Feelings are within you
In your deepest heart and soul
Feelings are felt and seen
By those who only feel for you

Feelings unheard troubles the mind
Feelings unread torches the softest heart
Feelings unvoiced torments your soul..
Feelings uninterpreted, unanswered...
Killing you.. killing you softly , suicidal love..

Feelings are words unspoken
Feelings are invisible touches
Feelings are unseen caresses..
Feelings are shared dreams unfulfilled
But feelings are continuous...
Reflections of heart, life, love and soul...

Hidden feelings ... pathetic souls
Blinded kisses... numb and cold..
Unveil... unveil...
Let the magical love be revealed....

In my dreams
there is a bird
and it sings
all night long
there is a fish
in a river
who's lost
it's memory
a worn work shirt
that smells strongly
of love
there is a man
and a woman
clocking out at dusk
there is someone
I can never remember
and in the Inn
of night
there's a dead man
a stranger
at the window.

A flock of penguins shivering
Sing to mothers and fathers
Voices quiver, the cold wind moans
A mournful symphony
"Inside we're on fire
You rise up
Inside of all
You sigh"
What is language to a penguin?
The sound they make
Singing and freezing
Breaks my heart
In every way I love
Having my heart broken
**
Signals coming through now
Rough winter all over the world
White
Powder coats everything
Toes numb, frost bitten
I don't care if I'm where
I need to be
Numbness is exquisite
When my heart is on fire
Those flames are all I want
To feel
This song is gasoline
Turn it up
***
Now I am encouraged to go to sleep
To find that nirvana spot
And ride it into dreams
Of penguins
Frostbite and fire
Where logic and reason are illusion
No one speaks the language
And dream time is generous
A lifetime spent in moments
Your eyeballs rolling 'round like
Magnets and marbles
Goodnight my son, Goodnight sweet daughter
Goodnight dear woman
Sleep well knowing
I don't pray to never wake up anymore

Originally coined in response to Phanerothyme  [manifest & spirit],
Psychedelic  [mind-revealing] is etymologically derived from
the Greek psychē and dēloun. Psychedelia is music, culture, or art
based on the experiences produced by psychedelic drugs.
(Cyberdelia is immersion in cyberspace as a psychedelic experience.)

Some peoples feel there is a spiritual dimension to these experiences
and as such have developed a suitable terminology to reflect this view:
Entheogen,  [generating the divine from within]
denotes "a generator of spiritual experience", from
Entheos  [god-within], meaning
full of the god, inspired, possessed.
A spiritual experience is defined by its significance
to the host/subject. Entheogenic has been posited as
an alternate descriptor of "the psychedelic experience"
(in lieu of hallucinogenic) though this is a subjective term.

The Psychedelion is the analytical dimension of the psyche,
The part of the mind through which information is analysed
and thereby assigned meaning which is therefore significant.
Psychedelos is the existential manifestation of said dimension,
It is expressed through the medium of a language.

Absurdus  [out-of-tune] is the nonsensical dimension of the psyche, a part of the mind comprised of uninterpreted data, proportionate to our own limitations rather than lacking in "actual meaning". If a noumenon cannot be processed in The Psychedelion then it is consigned to Absurdia wherein we accept the inability to understand/rationally analyse it at present, given the current context.

Entactus  [touch-within] is the physical dimension of the psyche, the part of the mind through which sensation is perceived and remembered. It is responsible for the conception of our body and it's senses.

An Aeon Dissociative negates Entactus to deduce Absudia.
A Seraphic Deliriant posits Choler to induce Absurdia.

the voltage got to me,
shocked me.

there's a blueprint
covered in molten chalk,
a morse code,
uninterpreted.

the white roses ripen

an unearthly simplicity-
concave and narrow
sweeping below the marrow.
like rotting danger.

the white roses ripen

pulsating thumps on my thigh
as my screams vibrate
off the ozone.

hear me holler.

the white roses ripen
the white roses ripen

the white roses ripen,


christen me.

An open mic, an invitation, a couple minutes of self expression: simple.
Each artist is to each other as two books are, unread, undiscovered, and uninterpreted: unique.
Not every man can claim his prize. There is no one wise
enough to say which is better than the other,
But rather
A few truths to offset the lies
Behind a person's conscience. They try.

Uninterpreted fears
Are a creaky door
Can’t be left half open
Or you're unable to pass through
Use the window

Blurred sights, clarity remains
Rebelliousness nonexistent, sometimes a ray
Associations a downfall, leading astray
Numbness soothing, until panic soars
Attendance to depart, ensuring departure.

Unsteady legs, balanced steps
A poured escape, drowning in regret
Unnoticed presence, disturbed by familiarity
Speech absorbed, uninterpreted
Purpose defeated, knowing the unknown.

Emotions fluctuate, care constant
Emptiness filled, with concentrated sips
Excessive consciousness, a poor act
Elaborations fluent, betrayed by a stench
Erroneous responses, beckoning distance.

Mental lapses, memories stored
Glass drained, a purchase to be made
Uncontrolled motions, perceived to be intentional
'Disappointment' echoing, volumes relentless
A pond of thoughts left, to a lonesome ponder.

Loss envelopes, relations sustained
Shards scatter, threatening flesh
Invisible tears, sodden spirits
A fated meeting, a choice afforded
An inebriated promise; a sober agreement.