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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bupropion is a norepinephrine-dopamine reuptake inhibitor (NDRI) with affinity for some nicotinic receptors. Bupropion and its metabolites are active for between 12-36 hours. Interestingly it is a substituted cathinone.
Initial subjective effects similar to a fairly light stimulant. Perception of increased attention-span and improved cognition. It is an onirogen that is neutral in quality, enhancing vivid dreaming (a boon of its nicotinic affinity which is counteracted if the stimulant component impinges on sleep). Completely absent of serotonergicity, curious.
The N-tert-butyl group's effect is most interesting, how it affects metabolism. I took 150mg ******, as extended and as instant release (the latter was more pronounced). Interesting to compare with other cathinones, and curious to think of other bupropiologues (for example, 3-Methyl-N-tert-butyl-methcathinone). A decent compound, probably useful for a range of things beyond its indication.
                        Bupropion    R,R-Hydroxybuprp­n   Threo-hydrobuprpn
AUC               1                     23.8                                  11.2
Half-life         11 h                 19 h                                 31 h
IC50 (μM)
DAT               0.66                  inactive                          47 (rat)
NET               1.85                   9.9                                  16 (rat)
SERT              inactive          inactive               ­            67 (rat)
α3β4 nic         1.8                   6.5                                   14 (rat)
α4β2 nic         12                     31                                   no data
α1β1γδ nic     7.9                    7.6                                  no data

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

From an airplane
The clouds
Are a soft
Blanket,
Tucked up
Over the Earth's crust -
Keeping it  cozy
and warm -
Even in winter.

From an airplane
The rainbow sheen
On the sea
Is a patch
On the ocean's
Dark Wal-Mart jeans -
Bringing life
To what's otherwise
Uninteresting.

From an airplane
The cities
(quotidianly)
Are just toys
Left by children on
Christmas morning
That could not
Compete with
The Next Greatest Thing.

Back on Earth
I'm a speck
On a sad rock
In a terminal sea
Under the
Never ending
White expanse
Of The Greenhouse -
Sweating,
In February.

I’m not big enough
I’m not strong enough
It isn’t wide enough
It isn’t long enough.
I’ve hear them all
You are not the first.
Not the best and certainly
You are not the worst.

Princess Tiny Meat
That surely is me.
As uninteresting
As a guy can be.
No fun in bed, but
How would they know?
They take one look
And away they go.

I’m not rich enough
Car’s not worth enough.
I live in the wrong place
No work done on my face.
Don’t know the right folks.
Don’t know the right jokes.
Don’t know the right dances.
Not worth taking chances.

Princess Tiny Meat
That surely is me.
As uninteresting
As a guy can be.
No fun in bed, but
How would they know?
They take one look
And away they go.

Not butch enough, yet
Who cares about that?
What matters in their soul
Is a big one for their hole.
It must be a big opening
That keeps them hoping
For an arm-sized toy
For such a fixated boy.

Princess Tiny Meat
That surely is me.
As uninteresting
As a guy can be.
No fun in bed, but
How would they know?
They take one look
And away they go.

There must be no talking;
Nothing but constant poking
Will satisfy the size-****.
Nothing matters but their ****.
No exchange of ideas or
Hobbies they can explore.
There is only getting laid.
And the conquests they made.

Princess Tiny Meat
That surely is me.
As uninteresting
As a guy can be.
No fun in bed, but
How would they know?
They take one look
And away they go.

It doesn’t take long to see
Where the gems can be
Among a sea of phonies
And disco show-ponies.
So, I tell them right away
There’s no bologna here today.
It runs off the size-queens
And leaves human beings.

Princess Tiny Meat
That surely is me.
As uninteresting
As a guy can be.
No fun in bed, but
How would they know?
They take one look
And away they go.

ponces! nancies! veritable egrets of men!
people pleasing anti-charismatic animals
philistines, every one of them,
everyone else

a curse upon their forebears and a curse upon their goings-on
terrible business, that
the world should be filled with boundary pushing eccentrics, that is progress!
a plague upon normalcy, a plague upon stagnancy
uninteresting, dying off, done
ugh!

greatness can not be expected of all but at least an attempt should be made
how else will we overcome, will we build our utopia?
what use is MY struggle when others are defeated in making a move past the remote
television is for swine
rots your brain and morals
I've swell morals, just look at them
my morals reach to the moon
my morals are so swell I should run the country
my morals aren't two millenia old scriptures written by the seers of goat-tenders
my morals are modern, they are sleek and well dictated, they represent the future
my morals defy the past, my morals create new paradigms
why, you could say my morals defy all of traditionalism
and a curse upon tradition!

who ever learned from the past
history is rife with naught but sufferance
forwards is the only direction
forwards is revealed only to me
my ideals aglow with the lumine of the future
they are entrenched in idealism
me and mine, we are ideal

Not long after the beginning, and a bit before the end, the Almighty said to Noah: “Is that your real name?” “Yeah”, said Noah: “you gave it to me, your ever generousness. I was hoping for something a bit more romantic, maybe even an extra syllable or two, or become all psychedelic and have a hyphen and a double barrel, but Noah is functional. I’m not complaining, a lot. After all what’s in a name? Wouldn’t a cactus be just as uninteresting if it was called something else? Why am I and my not very exciting name so humbly in your almighty and quite tedious presence?” asked Noah. “I’ve had a great idea”, said God: “and I want you with the very boring name to be the first to hear it.” “Can’t wait to hear it your Denseness, even if it is only half as brilliant as the square wheeled chariot and deep-fried ice cube you nearly invented for us last week; and as for the three-armed jacket, well what can I say? Jacob wears his every day and I won’t tell you what he does with it at night, as it involves folk music. And didn’t the Paisley patterned boulder illuminate the landscape?” said Noah “Oh good”, said God: “I do so enjoy it when the minions are attentive to my every word and trembling syllable, What’s the point of being an Almighty if you can’t Almighty it over the lower orders from time to time?” “I couldn’t agree more, your Bampotness. Even if you do appear to be a few slices short of a full loaf on occasions. So, what’s this big idea you’ve had?” said Noah. “I want you to build a boat, the biggest and bestest boat there’s ever been” said God. “Why”, said Noah, “we live in a desert, we don’t do boats; never have done, don’t get a lot of call for them in these parts, your Obliqueness. Ordinarily you’re every utterance is a symphony of sound and beauty to the sticky out bits on the abstract countenance you have so generously created for me, O Guano features. Couldn’t you do another plague of frogs and locusts? We loved those. Your subjects haven’t eaten so well since. Very tasty they were indeed, and so much more nourishing than the daily fare of cactus bark and centipede you dish up to us as we go about our increasingly diminishing mortal trespass. I hope you weren’t baffled by the paradoxical construction of that sentence. One Almighty’s punishment is another lowly minion’s business opportunity. I was running a fast food joint while it lasted. Made a change from the normal feast, where you have to catch your dinner before it catches you. Eat before your eaten that’s the Law ‘round here. It makes you feel more like a recipe than a person on occasions, your Compostness.” “Be that as it may, said God: “I’ve got some drawings which Eve helped me to make” “Eve?”  said Noah: “did you say Eve?” “Yes” said God: “Eve”, that’s what I said, she likes me more than all the rest of you put together and that’s why she’s my favourite” “This will be good” said Noah: “let’s be having it. Let’s see the cosmic blueprint of a less than useless boat that Eve devised” “I helped to devise it as well”, said God: “In fact I done all the pencil sharpening, and here it is.” Noah sniggered and said: “That’s not a boat it’s a camel!” “Brilliant, isn’t it?”, said God: “you’ve got to hand it to Eve; she’s a genius at this kind of stuff, and she says it will make me look jolly clever as well. And that will stop all you ungrateful and wretched minions from smirking and sniggering every time I have a wonderful idea.” “This is even better than the ten commandments, three dos six don’ts and a maybe” said Noah. “My Ten commandments were wonderful” said God: “even Moses said so.” “The only reason you have ten commandments”, said Noah: “is because you have ten fingers. If you had seventeen fingers we would have seventeen commandments; one for each digit. People who use their toes to count their fingers should avoid life’s mathematical complexities. And as for Moses ‘The Born Leader’ he’s a party hack. He’ll agree with anything you say as long as he gets his name on the tablet. He’s publicity mad. When he grows up he wants to chisel the definitive text on cactus attraction, for the benefit of future desert wanderers. Eve says he a bit of a Freudian fruitcake on the quiet, whatever that is. She also says, his mother told him he was adopted, and he’s never quite got over it.” “Why would Moses want to get over a cactus, seems jolly silly to me” said God: “He’s a complete basket case, according to the local grapevine. Never mind all that, let’s see the blueprint.” said Noah: “A wooden camel, only a cosmic idiot could imagine it. If it was a wooden horse it could have been sold to the Trojans, or a wooden cat to the Pharoahs, and I’m told the antipodeans go a bundle on timber budgies, but camels; nobody wants one, not even other camels. How did someone as colossally dense and as infinitely thick as your self acquire the surreallness of thought to imagine it in the first place?” said Noah. “You’re a bright little chappie for a minion”, said God: “Eve told me about the Greeks and their wooden gee-gee and I suggested a boat, then Eve pointed out that this was a desert, and consequently we need a desert boat. ‘One that floats on sand’, I said. ‘Not quite El Plonkero’ she said. Then Eve said we have to adopt and then apply some lateral thinking to the problem. She pointed out that we live in a desert and that we need a boat that sails in the desert. And then I had the mostest cleverest thought I’ve had in ages. We need a ‘desert boat’ I exclaimed. And Eve said I was a true plankton eater. She says the nicest things to me. A ‘ship of the desert,’ she says, ‘and what’s a ship of the desert?’  Quick as a flasher in the rush hour, I said ‘a camel’, and Eve replied that I was quite bright for a log, and that camel plus ship equalled wooden camel to sail away from here to some other paradise she called Hollywood, ‘Land of heavenly bodies and the drop dead gorgeous Brad Pitt.’” “And you believed her?” said Noah. “Of course I believed her”, said God: “she’s Eve and if you can’t believe in Eve what else is there to believe in?” “There’s an answer to that”, said Noah: “but you’d toast me like a heretic on the happy juice if I repeated it, your Doorknobness.”

I am a walking contradiction.
I am six feet, five inches tall
But I feel microscopic.
I am a proud Englishman,
Disgusted by his history and absent
Of allegiances to any land, any country.
I am a nomad, but there is so much I haven't seen.
I am filled with wanderlust,
But also crave routine, and hate change.
I am a passionate writer,
But it pains me to write.
I am so very concerned by the world,
Its people and emotions,
Yet I distance myself, want no part in it,
Thrive off any psychopathic habits I develop -
I enjoy the disdain I have for most people.
I am well-educated, above-average intelligence,
But I know nothing... and always will.
I am surrounded by people that I love and care about,
But I feel so often, so desperately alone.
I crave my own space, my solitude,
The freedom of my own head and my mind's
Undivided attention, but it haunts me,
And I miss the feeling of warmth beside me in my bed.
It taunts me. It makes me want to die.
I am a walking contradiction because I desperately
Want to live, if only to achieve something worth
Being remembered for, worth dying for.
There's no poetic justice, beauty in death of
An ordinary man with uninteresting achievements.
That is wasted oxygen to me, and wasted talent
(if you can even call it that for)
I crave success, but fear I am talentless.
I am a walking contradiction.
Sometimes I think I am delusional,
But, then again, I am one of the most logical people
I know. I'm boring. But I want to excite, to entertain.
I am not funny, but I want to make people laugh.
I want to live forever and die tomorrow.
I am a walking contradiction.
Nobody mourns the poor - of pocket or of soul.
I fear that I am both.
I fear that I am a walking contradiction.
Completely devoid of purpose, of meaning
But so hopelessly in love with the beauty of it all.

Excuse me for my hurt,
I know you mean well,
And you want to inspire,
And uplift me,
But language is a fickle art.
One that can make the difference,
Composing tone and the words themselves.
And there is no greater insecurity
Than the one called Me.

Since the very beginning,
I have been openly listening,
Engaging in thoughtful discussion -
The subject of You, the percussion.
I immediately spotted possible repercussions.
I wanted, and I still do,
To know your essence,
But healthy exchanges
Involve equality,
And I don't want to be left hanging,
Feeling like I'm lesser.

I crave knowing the rest of your essence,
But have you no interest
In knowing the same?
Are our minds connected
Of the same fibers
Or are we what we weave,
Being different in how we perceive,
A lifetime of individual strings?

The only Person I should keep in my life,
Making me feel inferior and uninteresting,
Is Me -
And I shall escape that fate,
With unconditional love, and positivity.

I am deeply interested,
In knowing MySelf, loving MySelf,
And to You, who has shown limited interest
In simply knowing me,
You, I choose as a direction of my Purity,
You, unaltered and true,
You, and Me, Alone -

It all, once again,
Always begins with You.

Contemptuous of his home beyond
The village and the village pond,
A large-souled Frog who spurned each byeway,
Hopped along the imperial highway.

Nor grunting pig nor barking dog
Could disconcert so great a frog.
The morning dew was lingering yet
His sides to cool, his tongue to wet;
The night dew when the night should come
A travelled frog would send him home.

Not so, alas! the wayside grass
Sees him no more:--not so, alas!

A broadwheeled waggon unawares
Ran him down, his joys, his cares.
From dying choke one feeble croak
The Frog's perpetual silence broke:
"Ye buoyant Frogs, ye great and small,
Even I am mortal after all.
My road to Fame turns out a wry way:
I perish on this hideous highway,-
Oh for my old familiar byeway!"

The choking Frog sobbed and was gone:
The waggoner strode whistling on.

Unconscious of the carnage done,
Whistling that waggoner strode on,
Whistling (it may have happened so)
"A Froggy would a-wooing go:"
A hypothetic frog trolled he
Obtuse to a reality.

O rich and poor, O great and small,
Such oversights beset us all:
The mangled frog abides incog,
The uninteresting actual frog;
The hypothetic frog alone
Is the one frog we dwell upon.

Dust motes and sweat stains
Faded graffiti over rusted steel plates
Advertising everything, from politicians to a massage parlor,
The engine roars disgruntled, in smoky rancor.

I stepped on your feet, said I was sorry
Tell me mister, could you tell I was lying?
Pushing through the rush-hour crowd
I finally found my footing and was proud.

Well, there’s something to be said for low expectations
A word of praise for cranky co-passengers.
Not that the polite ones aren’t fun,
When they smile and roll their eyes like they’re so done.

And it’s not that I’d ever expect sincerity,
At 10 on a rainy Tuesday morning
I’m not a nihilist, or even much of a cynic by default
But at 10am, I take nice with a bucket of salt.  

I put on my headphones, crank the volume up to max,
Sway to the shrill screeching of pirated tracks
I’m sorry, did you say something? I can’t really tell.
It’s not you’re uninteresting, it’s just that this song is swell.

And maybe I could’ve made more of an effort
Gotten to know your name, exchanged toffees and emotional support
Maybe you’d have told me your story, if my ears were free
Maybe we could’ve found something worth a keep.

But you see, mister, it’s not you it’s me
At 10 on a Tuesday morning, I’m not the best company.
I hope, tomorrow, you’ll find a co-passenger worth your time,
As for me, facelessness suits me just fine.

I don't know why
I keep telling myself
"You and I.", "Us.", "We."
like butterfly wings
are paired, intertwining.
I need to face reality.
Your constantly showing me
That I am uninteresting,
Romantically.

It was the whole universe on the surface area of the white wires that took me home. I like the oldies. Sometimes I’m just too tired to learn a new song. The old songs are just as good, just as beautiful, perhaps more.  And it’s not that I’m mad at you, I’d just rather hear Elton’s voice than yours. I know that your story is important, but I’ve heard it before. Yeah, I’ve heard his too, but his is more interesting, and I like it better. So please to don’t call me self- centered, like the uninteresting, dependent generation that I was born into.  So I don’t  think I’ll take out my headphones right now. I like hearing the music.

[02/03 2:37 pm] Blue: I hate him. I keep staring at him from afar and then when I can't see him, I'll stalk his pics. Drinking in his features, scrutinizing everything, comparing to what it looks like. Always, always in my thoughts. When I'm awake, when I'm asleep. Always. I need to stop this. I haven't had a crush this bad in so long
[02/03 2:38 pm] Blue: When he's next to me I'd sneak some glances and have it etched in my memory. Like last week I noticed his long nails and how it tat-tat-tatted on the table as he waited for the page on the laptop to load
[02/03 2:40 pm] Blue: When he walks I see how he moves his arms a little. It's like he needs to keep moving and I find it fascinating cause I've always been reserved and try not to attract people's attention while he basks in them. Seems like he wants to fill in the empty spaces around him. That is something I wouldn't do intentionally
[02/03 2:42 pm] Blue: If he were a dancer I'd understand why he's so laid back, so confident with his swagger and he's used to moving a lot. It's really mesmerizing and it pains me that I couldn't get close to him. I wish I could see more of him and study his quirks
[02/03 2:44 pm] Blue: Do you see where this is going? I, a curious watcher, am filled with restless waves crashing when it comes to him but he is just the calm waters after the storm
[02/03 2:44 pm] Blue: So you can't really ship it cause it isn't good for me
[02/03 4:48 pm] Aphrodite: I, for one, do not know him enough, still. Physically, yes, he's lovely to look at. Absolute eye candy. Like how some people are to me. They're fun to poke around with and maybe flirt a little, but a serious relationship is hard with them, at least, that's what I think.
[02/03 4:49 pm] Aphrodite: I still don't know him enough to know if he's good for you and, trust me, I would want nothing but the best for you.
[02/03 4:49 pm] Aphrodite: How intriguing he is to you doesn't really faze me. I think it's adorable, and it's a fun thing to watch people gush about.
[02/03 4:51 pm] Aphrodite: He's a typical bad boy but I've seen his loyalty to his friends and his unwavering need to be with his friends. Maybe he's not too bad.
[02/03 4:51 pm] Aphrodite: You are an absolute queen and anyone you date should be on par, if not better.
[02/03 4:51 pm] Aphrodite: Bad boys are fun too.
[02/03 4:55 pm] Blue: Thank you :(
[02/03 4:55 pm] Blue: Aha I wish he'd find it (and me) adorable too
[02/03 4:56 pm] Blue: When will I ever find that person
[02/03 4:56 pm] Blue: But I'm not a bad girl? Idk
[02/03 4:57 pm] Aphrodite: Sometimes never, because you're an angel and everyone here are devils and they're never gonna be good enough for tou
[02/03 4:57 pm] Aphrodite: Bad boys don't need bad girls
[02/03 5:01 pm] Blue: Guess I'm ****** to be alone, unloved, forever
[02/03 5:02 pm] Blue: Idk but I'm probably uninteresting to him
[02/03 5:02 pm] Aphrodite: I highly doubt it won't happen, especially with the way you are and how your words pull people in and your voice breaks hearts
[02/03 5:03 pm] Aphrodite: He's nonchalant about the world
[02/03 5:04 pm] Blue: And I break a little on the inside for wanting to be a part of his world

In my attempt to be clever and witty I have written you a poem.
For you to read and pick apart.
It will start with a catchy title that will then bring you to the opening sentence.
In my attempt to be clever and witty I have written you a poem.
If this poem catches your eye,
you will read Michelle Rose
to figure out worthiness of a follow or a like.
If this is uninteresting you won’t even bother to finish reading.
It will end with a clever remark that could be considered sarcasm,
just as the rest of the poem could have been.
You will then wonder to yourself, why did I just read that,
and what the hell is that second to last stanza supposed to mean?
Or maybe you won’t do any of this because you’re a normal person.
Did I just call you abnormal?

Sometimes I like to read in the dark too…

a clever remark that could be considered sarcasm,
Just as the rest of the poem could have been.

Hanging at the end of
Strained rope
Swing my lost ambitions
And desires

My sanity swaying in the
Cruel winds of
Loveless night

Just a square peg
Confronted with
A round hole

Dropped anchor on
The shores of insanity

It seems so beautiful here.

I must create my own world
As my place in this one
Does not seem fitting

Genius is wasted
Upon the buffoonery
Of mass ignorance

Intelligence shunned

Brilliance and uniqueness
Frowned upon and cast aside
For the normality of uninteresting
****** zombies

The painfully intelligent
Forced into subversion
Hiding their gifts
For fear of being outcast

Men who cling to the faults
Of their fathers
And stories of stir crazy, house wives

Cabin fever was invented
To thin our stock

We all toy with the desire
Forcing blind eyes
Into the faces of
The gifted

Substance abuse is often a malady
Of the painfully intelligent and artistic

Drowning my will to be weird
My own underhandedness
Innately forcing my inner self
Beneath a cloak of politeness

This world
This living theater
Where we all assume
Our own role
Where our actions are
Transcribed
And cast upon us
Like stones on the river

I have grown tired
Of acting the fool
Prepare myself
For a new role
A starring role

Have you ever felt
The wonderment of déjà vécu?
And the sorrow of knowing
You belong to another time?

I need the exhilaration of a time
When life was simpler,
Yet more confusing

Was Judas the only one Christ trusted
To deliver him to his fate?

Is the human race too cowardly
To be welcomed in the arms of a deity?
Are we too ignorant to recognize
That is has already occurred?

Are we the last remnants
Of an experiment gone wrong?
The plague of the human race.
Devouring consciousness

Eliminating uniqueness
Evolving into our own demise
One too many mutations gone wrong

Retching in the soiled undergarments
Of our father's sins
Reveling in the untold lies
Of mother's milk

I have soured on this world long ago
Bounding for higher consciousness
Looking for the unseen
Searching for the undiscovered

Drug sideways
Through the sludge
Of society
Screaming wildly
Through the entirety

The gene pool would benefit
From a healthy dose of chlorine

I tried to make pasta salad for dinner
but my "healthy" pasta was spoiled.
The only little critters known to man that are able to microscopically sneak in to prepackaged wheat have won again.
So I settled.

I figured I'd make up for my starchy negativity by using "veganaise",
but,
of course,
it tumbled out of the fridge that day in my absence
And shattered.
....So I settled.

Cleaning the kitchen behind my
half-satisfying
yet
I- ate-too-much-of it anyway
meal shattered my glass across the tile,
Persistent tiny shards
just jutting from the grout
like my bruised confidence after trying to clean my soul
of the filth that holds me hostage.

As of today I've gone without car insurance for a month
I've been absent from school
because my attendance is hard-wired to my lack of a
functioning.....wallet.

I got caught in the rain this evening
wondering how long I've got before defeat
catches me by more than a single strand hair,
drowning me in a thunderstorm of
uncontrollable emotion,
pattering and piercing  my consciousness so hard
that when I finally got indoors,
I approached my filth with open arms of surrender--
soaked,
sitting,
And settled.

March 3, 2004**

It was a cool night. We sat bundled up sweat pants and hoodies. She lived in a trailer (a mobile home for those who dislike such terminology) on the outskirts of town, on a farm to market road that many blunts had been smoked on. One of our favorite activities was piling into my four door compact car and rolling up delicious strawberry Phillies or Swishers filled with half brown, half green **** of the earth bud. But that’s a different story…
Her parents and sisters were gone for the evening. The porch swing was situated in the backyard just outside the sliding door, beside the riding lawn mower, ratty trampoline which had been bounced on one million and one times (she even broke her tailbone on that stupid recreation device), and the newly constructed chicken coop. The swing creaked every time we swung, but we didn’t mind. I’m sure a small spritz of WD-40 would have cleared it right up but our teenage minds were incapable of such logical decision making.
It was not the first time we had partaken in such events and it certainly would not be the last. The canister was plastic, red, and a familiar sight for most. Anyone who uses a combustible engine fueled by such a horrific liquid knows what I speak of. However, when you’re sixteen and too broke to buy *** and too young to purchase alcohol and cigarettes, sometimes your options are limited. But we must have a vice. It’s a requirement for all humans, regardless of what some might say. Being the reckless young woman I was at the time, I had many of them, and honestly, I still do today. On this particular evening, the heavenly aroma of gasoline was both our friend and our savior. We would inhale and then pass the canister to one another, over and over again. Between the intense sessions of déjà vu and cat naps, our night was a blur. Incessant giggling and talks of silly adolescent affairs was all that occurred. The feeling of being somewhere you’ve been before a thousand times in a row is overwhelming and really makes one question the concept of time and experience. How can I be somewhere now and have been in the exact same position before? How can I experience something that has potentially never occurred because of the inhalation of a substance? It is quite boggling really. After exploring the realm of drugs extensively, it is quite odd to look back at a night in question like this and wonder how a substance can do what it did.
My best friend and I sat there for hours on end, inhaling and chatting. We would occasionally salvage a blunt roach to smoke on or steal a cigarette from her older sister or father. They were never my choice in brands but it’s difficult to be picky when you’re a thief. Up until this point in time, I had always enjoyed the aroma emitted from gasoline. However, this night would mark a change in perception.
The majority of what occurred is not only uninteresting but extremely hard to remember. Gasoline has a way of doing that… expelling memories from your brain in a whirlwind of déjà vu and uncontrollable nap taking. But, at some point in time we decided to take our little private party inside; perhaps because of the weather but more likely because of a lack of clear reasoning.
All I can vividly remember is that we both woke up to her father beating on the window of her bedroom to let him inside the house. We were both so startled by this event occurring that she knocked over the canister filled with the petroleum based product. Quickly scrambling to resolve the issue, we hid the gas can in her closet. We then looked at each other in pure disbelief over the situation. Not only was it scary but it was also quite amusing. The situations we would put ourselves in were always quite delightful, even when they were horrific beyond belief. We tried to muster up a plan of action but it was no use.
She then ran to unlock the door to let her dad in. The first thing he asked upon entrance into the house was, “Why does it smell like gasoline in here?” Obviously we did not have an adequate answer for him other than, “We don’t know, we were wondering the same thing,” The best part is that he never even questioned us. Why would he? We were just sweet teenage girls with smiles plastered across our faces because we had been huffing gasoline all ******* night.
On a night not too far in the future, we would partake in the same type of inhalation but because there was not a canister at my house, we would huff it straight from my grandma’s van. Our neighbor saw us doing it and called the police. For the rest of my grandmother’s life (six short months) she passionately believed that people in our neighborhood were trying to siphon gas from her Chevy Astro. She made me go to an auto parts store to purchase a gas tank lock to deter such activities. That marked the end of our gas huffing days.

As I never cared for shiny objects.
until I felt I lost mine,
Illumination,
What feels like in a sudden,
There are so many from them,
Those people,
covered in gold and diamonds,
shining away from their high pedestals,
Stunning, ... captivating,...
I sat there in silence,
admiring from afar,
and once in a while when they come down from their higher ground,
I follow them around, --
I follow them around, ...
My existence is a wish of theirs,
wispy and feeble,...
...
There is a beggar on the ground,
begging for a second chance,
trampled and forgotten,
I don't know her,
I don't know her story,
As much as I know these sparkles,
they can't be the same kind...
Boring and uninteresting,...
So I scold at her,
ignored her,
as mine and me alone gasp for my care,...
Too easy...
Because it was too easy...

0.  I was just trying to breathe

Every inch of my story line
I drank like coffee that you need so badly
You don't notice the taste of ash
it leaves in your throat
and when I breathed out smoke,
slowly gliding from my tongue,
you'll know, the words I can't choke
the ones I hung to dry,
but left them outside
through a crisp winter season
and returned just in time
to catch the lullaby as it dissolved into water.
I couldn't wait any longer.
I broke them into icy pieces
that fit back in my mouth.
I held them there long after I breathed
the blizzard that had formed in my stomach.
I couldn't swallow, I couldn't breathe
and I couldn't wait for you to leave.

So I locked my icy breath in my hands
and looked for silent corners between buildings
so I could begin to understand
how to squeezed out the blood from the words I've been spilling

I. White Moonlight

I went up the mountain side
listening to the canyon's song.
Dancing beneath the tree lines, I soaked
in the pines and cypresses.

I ran to the west, searching for a place to rest.
Fell asleep in the foothills
and had to run home to catch the light
Running in the dark, I would not beat the night.

[I was a villager traveling through
There came the White Knight with red hair in view
offered a space, a safe place for the night]

The white knight held out his hand to an aching soul.
Accepted.
Trusting the purity in a path lit by moonlight
Unknowingly, I would never trust white again.

II. Static (original)

Deceived and seduced by the safety and warmth of white,
There was a subtle yellow tint in your light
that began to scream from its origin and fight against the walls
A cinderblock room colored in skin absorbed my calls

There was air trapped in my bones
that halted movement and created unfamiliar vocal tones
There were no cuts or bloodstains,
but all that was white drained to red
as he wrapped my limbs in reins
(to) make them dance, make them spread
Dance for the White Knight
make them move as you please, White Knight.

This body was a delicate ship that had been sunken
from a night spent in a dungeon
with a monster disguised as a man
whose touch would shave inches from my wingspan
Now these limbs do not belong,
the pressure outlines of your unwelcomed hands
Whimpers became the lyrics to my muted, morning song

I didn't know, how minutes can become tattooed in your veins
with each breath, a gentle push of blood through your body
you begin to taste the ***** again
the red clouds invade and bring me back to the monster's den

Now he holds these layers as the corners all peel
from a defeat long ago, a kidnapping, a delicious steal
The potency of your dominance
the power you must have felt
in watching a flower melt

III. Silence

The moon is now a cold light,
but nothing is wrong.
A response clean as white-
A secret
to be naked and unprotected for so long.

My youth cools the coffee
My stomach burns the atmosphere
encapsulating me
Teeth marks stains on my pillowcases
In the day, there is outward harmony
Like carefully crisscrossed shoelaces
Night falls with the sound of silent sobs.
My walls begin to melt.
They are turning yellow
Reliving how it felt
to be betrayed by something white.
I can't live through the day with anticipation of the night
when that white light floods in
I try to tear you out from beneath my skin

IV. Don't Try to Love Me

The luxury to be still.
Motions that were quiet
Set the music to your gaze
as you reopen the tears
When will you open the steel curtains,
you drape around your heart?
I run my fingertips and I can’t find
how you’ve cloaked the mistakes in your architecture
There is nothing poetic about solitude
Let me pinpoint the coordinates of your pain
Let me find the exact longitude
Let me be your constant latitude
I know you are alive

You live in some unknown torment,
I once saw you writhe in the night
and under the moonlight

He didn’t know
How I was preoccupied
I had to settle the background noise
the constant buzz between my ears
that fills my head so I could never hear
How much he could have loved me.

V. Patience

How sweet to be loved by you
You are warm weather in February
You are the reflection of a mountain in a reservoir
mais mon humeur est noire

We were in a large room lit
by one lamp in the far corner
when words poured from my jaw of glass,
I guess I could have asked
but it seems no one knows
the cadence and way words can flow
into our hearts and puncture the soul

How sweet it was, to think I could be loved by you
You are figurine of my fears
A January wedding in three years
A shadow mapping an escape plan
Yet I lace my fingers in your hand

You don't belong with me
but when the delicate words
trembled from your lips
and your voice stopped
with my stare
Both your hands in my hair
I wish I knew how to tell you,
but I couldn't remember why
you had to be someone to just pass the time.

VI. Deliberate Return

It should have felt like
a lifted weight
so I could move through
an unlocked gate

brush your teeth on my neck
and your cheeks across my chest
I thought last time was the last time
Tiny drops became the anthem
And the tears found a quiet path
To roll onto my belly
Between you and me

I could still taste the poetry you left in my mouth
the deception and interception
of my growth
and of my youth

My clothes hung off my back
darkness from all the sleep I lack
Trying to wash out the scent of you
after 6 years, I thought I'd be through
but you've kept me here and I've let you

I am a lost warrior in the meadow
Treading water every night
Trapped in an internal fight
You held me in the shadows
Grabbing at the wildflowers in my breath
But I just kept breathing in the echoes
Of a time I must let go

The mist of my trouble followed me in March
I’d sit with tea and say things like ‘I feel better, but maybe not tomorrow’
There was no promise
Just moderate disbelief
No security in my sleep
So when I shook your outline out of my sheets
Laid in bed where I once lost my youth
I wish that this was not my truth

VII. Shuddering While Healing

There is a section of the river where
the current sends it’s shivers
The wind dances with the tree branches in slow motion
(but) I was grown with my toes on the edge of the ocean
Leaning in with your hand and handsome love songs
about relentlessness and forgiveness
You sang a gold song
like a January river
flowing beneath the ice
You thought your love could break through
that shallow ceiling, but I couldn't hear the tapping
as you drowned beneath my feet
I was submerged in the cross currents
pulling me and hugging me caught in the center
how I heated up and bent you
then left to wade in the river
how you stayed next to me
and remained never bitter

I can't find the line
and I can't ask you to throw me one
because I'm dragging you in as I float through
tracing the fire I began on this river
with my fingertips
and remembering how I was grown on the shore
but how I can never be sure
if the breath in my ear
is someone to be trusted
or if the breath in my ear
is that monster crawling near
taking the color, once again, from my atmosphere.

VIII. Fragile

The sweet kisses he planted on my shoulders
and the moves he made were full of truth
The guilt he felt should have been mine
but the longer he stayed the more I felt fine

For the other’s love was simply beige
And outlined in black
I didn’t want excitement
I didn’t want lust
It was not enticement or boredom
It was from the buildup of rust
between my bones.
And I listened to your breath against my shoulder through the phone.
It hit me like an ensemble
predicating the concerto.
You were just an instrument.
And here I thought I was the conductor
just dreaming of ways to escape.
And I don’t sleep well when I’m next to him either.
Because I’m dreaming of ways to relate.
And I don’t sleep well when I’m alone.
Because there’s no one left to blame.
So now trying to be tame
Searching for an answer
in a small place like alone

IX. Releasing

What it means to be powerful
I saw it in shades of red
To find your feet still melt the snow
To find the only security is within
the confounds of your frozen bones
I was sure that diving meant drowning
but I've been drowning on the shore
Since you touched me and wanted more
Since you saw me raw
I evolved into a monster
scratching and clawing at your dungeon's door
You can't keep me here forever

You displaced my trust in balance
and turned something beautiful into something *******
But if I can see your belly button,
then you were born once too.

What does it mean to be powerful?
I can do it in soft baby blue
I can do it with the haunting memory of you,
but I don't want you with me anymore
So, good night white knight.
You don’t get to have this moonlight
and soon I will no longer be afraid of the color white.

X. Tenderness

Tenderness.
That was the name of my pain.
It was not the bitterness
that makes us take down photographs
or change the song.
It was not about bitterness.
It’s about tenderness
and distance

I learned that the silent pauses
between gusts of wind causes
more sound than running facets.

I learned when you’re ******* for feelings
You start to feel the weight of the ceilings
We just hold on our backs and call it 'dealing.'

Trying to achieve the humility of a willow tree
Turning yellow in the slow descent to winter
But I’m not going to wait to give you what you need
White knight, tonight, I leave
Because I know you’ve been living in me like a splinter
Strong enough to puncture
Weak enough to be removed
This glass castle is just a structure
That could be improved

But you already made a house
And now you’re trying to pick out decorations
Let me tell you, humans are not decorations
Another human should be a matched foundation
I think you almost saw that too
When you felt the vibration of the wind from me to you

Terrified because it’s never about growing
it’s about pride.
Too scared of showing
the days we cried
cried so hard it became
the anthem of our week.
No, we can never show we are weak

Terrified
The fragility of our pride
So we disconnect, in order to protect.

Let me tell you, no one describes this life as a glide
If they do, they lied
Everyone is terrified or uninteresting
Yet we are all putting up walls and distancing

Farther and farther
What would it feel like if I asked you about the sound of tenderness?
Or what it looks like to be repaired?
We are so afraid of being unprepared
we don’t hear how the wind
sounds like children growing
How healing feels like the roll of the river
and just because you shiver
does not mean you will be cold forever
and those silent pauses between gusts of terror
when we are just a step away from pulling that lever
are the moments we should reflect on
These are all those things that cause us
to be terrified
and learn to be tender

XI. Happiness Doesn’t Leave a Mark

How do I tell you
that every day used to be a battle?
One that I fought because I had to
so I could get up and fight the next day.
It was never about winning.

This is a Saturday night kind of pain.
The kind you feel that doesn't belong to you.
But at least you are no longer numb.

I want to show you where I'm from.
That childhood house that saw too many ways
to shatter plates on holidays
When I left, I grew back wings
and flew through the haze
You see, plates and whites are just things
but you can make anything a symbol
and when you see that this is no signal,
this is a sign. That I can be standing here with you
and still die
but this time, maybe I’ll let you inside
because
I've been too many people to start anew
I've loved the color blue
Loved a man with an amber hue
I was damaged in a yellow room
but I cannot match a color to you

My mother,
She said "the weakest point in a rope
is where it connects to another
and your insides are tangled"
You see, I can live with the knots
I want to look at you and know
You can trust this knot to hold
You know I'll pull through
You're not so scared
of a scar, or a few
Because I want to share where I've been with you
*and that includes the happiness too.

I am notebooks stained with coffee and blots of black and blue ink and
I am pages ripped and torn out of frustration

I am friday nights spent watching old movies and sipping hot cocoa from some old mug that caught your eye

I am black eyeliner and ocean waves and
soft grey v-necks and stockings

I am the songs you play
when you want to hear the
melody and not recognize the tune

I am fairy lights at midnight
when the clouds obscure the sight of the stars
I am those stars
and sometimes, I am the clouds

I am dark red nail polish to match dark circles under eyes:
I am mysterious in uninteresting ways

I am dented silver crowns and rubies

I am sweater paws and fatal flaws

I am beautiful chaos:
chipped paint and pulled threads
one tug away from unraveling

broken hearts and waterfalls
rose petals
2 a.m. phone calls

I am the love you gave
and the love you took
and I am the love I found in myself
after you were gone

Seeing the beauty in everyday things,
The connection of society
Through the generally uninteresting
Is actually pretty interesting.

We are all much the same
In what we eat, drink, and do.
As we eat our McDonald’s
With a glass of Coke
And listen to our favorite tune.
We are all much the same

Seeing the beauty in everyday things
Because “a Coke is a Coke
and no amount of money
can get you a better Coke.”

The connection we have in society
Through the generally uninteresting
Is actually rather interesting
To Andy Warhol and I.

**February 13, 2012

wake up

desensitized, oversanitized

want
unsatisfied
want
unsatisfied
want
unsatisfied­
want
unsatisfied

Dab all over with aches, pains, and itches.

Struggle with gauche and forced interactions, coworkers and family. Friends?

No God.

                                                           ­   POSITIVE THOUGHTS
                                                        ­       POSITIVE THINKING

cloying, choking fear.

fear
Fear
FEAR
F E A R

Rub your face in the mirror.

Think deep thoughts that you believe are unique.
They are not. You are very uninteresting, probably.

want
unsatisfied
want
unsatisfied
want­
unsatisfied
want
unsatisfied*

drink until you sleep,
if not use the pills.

Use both.
Your room is warm.
You will have nightmares.

The night’s quiet hold,
The tree’s uninterrupted shadows,
The moist breeze breathing,
All these things,
Act as my cloister,
To hide me away from the superficial world
Surrounding me in daylight.

Here,
In the night,
I take off the facade,
Of a happy, content child of society.

Here,
In the night,
I am myself;
A silent, dark ****,
Sullen and reserved,
Laconic in conversation,
Uninteresting.

The night’s quiet hold,
The tree’s uninterrupted shadows,
The moist breeze breathing,
All these things,
Act as my cloister.

You keep folding yourself in. Like origami, you turn into various art sculptures. You change so you'll remain hidden and unseen but I'm an observer. I see how with every fold, I make a mental note of it.

How spectacular; you fold to hide but to me you're an art exhibition. The more you try to stay low-key, the more awestruck I get. So how, my dear, do you think you're uninteresting, unloved, unentertaining when your very being is a field I'm studying? You're art.

-m.b