why? what's the main reason?     the r!         the R!
the trill!
               well... i have another name for the so-called *trill
...
   great oral ***...
                        for one...
                                    but in my gob... that letter equates to
a rattlesnake...                         the english took the ketamine-numbing
approach to the R...          the french?          they, they...
     they just ******* hark it out... ha ha... as if they were clearing
their throats from too many cigarettes the previous day...
                        my R is a rattlesnake...
                        so, once more... oh, i learn your language, i'll even
beat you at it...                 given my current expression...
  but forget my mothertongue, and not have the odd sing-along to a song
in my native (tongue)?      forget it...
              you numbed the R...    you're almost swallowing your tongue
when expressing it...
                                              where's your serpent regarding
the letter? oh... an anaconda... quasi-bear-like hibernation
              after eating some animal in one gulp...
     where is the snake's ****, by the way?
                                           do they have one?
                                                      i'd love to see a snake take a ****,
but that's like: a month's, if not half a year's worth of "indigestion".
             n'ah... i'll integrate, for sure, i'll use the tongue,
                      but not using the native?                      forget it!
you learn a second tongue!         we have to meet halfway, after all.
i feel sorry for R in the hands of the french, or the english...
      the former are harking it... the latter are numbing it...
                                    me? thankfully using it like a rattlesnake.
Marissa Cooper Jun 2013
Black windowpanes
Single yellow candle
Abandoned lighthouse
On an empty island
The kain batik waves
In the seven pm heat
But words have never switched
Between stranger’s lips
Except casual mouthfuls
Of how many sugars
To take
His folded sleeves
Show a mess
Of watercolor etching
On his bare back
Spread by forgotten strokes
And careless promises
That lingers through morning
At night the ink leaks free
His back a still canvas
Filling with nicotine
And ketamine dreams
And missed yellow brick roads
Right before the light goes out
Tomorrow he will wake
With the colors in
Once more
Kain batik is a Malaysian dyed cloth. Although, it is a Malay textile art, men and women of all races use the material as casual lounge wear or during special occasions. Depending on the design and quality.
Lindsay Alley May 2013
Fluorescent flickers illuminate the stained cement floors of the hallway. Your slippered feet music an uneven pad and scuff. This ***** city is home, whatever that means. This ***** city holds you like you're someone else's child. A burst of joy and music reaches for you through the window; someone bangs a door and you turn on the tap. As water sputters onto your toothbrush you catch a whiff of Dakota Jim's racist southern drawl, a puff of his ketamine breath.

You walk to the window, toothbrush dangling.

[Oh London, I know you love no one, but nights like this I feel your heartbeat in your embrace.]

History swells beneath your feet. Your eyes land on a seated figure, his grand headdress of feathers overpowering the tableau, his gaze calmer than the other mad happy swirls that make up the crowd. It makes you wonder what he sees. Probably nothing. You will learn that when he seems profound it is usually an accident. You are penned in by jagged skyline hieroglyphics. History swells. Your heavy hearted story is a speck consumed in all this history. All the history you were taught in school was death, you remember your mother bemoaning this war generals and battle dates history. You wonder at how much death this place has seen, how many lives the city has birthed and eaten, hungry mother staving off starvation.

We all write our stories on other people's bones. Of course the greatest cities would leave the greatest scars. And what did you come here looking for anyway?

[Hello Momento Mori city. I see you. I see your rooftops straining to **** stars. Do you mourn for your dead? Are they heavy in your belly? Are you going to eat me, too?]

But now, if you drag your little mind back from the immensities, everything around you is alive. Everyone is dancing, happy to be caught in her belly. Or her womb. Not one of you knows which, but there you are. In the courtyard, the small, steady figure of Freddie Stitz brings a lit cigarette to his lips and smiles up at you in the window.

Wipe that toothpaste off your face, you look ridiculous. Go back to bed.
Tim Knight Aug 2013
Jumps back on the ketamine and the *******
and stands in alleyways and lanes
and forgets why the stars sit and the moon stands;
who fights demons with hairdryers and backward hats.

And it’s okay to look like your Dad you never knew,
in glances through the wood would only a few see the resemblance,
but similar hair won’t make up for lost Christmases
and days away at rain safari parks.

You’ll have to leave the fox hole through the brambles
at some point in the future,
so get scratched now and bleed a little sigh
of relief,
one that you’ve broken the tie and loosened the knot
and show us all that you’re out of your cot.
coffeeshoppoems.com >> poetry blog for the ill informed
Bilford May 2016
Edited by Maple, because mine was a rant nobody but she was supposed to indulge. Hahaha. See. I wasn't intending on trending.

I knew a wretched person once. And then. She died.

Now. Condoning death is the fastest method for becoming THE social pariah - for future reference.

But my god. I hated her. I really did. Not simply me; most of our peers felt similar. At least, they did till it was no longer *appropriate.


See. Morgan was a ruthless psychopath.
And then she was dead.

Now. As a stranger, if you were to lurk her Facadebook, you'd think she'd been some ethereal messiah. Her web page is now trampled with laments. Kinda like the stampede that killed Mufasa. Her present facadebook now marks a day the devil became synonymous with our homegirl, Momma Teresa.

In what world, right?

The details of the fatality remain insane. Ranging from Ketamine to ******. But I won't illustrate them. Go see it yourself - on Doctor ******* Phil.

And they call me crazy.



Anyways.

I'm sorry, but she was a maniacal parasite with love like shrapnel. She destroyed her lovers, her family, her arsenal of friends by habit. And she did this for fun. So, again, I'm sorry. Sorry I am hardly sorry she died.

That's a lie, though. I'm not sorry at all.

Karma is candy. I'm happy she's gone. Never again to crumple and crush her loved ones to mush as mere eggs to her morning omelette.

And our world is a happier place.

Sue me.





**for whatever reason this will not publish or save this particular recount
For Maple Syrup because I'm sick of memorializing the dead simply for dying.  

Sue me.
Jess Brady Sep 2015
Always acrimonious about allowing anyone around.
Baneful behavior caused by a belligerent boy in the background.
Crack doesn't **** if you're careful, they coerce.
Don't do drugs and use your dollars to disperse.
Elude every emotion except empty and exhausted.
Forget every feeling that he fabricated and fostered.
Glassy eyes look guilty and glimmer groggily.
Halcyon is halted, heave into havoc hazily.
Iniquity makes insatiable impulses inherent.
Justify joints with Jane as joy jaunts without judgement.
Killer Ketamine kisses knock-out keen knowledge.
Lovesick, lonely, loveless, led towards the ledge.
Marijuana manipulated meditation makes musing mystical.
Nebulous nadir needs nicotine for nostalgia and nirvana neurochemicals.
Oxycontin as an oasis for obtrusive obstinance.
Panacea is a parody of popping pills, the provinence.
Secret street corners selling shrooms and speed.
Troubled tired teen talks about truth and tragedy.
Ubiquitous umbrage under unfathomable urges.
***** vacates vulnerable verges.
Wail and woefully wallow in **** while waning my whit.
Yield and yearn for yao, yes you can stand it.

Puff puff pass.
Puff puff laugh.
It's funny how the drugs lasted longer than our love has.
A poem exploring the use of drugs to escape heartbreak.
Cody Edwards Feb 2010
Sky is pitch and crystal cloud
Wild figures languor on the dusty ground.
Eight pairs of darken haloed eyes
Strike the blue to blacken.

Bring the night.
And bring the work
The work by voice and light
Work with reddened hands
And verbal glance at a
Smaller place that must
Be walked: a faster pace
To lose the mortal race.
Mellow hours decay with gracelessness
That cannot be dreamed

On April nights no one in the road
Can be exempt. Nothing is exempt
At the stroke of the hour.

A step cracks in the deep
In those woods with painted fronts
A step that eats a flower
Sending up devotions.
****** rocks the riverbed
Hums a note in the still.
White shoes in black line
Mechanical clarity, footfalls.
Frissons from foreshadowing
A judder and a burial.
A burial in white.

It reeks of adrenaline, God's own ketamine,
Is sundered somewhat by a Sunday.
Sunday suit and six strong suitors
Following suit to the spot

No one could say. Still, the air
Is too hot with electricity to suffer it.
Tomorrow we can say
That we all knew the night's dread
Export, but for tonight we pray
Our lambs are all a-bed
And not a one of them
Is dead.

No one taught Ophelia to swim.
The hateful eating orange of dawn
Mocks her slow and stymied progress.
© Cody Edwards 2010
SP Blackwell Dec 2013
I'm strung out on you.
I'm intoxicated with the way
you make me feel.
I tingle when I think about it.
Your scent unhinges me.
Completely.
The warmth of ecstasy
vibrates in my core.
I am high when I am
near you.
Adrenaline rushes through
me like *******.
The sensation of your touch
unfolds me like a map
to the origin of pleasure.
Your words stroke me
and make my body bend,
twist and shake.
Under your hand I
contort and shiver.
You make me quiver.
You grab me and
swivel my hips.
My eyes roll back and
I bite my lip.
Like ******
time does not exist
when you are in me.
Your caress is like ketamine
I can not feel my extremities.
There is no ceiling.
There is no floor.
The way you move me
makes me your *****.
Like MDMA  your
embrace makes my
heart race.
You take me on a
ride that I can not escape.
The ****** is like
sitting on a speaker in space.
Your deep base line
makes my spine roll.
The loss of control
feels like a k hole.
I inhale you .
You envelop me
internally.
You have full control
of my body
Without you I am sober.
Without you I am
waiting for more.
I need another hit of you.
I'm strung out on you.
softcomponent Oct 2013
we've all seen each other from a distance - never behind the eyes, where in time, we find ourselves eyeing the mind we all hypothesize lies inside - but can you look behind your eyes and see this mind you're so convinced is in hiding? where is the mind that keeps lighting my iris to allow for this writing?

the same question begs a Q and A session with the mesh inside insanity- my congestion, depression, transgression, suppression- Civilization and It's Discontents- it's inaccurate content, its torment to the inner accent I would consent to except I'm too poor to see you anew as I accrue symbolism and make do- I love you. All of you.

Through this fickle piece of data floating through space-time I make rhymes and say I'm a poet- but all I am are the words that are spoken so potent, I don't even live here inside of my head, I'm just a guest at best- perhaps a bird making nest for the rest of my life- after that, the soul flies into the radio wave of the grave where my behaviour is so unpredictable, it's unthinkable - I become what is represented in the word 'God,' 'Brahmin,' 'Ultimate reality,' the finger pointing at the moon and not the symbolist insanity - I

become

your

sight,

_ _ _

I

become

your

underbite.

you asked who you met the other weekend at that party - let's just say, you met a part of me. you met a version of you who you knew the moment you exited your mothers womb - the great thoughtless void you enjoyed - toyed with - left to sink into faceless space so you could run this pointless race and have fun doing it.

you can't win the human race, because the finish line is hiding in the that space behind your face - it's like you cross the line, and you die. disappear - and it all goes back inside the box - the creatures, the cash, and the clocks - a vulture squacks as your feet rot inside your socks and the trees mock your transience - the universe is a wave of ambiance monitoring itself through every iris shaping words to papyrus.

we are the sound, and we are the silence

we are the peace, and we are the violence

we are the religion, and we are the science

we are the doctors, and we are the clients

we are all enemies in secret alliance

what is the sound of one hand clapping? (clap hand)
so much for zen... so much for Rimbaud, I rub my eyes with cayenne so you can laugh at my pain and say, "now that's a comedian," he's sweating, look at the grease on his chin. look how he declares war on himself when he tries to find zen, he's giving up with this 'trying' as a way of trying again, he's crying again, sighing, seeking, writing, tightening the loosening bolts in his skull as he seeks out his peace in the peeled potato where the point is to think of potatoes, not Plato, not Aristotle, oh God oh I condemn all these looping mazed thoughts to a bottle

first, it's beer, then it's wine, then it's ketamine time till I finally find there is nothing to find and I'm fine but the feeling is gone in the morning...
we've all seen each other from a distance - never behind the eyes, where in time, we find ourselves eyeing the mind we all hypothesize lies inside - but can you look behind your eyes and see this mind you're so convinced is in hiding? where is the mind that keeps lighting my iris to allow for this writing?
He worships at the shrine of capitalism
prays for a better fiscal quarter
with money spent in shopping malls,
a scrambling search for off-the-rack meaning
through blessèd, holy consumerism.
He gives thanks to this, our daily microwave meal,
while he mutters under his breath,
“What be the will of these, our stock-market Algorithms?"

He listens to sermons from business and econ profs preaching
from the higher-education steeples, teaching
students gathering like stampede sheeples, reaching
for a measure of worth in semester-long bursts
a silent choir scribbling in exam halls to petty praise,
leaving them burned out,
and crying on the bathroom floor,
lights out, itching for a wink
amidst insect hallucinations
adrenaline rushed
from Dexadrine or Adderall
dissociation flushed
from ketamine or alcohol
asking,
“What is wrong with me?”

Seeking answers,
he pays weekly penance to shrinks
a confessional of mental disorders from the Gospel of DSM:

“Forgive me, Doctor, for I have sinned.
It has been seven days since my last confession.
I’m obsessive, I’m depressive,
antisocial personality,
ADD or ADHD,
I’m poor as I ever was and ever will be,
I’m no service to society,
I'm squandered in sobriety,
but please
keep my hands tied
in these shackles of student debt!”

And his only act of contrition
is a medical prescription
made sweeter to swallow at communion
than the blood and body of Christ.

Welcome, the new order!
Welcome, the New Religion (TM)!

Pray it will be a better one
than what we left behind.
I’ve been stressing, dare you to start testing
Not in the mood, talk to Smith and Wesson
Can’t help a man who gets hurt but never learns his lesson
Life is a question, multiple choice, guess who’s guessin?

Running from myself is no longer an option
Can’t blow my composure, everybody is watchin
Always pay the price despite what it was costin’

I’ve been through hell and back,
Would you agree with that?
Stab through my chest,
Crush my head with a bat
People walk all over me, place mat
Guess I gotta man up, and face facts

Paranoia sinks in, you start doubting everyone
Ketamine breaks skin, my trip has just begun
Take me to a place I aint never been before
New dimension, jumpin in, diving board
I’m yours

I look in my eyes and see a shell of myself
But what I’d really love to do
Is look through the eyes of everyone else
Do I look hopeful and happy?
Or sorrowful and melancholy?

I got no love for myself, no love for another
Growing up all alone, and hating all others
I’ve got some friends, and I love em like brothers
But this cloud of negativity follows me, a steady hover

Push me to where I’m stretched to thin
Now it’s far gone and I’m empty within
It became easy living with sin
Take baby steps forward on scissors and pins
Snowflakes from sleepy land land on my eye lids
creeping in and on and out and over I'm melatonin silenced,
feeling serenity,
I'm supposed to be writing
but "actually I'm not regretting it"
Dreams are inviting me like I've been spiked with ketamine
Should I let them in?
I love sleep too much
So I didn't make it to bed again

It's not a want,
It's a need a necessity,
It's something I need to achieve what is best in me
So if you're waking me bring bacon
I won't just be ******* your life is forsaken,
Especially if I was dreaming about flying like a plane again....

I like a snatched sleep on the bus or the train,
But I love the car no risk of sleeping too far
and waking up in staines

One time I fell asleep on the train...
I was stuck on it for ages...
One outside tesco where your supposed to put 20p and a baby in it
Seems to be happening alot to me lately
But I have always falling asleep in public places
One time my mom thought she'd lost me,
I was asleep on a the sofa in Laura Ashley
"Dear, where's your mommy? The shop assistant asked me
I didn't know and I didn't care all I wanted was to go to sleep
Strange memories rethunk,
Relayered and rewired
twisting and turning until they become suffering,
time for bed again, I'm tired.
softcomponent Feb 2015
It was six in the morning**: I sat in a cab dangling on small-talk with a middle-aged white male cabbie basted in the demeanor of the over-friendly uncle. He asked me about school—I'm hyperawake, paranoid, body pulsing, feeling loose, depersonalized, and lightly psychedelic—my vision wavering as if someone had entered my skull to punch raw brain. I did a gram and a half of ******* that night; mixed lines with ketamine to simulate a proto-psychosis, but am convinced I may very well have driven myself past the point of no return. I'd been doing this strict mix for over 2 straight weeks, landing myself in out-of-body experiences and coked-out drawls on the floor like a sad, puckered monkey chewing on a lemon it mistook for an orange. Why I led myself to this existential precipice is both beyond me and totally within my rational sympathies if I pretend I am on the outside looking in.
When I was 18—drawn, for the first time—away from smalltown Powell River and into the Vancouver suburbia of Port Coquitlam, my only successful job-find was a McDonald's arched inside a Wal-Mart. The double-insult this presented me as a teenage anarchist pushed me deep into my first true emotional crisis which I only turned to accept after a particular phone call with my father in which he appealed to me to think of this stint as a 'temporary social experiment'; a chance to learn and breathe this proletarian experience from the inside out. During the pre-Christmas night-shifts, the only customers we ever had were the dark, apathetic silhouette-people Wal-Mart hired to greet the absolutely no one's walking through the door. I incessantly cleaned what was already a mirror-wet floor and made sad conversation with Rosario—the slightly autistic shift-manager with a prickly-shave of a face and an awkward sense of humor I could never come to appreciate and yet always managed to humor in polite obsequiousness. Regardless, it was a form of spread and endless boredom that began to fascinate me; it brought me to a darkness I had never quite known. It was an experience—like all experiences—to be had at least once, to the fullest and truest intensity. To be pushed with reckless sincerity.
Ever since, I have found myself pushing every limit to disembodied extremes—on occasion, to points of such profound irresponsibility or feigned responsibility that I break a particular streak and wind-up on the other dichotomous side of whatever line I unintentionally (or intentionally?) crossed (or broke?) because everything is a social experiment and I've touched the multifarious lives of overworked modernity, residential care aide, dishwasher, Christopher McCandlessesque wilderness jaunt, melancholic Kierkegaard, psychonaut, and now: a short-lived ****** inspired by the excess of Burroughs and the early beatniks all willing to **** their darlings for the sake of blood-stained posterity.
And yet meanwhile—in the cab—I can feel my headache grow perceptively wider from my left temple. Almost like a mushroom cloud over Bikini Atoll I am watching from as safe a distance as the physical body can withstand, according to some calculable hypothesis drafted by Oppenheimer himself. I am constantly amazed at how lucid I am in conversation with this friendly cabby; given that I feel as if I'm about to go ******, focusing so deftly on the way the streetlights glide across placid puddles moving only with our tires intervention—and the way I keep imagining insanity in the form of a zombie-likeness of myself strapped into an electric chair, skin melting and eyes rolling back in my head as I seizure to metaphysical death—I still laugh away short quips about the blind-leading-the-blind (he has no idea how to find my destination, and keeps pulling over to check a book road-map for 4143 Hessington Place). The only reason I am with him now is that I am venturing to see my girlfriend at her group-house past Uvic where the door is always unlocked for friends and friends-of-friends, she being the only solution to this crisis with her stash of .5 Xanax pills.
I remember those tense moments—with my body and brain as taut as a bow—he would pull over or pull out and my entire existence seemed to move through space and time as if against a wind that was perpetually in resistance—as if my entire consciousness was going to capsize into some form of overdosed darkness. Even when I exited the cab and waved a friendly goodbye to the old man, I could feel my dopamine receptors attempting to fire on empty. This caused a latent buzz that was only solved with two milligrams of alprazolam and my eyes wide shut until my head shut down.

I held her close. I knew she thought I was an idiot.
originally written as a project for my Creative Nonfiction class, Jan.2015

— The End —