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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

It brings upon such deep relaxation.

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

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

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

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

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

It can amplify and support the freedom that you have.

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

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

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

It provokes an amazing feeling called ecstasy.

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

One just needs to activate it.

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

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

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

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

You become so utterly loving.

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

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



The mushroom is a very,
very,
revealing drug.

Natural to begin with,
And very revealing.

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

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

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

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

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

The point is that it is a poison.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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



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

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

All of ones senses are amplified.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

Not only because of economical reasons.

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

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

They want to keep you straight in THEIR straight line.

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

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

And how then can a fully realized individual be ruled?

What would you do for adrenaline?

Speed along uneven country roads,
Aim just right for that special ****,
Fly upward unexpectedly,
Drop back down with a thump?

Sweat in a long queue,
Strap oneself in tight,
Fly up and spin around,
Drop to earth from a great height?

Hop on an airplane,
Wear a parachute,
Jump bravely,
Create a new route?

The great lengths some will go,
Simply for a rush of adrenaline,

But what would you do for adrenaline from these?

Misplacing a wallet,
Racing to its last known location,
Discovering a stranger took it,
Wondering if it will ever return home?

Driving placidly along,
Stopping abruptly,
Missing by an inch a hit headlong,
Hoping the car behind will stop?

Why pay hundreds to risk life and limb by diving through the sky, yet do anything to keep one’s wallet?

Both produce adrenaline;
one for free with no risk of life and limb, yet it’s the riskier one,
that’s sought even at great cost!

Perhaps it’s because:
adrenaline is best enjoyed when expected?

I see the full moon beginning to rise.
Crap.
This stuff is getting old.
I'm ruining my clothes
every thirty days.
It's getting riskier,
the people in town
are always chasing me
with torches,
shooting at me
with silver bullets.
One by one,
pretty women
are disappearing,
occasionally a small boy.
They are using hounds now.
One of these days,
they're going to bag me.

☺☻☺☻☺☻

Post-Christian pornstar unsubdued,
My lady—you are too tattooed;
bored, studded, and nearly as cheap
as everyone else tossed on the heap.
You don’t excite, inspire or alarm.
You’re just a big Alterna-Bore. No harm
done to me; baby you’re a pincushion
of piercingly superficial fashion
Neither tribal nor demonic—just silly.
I pity you, pierced like that *****-nilly…

Some conserva-matron with a gun
is edgier, riskier (and way more fun)
Israeli soldiers are hotter than you.
1940’s pinups sexier. It’s true.
That’s why we won. Now they’re losing it.
And so am I…  but thanks for choosing it.

                            (War)

FACE-IT

              Fix- it

      Don't -force- it
  *        *        *        *      
Show- it and embrace- it

Facing a timeless jade
Old show façade
Not a test or a grade
Is it old Holiday Parade?
Old show face privacy
Confidence meet bravery
Facelift grave yard shift
  
*        *        *        *
Oldster-Hipster-once
A-Youngster-Cra­nkier
Scrooge old geezer
*             *
Old City Mobster
Old show face
Gets riskier on the run
Once young gun

Serene but sassier
Getting up earlier
New show wiser
In the right place
Old show face

Who would know that a pause would lead to this,
One moment, when a second spoke volumes,
One moment that led to a world of possibilities,
Imagined at first but then becoming real.
It wasn't a planned out thing it just sort of crept up,
We noticed the similarities, the often shared thoughts
The reassuring touch.
I didn't know you but I knew you, if you know what I mean,
Some fated, spiritual, psychic link up had occurred to me,  it seems.
After a time we were daring to verbalise this 'thing',
We both agreed that it was there
Something we couldn't name.
What I came to realise was, every connection was a log,
The logs grew into a pile and began to stack right up.
The eyes meeting, a special smile, a knowing glance or word,
Became the petrol on the wooden pyre,  just waiting to be burned.
The summer came and we'd moved on to a braver riskier stance,
You kissed me for the first time,
I almost missed the chance to kiss you back,
My heart was pounding, so scared of being caught,
That was the moment when, the match came out of its box.
The next time we kissed it was long and slow and
The match was struck and the fire was ablaze.


Then I had a tragedy, the life changing event of death,
The sort that brings you down, to nothing that you were.
Shattering in its relationship to life as I knew it.
I still thought about you even then,
I thought the fire was sure to go out,
The momentum had been deflated,
But in my grief you still held my hand and listened.


For several months I was up and down but still you were there.
Suddenly you were in my thoughts in a far more intimate way.
We began to explore and found we shared explosive ideas
Of a sensual side we both knew and understood.
The depth of that feeling was the strongest I'd even known
So it inched a long until we'd planned, a consummation date.
We went away to the seaside, we walked and talked and laughed,
We ate together and played together until the night drew in.
The night was filled with pleasure, that lasted for hours at a time.
A time when I was yours and you were mine and, we both woke up together.
The day came when I had to leave and I realised that this could also be the end.
The tears I couldn't help pouring from my eyes at the thought of you not there.
I felt a profound sense of loss, like someone had taken away
The only thing that mattered to me in the cracked world I had made.


Was this it, was this the peak, was it now all downhill.
We'd never have the chance again to be this free and
The snatched moments we had before,
Could never really compensate, for that time down by the shore.
I spoke to you that night and heard the tears in your voice,
It made me cry again, I knew then I couldn't let you go
Not like that, not now, I realised I had fallen in love.
It's true it has not been the same since we came back,
but a deeper understanding stands
That this is not a throwaway thing,
that should be full of guilt and shame.
But life it is a joker, though seldom is it funny,
Everything has its price, it's what you're prepared to gamble.
I can only make that choice for me and yours will come with time,
The reason I say that is, because you're not really mine.

It's riskier than you might think
To mention skin as being "pink"
To a girl that's tried to wash away
The hopeless thought of being gray

Orange is such a pleasant tone
On clothes and walls and college dorms
And lamps,
And fruit,
But coating the pigment of someone's arms?
That's okay,
It's not me they're trying to charm


But it's curious...
Why be afraid?
Of the Sun's
"Terrible",
"Damaging",
"Harmful" rays?
But if skin is preferred oily and white
It's not me who judges for a ghostly sight

But I
As a child of the Sun,
As is everyone,
I could run to and from
The beach
And never bleach
Or dye
A piece of me
Because I know it will reach every crease of me and kiss
My skin,
So warm with bliss
And let the embrace
Brush the plains of my face
And over my skin I let it graze
And leave just a taste of summer's glaze.

I see your hesitant nods
I understand your doubts
I hear your second thoughts
Believe me, they are mine too.

Not until I met you
Not until we decided the "I do's"
Not until we showed our colours true
Did there come a purpose
To take down the odds
To challenge doubtful thoughts
To take the riskier shots
To decide to be with you

But You should know, pain never comes twice
After once, it becomes experience, then habit

A person hurts someone only once
And then, becomes a sadist

A person bears the pain only once
And then, becomes Me.

Shall I leap
Or step back

Retain the blanket of security
Or explore the uncharted waters of uncertainty

Say what comes will come,
Or grasp the minimal control

Free fall?
Or use the stairs?

One is riskier,
The other is safer,


Obviously


Then, she says something to me
that makes me realize
my foolishness

We're in the age of computers and technology
If I'm facing a risky proposition,

Why not look it up?

She sat there with her rusty voice box, a  drought on her tongue and a pen aching to flood the pristine sheet with blue ink.
She poured pain into words of refuge and tucked the love etched memories into words.
She wrote to the ones she loved, who made her heart beat ever so intensely. For who rooted her strengthening her spine with courage. For the ones who betrayed, abandoned and hurt making her swallow sorrows whole on empty stomach.
She undressed her truth as she painted shades of past, resurfacing the suppressed from the dustiest parts of her mind, reigniting the dying embers. As she wrote thoughts screamed to be heard, memories weeped to be replayed as she crafted sentences, paragraphs, beginning and ends, sunrises and sunsets; the breathing of her heart allowing her to feel a sense of relief.
But she never sent them, for they were riskier to be read by them than to be tucked safely away.

What do they give you at the finish line,
If the race keeps going?
Still killing to get mine,
But the benefits stopped showing.
Use my ears as an escape to disregard what they call fate,
Read the articles online, now a real life I recreate.
Still feels lacking though,
Motions I move through to move on, seems there's nowhere to go

Until I trade my mechanisms,
Fall under the spell of danger but lonely still- that's pessimism.
She feels embarrassed for me,
Everything she breathes in is an attempt to feel free
With lies like those, who needs to participate in riskier behavior?
Walking the equator look to her creator, beg Him to forgive and let her explain later
Invincible kids we refuse to not last,
Grades begin to slip, but life won't let you see it after class.

If we are the same you don't have to fear my past,
Think softly, my peer
Wandering is only peaceful whilst here.
Patience, I have learned
Respect need not be earned.
We owe the other nothing,
But everything we want means giving all your loving.
Trusting myself as well as you,
Summations of things we endured, love rings true.

I attribute being a grown mad scientist
linkedin with tacit approval of parents
(both long gone to the smoky afterlife),
and donned wizard trumpeting magic spells
while dark and stormy night
(one week before Halloween),
which usher nostalgic memories
encapsulated within the following poem
initially drafted quite some years ago.

Both parents possessed pedigreed panache
(but especially my father – renown Chemist
B.B. Harris and to slightly lesser extent
late culinary cuisine queen Harmit Harms
Kuritsky - gal whose troth thy then still
livingsocial octogenarian widower papa
pledged, while holding some bubbling
sinister looking flask in hand while both
donned trumpeting finessed affianced
doctored formula to marry, when both
partook of blind date.

This combustible transunion link analogous
to their representative first electric kool aid
basic laboratory litmus test date), which
took place without a hitch, and telepathically
encouraged begetting retinue of revered
sons and daughters, whose ken hopefully
burned with passion KRISPR incubated,
inculcated, and incurred genetic outlook
ideally transmitted to prolific brood
of begotten babes.

This kid felt embers crackling, popping,
and snapping with yen that burned from
within and without buns sin burner of this
cingular earthlinked son.

No matter a bit tentative to experiment
*****-nilly (wonka like) with rather
explosive materiel, I received truckloads
of ammunition (in tandem with benevolent
benediction) to foster dare devil and
derelict pyromaniac precocity.

Those initial awkward formative forays
assaying, assessing and carefully calibrating
this, that or other liquid or powdery substance
found me meticulously measuring and
weighing the substances using kitchen
midden malodorous kid gloves.

Frequent disappointment arose from
yours truly as well as momma and papa
when net result (of these early attempts
to blend powders and/or liquids) merely
fizzled and self extinguished
into near inaudible ****.

Continual daily practice (would lead way
for me to enter Carnegie – Mellon ---- Hall)
after countless travails, trials and trolls i.e.
uber vaporous wisps to lyft yawping banshee
like holograms, or equivalent of 10,000 maniacs)
eventually bore successful fruit in the form
of near perfect results.

Success in hotly contested field Pyrotechnics
requires striking resemblance
to any other vocation.

One must be able, eager, ready and willing
to maintain burning passion no matter any
unforeseen setbacks or heat from an
objectionable source.

Yes, there would be an errant conflagration
(sometimes set purposely by adjunct professor)
as object lesson to master usage of fire
extinguisher/fighter, a vital piece of equipment
and evenhandedness for getting hold
instantaneously jetting kickstarter live matches)
to contain any runaway flame.

I do sheepishly admit to (ahem) you
on occasion the outcome went awry.

Nonetheless, they prided their potential
fire branded wizard in the making with
kudos and praise with DYNAMITE.

Practice from indiscriminately creating
unpredictable concoctions, these lethally
marshaled nonchalant opportunities
provided quintessentially random results
though usually very wimpy in tandem
with totally tubular nerdy, geeky, freaky,
and dorky beastie boy.

As proof positive and proud testimony, they
proudly pointed (upward) to the kitchen ceiling.

There such handiworks practically covered
entire ceiling with variegated splotches.
These scorch marks keepsake frescoes to show
kith and kin unspecified years into smoky future.

Quite accurate to assume
father and mother coached,
goaded, and nurtured
exploratory ambitions and
tried not to stifle
(at least consciously or deliberately)
my early stage ambition
toward scientific artiste bent.

As homeschooled and to some extent self taught
chemically romanced muralist, I grew up (not
surprisingly) in Unitarian household paid
close attention also adhered to the pioneer spirit.

The near limitless boundaries of life, liberty and
pursuit of understanding
an underlying credo, which
allowed, enabled and provided near endless
experimentation even at the risk of life and limb.

Aside talking head
nearly burning down the house
amidst talking heads practically in dire straits,
an instinctive reflex found me immolating myself,
occasionally singeing the canine fur of Lady,
Schultz, or Socrates, et cetera no frightful
catastrophic outcomes occurred thru milieu
of mixing deceptively harmless looking
inert raw materials.

Trial and error (quite successful with latter)
via blithely cooking dicey elements forming
goulash hiccupping laboratory mishmash
practically eliminated any pained regret to take
daring risks (such as getting married – ha)
in later life.

Despite favorable and lovable upbringing,
my mother (ever the protector and/or proctor
of our family and an excellent chef boyardee
to boot) still managed to insinuate (gently
as possible) the necessity to be careful when
igniting flammable materials lest
some uncontrollable conflagration ensue.

She (mom) did frequently confess to feeling
ever so slightly jittery and uneasy with my
slapdash amateurish homebrewed pyrotechnics
and much preferred to steer my attention toward
safer hobby such as the edible objets d’arts i.e.,
the much more drab field per how to present
and aesthetically appealing and nutritious meal.

Fondness to prepare food and pretend to be
faux renowned cook (this confession admitted
rather baldly and obviously deduced) actually
competed for my most favorite avocation activity
and spare leisure time.

In other words, this chap did relish designing
his own recipes mainly from leftovers in tandem
with unpronounceable multisyllabic organic
compounds filled numerous sized dishes
and aged apothecary bottles respectively.

Without question though, the passion plus
less riskier factor to combine and potchka
dry and wet ingredients together did rank
as considerably safer medium that still
allowed, enabled and provided me an equal
opportunity to test reactions, than those
earlier iterated potentially explosive hazards.

Nonetheless, my cavalier crusading overactive
appetite, hunger and thirst to discover causative
outcomes (even with purportedly innocuous
looking household cleaning supplies or easily
acquired inert materiel) nearly witnessed an
apocalypse at three two four Level Road
on one particular nasty occasion.

I anticipated our domicile would become
rent asunder, and reduced into a black
and decker ashen funeral pyre, yet for
grace of some divine force no family
members nor pets succumbed
nor got asphyxiated from choking acrid air.

I attribute being a grown mad scientist
linkedin with tacit approval of parents
(both long gone to the smoky afterlife),
and donned wizard trumpeting magic spells
while dark and stormy night
(one week before Halloween),
which usher nostalgic memories
encapsulated within the following poem
initially drafted quite some years ago.

Both parents possessed pedigreed panache
(but especially my father – renown Chemist
B.B. Harris and to slightly lesser extent
late culinary cuisine queen Harmit Harms
Kuritsky - gal whose troth thy then still
livingsocial nonagenarian widower papa
pledged, while holding some bubbling
sinister looking flask in hand while both
donned trumpeting finessed affianced
doctored formula to marry, when both
partook of blind date.

This combustible transunion link analogous
to their representative first electric kool aid
basic laboratory litmus test date), which
took place without a hitch, and telepathically
encouraged begetting retinue of revered
sons and daughters, whose ken hopefully
burned with passion KRISPR incubated,
inculcated, and incurred genetic outlook
ideally transmitted to prolific brood
of begotten babes.

This kid felt embers crackling, popping,
and snapping with yen that burned from
within and without buns sin burner of this
cingular earthlinked son.

No matter a bit tentative to experiment
*****-nilly (wonka like) with rather
explosive materiel, I received truckloads
of ammunition (in tandem with benevolent
benediction) to foster dare devil and
derelict pyromaniac precocity.

Those initial awkward formative forays
assaying, assessing and carefully calibrating
this, that or other liquid or powdery substance
found me meticulously measuring and
weighing the substances using kitchen
midden malodorous kid gloves.

Frequent disappointment arose from
yours truly as well as momma and papa
when net result (of these early attempts
to blend powders and/or liquids) merely
fizzled and self extinguished
into near inaudible ****.

Continual daily practice (would lead way
for me to enter Carnegie – Mellon ---- Hall)
after countless travails, trials and trolls i.e.
uber vaporous wisps to lyft yawping banshee
like holograms, or equivalent of 10,000 maniacs)
eventually bore successful fruit in the form
of near perfect results.

Success in hotly contested field Pyrotechnics
requires striking resemblance
to any other vocation.

One must be able, eager, ready and willing
to maintain burning passion no matter any
unforeseen setbacks or heat from an
objectionable source.

Yes, there would be an errant conflagration
(sometimes set purposely by adjunct professor)
as object lesson to master usage of fire
extinguisher/fighter, a vital piece of equipment
and evenhandedness for getting hold
instantaneously jetting kickstarter live matches)
to contain any runaway flame.

I do sheepishly admit to (ahem) you
on occasion the outcome went awry.

Nonetheless, they prided their potential
fire branded wizard in the making with
kudos and praise with DYNAMITE.

Practice from indiscriminately creating
unpredictable concoctions, these lethally
marshaled nonchalant opportunities
provided quintessentially random results
though usually very wimpy in tandem
with totally tubular nerdy, geeky, freaky,
and dorky beastie boy.

As proof positive and proud testimony, they
proudly pointed (upward) to the kitchen ceiling.

There such handiworks practically covered
entire ceiling with variegated splotches.
These scorch marks keepsake frescoes to show
kith and kin unspecified years into smoky future.

Quite accurate to assume
father and mother coached,
goaded, and nurtured
exploratory ambitions and
tried not to stifle
(at least consciously or deliberately)
my early stage ambition
toward scientific artiste bent.

As homeschooled and to some extent self taught
chemically romanced muralist, I grew up (not
surprisingly) in Unitarian household paid
close attention also adhered to the pioneer spirit.

The near limitless boundaries of life, liberty and
pursuit of understanding
an underlying credo, which
allowed, enabled and provided near endless
experimentation even at the risk of life and limb.

Aside talking head
nearly burning down the house
amidst talking heads practically in dire straits,
an instinctive reflex found me immolating myself,
occasionally singeing the canine fur of Lady,
Schultz, or Socrates, et cetera no frightful
catastrophic outcomes occurred thru milieu
of mixing deceptively harmless looking
inert raw materials.

Trial and error (quite successful with latter)
via blithely cooking dicey elements forming
goulash hiccupping laboratory mishmash
practically eliminated any pained regret to take
daring risks (such as getting married – ha)
in later life.

Despite favorable and lovable upbringing,
my mother (ever the protector and/or proctor
of our family and an excellent chef boyardee
to boot) still managed to insinuate (gently
as possible) the necessity to be careful when
igniting flammable materials lest
some uncontrollable conflagration ensue.

She (mom) did frequently confess to feeling
ever so slightly jittery and uneasy with my
slapdash amateurish homebrewed pyrotechnics
and much preferred to steer my attention toward
safer hobby such as the edible objets d’arts i.e.,
the much more drab field per how to present
and aesthetically appealing and nutritious meal.

Fondness to prepare food and pretend to be
faux renowned cook (this confession admitted
rather baldly and obviously deduced) actually
competed for my most favorite avocation activity
and spare leisure time.

In other words, this chap did relish designing
his own recipes mainly from leftovers in tandem
with unpronounceable multisyllabic organic
compounds filled numerous sized dishes
and aged apothecary bottles respectively.

Without question though, the passion plus
less riskier factor to combine and potchka
dry and wet ingredients together did rank
as considerably safer medium that still
allowed, enabled and provided me an equal
opportunity to test reactions, than those
earlier iterated potentially explosive hazards.

Nonetheless, my cavalier crusading overactive
appetite, hunger and thirst to discover causative
outcomes (even with purportedly innocuous
looking household cleaning supplies or easily
acquired inert materiel) nearly witnessed an
apocalypse at three two four Level Road
on one particular nasty occasion.

I anticipated our domicile would become
rent asunder, and reduced into a black
and decker ashen funeral pyre, yet for
grace of some divine force no family
members nor pets succumbed
nor got asphyxiated from choking acrid air.