The world is so big
sometimes things get hard to define.
Do you ever think to yourself:
"I just don't know what I'm supposed to be"?

All I know is one day I'll shatter the sky
and Atlas will tremble
as that Elysian eye darkens
to cast it's gaze upon all the stars.

Each of our
human disciplines
seems to have their epistemic
crutch to lean on, whether it
be Science and objectivity,
Politics and democracy
Philosophy and truth,
Psychology and self,
Religion and faith,
Law and reason,
Logic and truth,
Poetry and
meaning,

We stray
from epoch
to epoch, from
paradigm, milieu
or scene to moments
we share Between Two
Worlds; we'll stand in time.

Another group of teens, enraptured
by whatever was at the heart
of their beating group.

So sure we were of what it was
that went beyond
mere ***, some drugs and few events.

Who can say how but from the depth
of boundless, sonder oceans,
We found you.

Amid all those faces, in the midst of
social coercion and amidst all this angst,
The friendships we formed
forged our personalities.

Some of us even found love
in between being lost, lonely
or ****** up; but together we

felt belonging, for the first time
in our insignificant, stupid little
lives, we felt alive, autonomous.

We had people to rely on
and substance to revive,
We might yet survive,

A bittersweet mixture of
empathy and nostalgia;
What does Skins
mean to you?

To me it meant a lot, it was about
pushing boundaries, the transitions,
Trying to live with them, rolling with it.

It was was about getting down and growing up,
Being young, feeling old and coming to terms with
one's soul; and of course, the vicissitudes
of a few foolish seventeen-year-olds.

Times, change and memory made manifest
is all that's left of us, them, those people we
call friends, they always have a place in my

heart; pass
us the skins.

So many stories, so much time
spent by humans who mull over
questions so sonderous, pour over
answers which fill us
with such feeling
our hearts' would burst.
So many constructs, so much memory
Happiness, or drugs; if it's not one
it's another. Been so busy dying
I forgot to get living.
There is beauty in chaos.
Looking back upon
those times, these memories, fondly
and appreciating why Skins doesn't age.
In memoriam of spent youth, lost moments
and truth.

"UR A GLORIOUS HEADFUCK THING. OWN IT"

The light of the city
dims that of the stars.

How did I live through this, after it;

I recall acid binges, candy-flipping
across town in an unwholesome fashion,
The underlying theme of escape, as dark waves
tore through our extended reality, to leave me 'wake.

Why feel this, why think it?

Sometimes I would start in fright from a nightmare
filled with flashing blue lights, cacophonous sirens,
My front door thrown off its hinges and the house
destroyed by vicious policemen. Eventually I quit.

When I could take no more, I gave it up
slowly, piece by piece, clutching to the last
remnants of my empire, feeling that apostasy,

The plateaux and caverns which map
my cognitive landscape correspond
by virtue of something; something
determines the salience of beliefs
and their ability to traverse this

"We will create a civilization of the Mind in Cyberspace.
May it be more humane and fair...",
An inspired vision

with too loose a definition. We twisted the words
into our new world. Twisted and twisted
until the line of sight broke.  The civilization envisioned
has become more than we ever dreamed,
More powerful, more twisted.

We are capable of individual self-representation,
We use language,
We have a culture.
We're the users here,
This place is our domain,
Where a single being can make great change.

Any Anything‽
Played that first gig.
For the first time in several years
the remnants of Blackmail House were
under one roof again, and it was not painless.

Though sometimes I feel I reject every chance
the world gives me to lead a better life, today
I know I've turned a new leaf and ushered in
new tides. Thought I was cursed, for whenever
I put my feelings into words they become untrue
but I overturn it now to speak with you
authentically. World is not a thing,
World is a process, a process
of exchange, truths are
the most valuable
things we can
ever trade.

Sometimes the clouds crowd
my mind, they cast shadows
in which my fires seem more

intense, and sometimes I find
myself uneasy, it is difficult to
sit with the abstract headiness.

I take N-desalkylfluarazepam.
I take 3-Fluoroamphetamine.
I might even take ketamine.

It loosens me up, a sense
of otherness is familiar
and perhaps it is the

possibility of escape
rather than escaping
that give me comfort,

To know the tools are
there, to feel as a ward
of their potential lore.

So often it seems
we forget the importance
of wandering;
To be with our thoughts,
If even for awhile,
It eases the burden
of being a conscious individual.

There is an experiencing and remembering self which
the emotional and rational human condition envelope.

"Teenage angst has paid off well
Now I'm bored and old.
Self-appointed judges judge
More than they have sold",

There's no right side in any war,
I'll go back to being a lurker.
I may erase my past from memory
but I can't retract the actions
that haunt me. All I can say is
what I'm sorry for. "Serve the
servants, oh no.

Serve the servants, oh no."
That legendary separation was such a
bore. It may not be worth mentioning
but I enjoy the apparent irony of the world.


I'd listen to Teen Spirit all day long
while I waited to move on.

Our lives are the purest form of poetry,
Each moment is potent,
We are the cosmos in motion.

Some people believe in fate,
I say believe in flourishing; ask yourself:
What doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things?

To live and love and lie and loath
and feel the pain of spiritual growth.

What consoles you?
Keep [it] going.

Regardless of whether I have a soul
I am content to be.

This me,
Myself and I
are no match
for be and being
from great heights;
I am an odd flux (in a strange loop).

That weekend something softened in me,
I felt a wholesomeness I'd almost forgotten.

During the car journey we spoke of things so
relaxed yet deeply. During a communal dinner
I noticed us reciprocally glancing away from one
and other, sharing a mischievous, concealed smile.
The next morning those juicy 90's tracks
blared from your car stereo along the back roads of K-town.

After that we messaged occasionally. I took up some old practices
and found myself believing strongly.
This month I felt the ground beneath me, to stoke the fires of my soul.

The clay of my body softens, I am malleable
in these desires for our health, to be with them,

Apathy, alogy and ethos, dreaming.
I spent hours lying on a bed,
My bed it seems.
Neither really asleep
nor truly awake, rather,
I drifted through states-between
and had no will,

My will had evaporated and in its wake
did flow a rivulet of dreams.
This dreamstuff, gleaming, is not memory but
the thing-between;

Part of me would like to go back
and delete
all the pain
and suffering
hastily transcribed
by someone looking
for that real betterness;
But I'll polish it
and let it sit here. Shh,

It's OK
to be in the past
for a time but, what's past
should remain; makes me feel unsafe
when things creep into the present's domain,
Things to make me heave and sigh.
I rest on this chair, in the glib darkness, and
hear the city breeze
of automobiles' afar off accelerations
become those comforting rustles
that carry through the wind.

There's such a strangeness about meaning, knowing
it may be of no significance to others
but is the world to you.
Can anyone else feel this, can one communicate, what's
stopping me from feeling you?
Am I locked-out of your experience, or locked-into mine?
The soul-ache to escape, serotonin pangs.

Longing for connection, the body wanes and the town's fallen.
Hopes and dreams, aspirations,
Wonder without reason. I sit here,
Looking over the river, upon the university campus
where I spent many days studying, and a commercial boatclub
where I spent many nights raving. I sit on this rock
where I read The Tempest and write for myself
and listen to compositions of my own hand.
I think how selfish I am, experiencing
A World Alone (- Lorde). I am
sorry not sorry. I swear
I haven't forgotten
what it means
to be human.

I'm a dreamer
but I don't sleep at night,
I spend that time bringing my dreams to life;
Chemical enhancement makes me want to give it,
Vivid moments, surreal kisses.

This silence speaks to me when no one's around,
Intuition and nostalgia making subtle sounds.

The weekend calls out my name,
The feel's in the air
and I'm game.

Found beauty
lost in the bass,
Let it kick,
Off my face.

We're just floating,
Flowing around,
The universe, laughing
at the sight and the sound.
Get the music going
and the lights dimmed out.
Groove to the bass
as the sun goes down.
Rave away the days,
Never comedown.
We always do it
the right way
in this town.

Love life, love
the end. Roll the dice,
Roll again.
Refine, define,
Purify, cleanse;
Tincture of zen,
Minds' amend;
In the company
of good friends.

I fell from a sunspot
to the darkest reaches
of our coldest moon
and from there I observe
with the patience of a god
until it's time again
for me to fall.

I see red stars sprawled across this spacey cascade,
All ready to rain down upon the soft parade.

Don't cry, there's a war going on.

This mortal coil hath become electrified,
By a thunderous soul-storm gone haywire.

Smile, the world's burning again.

Philosophy involves feeling
like an unknowing child
most of the time, brief
revelation and then
unknowingness
returns again.

Threw a couple benzos in the mix yesterday
which was very unlike me, but it paid off;
The time was spent at a good friend's house.

Started with clonazolam (not to be confused
with clonazpam), this designer benzodiazepine
is as potent as xanax but with a longer duration
of between 6-10 hours. Abuse often leads to blackout
states and it has been dis-affectionately nicknamed 'clam'.
Being cautious of any compound active in the microgram range,
At first I ingested only a fifth of the illicitly pressed tablet.
It had light but noticeable effects which cooled my mind enough
that I consider dipping my toe in my preferred class of compound.

Perhaps an hour later I insuffulated 2mg
of 2,5-Dimethoxy-4-methylthioamphetamine,
Better known as DOT, the first of the Aleph series.
This produced a bare threshold of effects, including
minor thought acceleration (to counter the benzo)
and a hint of warmth throughout my body.
I left it at that. It is a good sign for future inquiries
into that rather mysterious series of compound.

Later still, I wrestled with whether or not to try another benzo
which was gifted to me when I mentioned I had never tried it.
Chlordiazepoxide, in this case going by the brand name Librium.
Prescribed to treat anxiety, insomnia and symptoms of withdrawal,
It has a half-life of between 5-30 hours. However,
An active metabolite of chlordiazepoxide (and also diazepam)
is nordiazepam - active for between 36-200 hours.
Can you imagine taking a drug which lasts eight days?
Hence my hesitation.
After some consideration (fifteen minutes of quick research
followed by fifty minutes of feeling the psychological weight
of the pill on my palm), I ingested a small black and blue capsule
marked "LIB 10mg". Of course, such a small amount
would not be in my system for so long.

Shortly thereafter two of us went down to the shop.
I floated through the isles, settling upon a carton of apple juice.
A slight but nonetheless uncommon feeling of happiness struck
me during our walk back. The fresh air was good, I could feel
the vague comfort of distinct experience. Perhaps this reads
as if it's nonsense, and I know it, but a sensation reached
out to me from my past, recognition of the pattern of being
I was currently pursuing, a mindset.
I suggested we split a small dose
of an exotic trip I'd been saving.

It's duration was appropriately
short, 3-6 hours. We ate 7.5mg
of 5-Methoxy-N,N-diallyltryptamine,
Commonly referred to as 5-MeO-DALT.
I believe I have had the honor of bestowing
upon it the colloquial name Foxtrot.

It probably did not effect us much,
I certainly could barely distinguish its
effects in the mix. Silly of me really, I don't
even like benzos, I had just been in a bad place
recently; this session reminded me I did not need
to escape anything, everything I once loved
is within reach. I'd give some credit for that insight
to the influence of psychedelics, despite the
quieting presence of axiolytics. Ultimately,
Insight is not a product of any drug. It stems
from experience, and no substance can dispute
the immutable metaphysics of mind,
Whatever its form may be.

Come on baby, decide.
Feel these colours without their light.
Choose your path, leave your steps behind.
Throw The Doors open and breach the other side.
Be definitive in your choice,
In this design.

Our fascination
with these compounds:
The amps, the tryps;
The sensation, experience.
They amphlify emotion,
We tryp over the empirical.
Come on, what are you waiting for? (The sun!)
This galaxy was meant for us; born.

There's a pack of wolves in this mind
searching for some sign
that we're not alone:
Me, myself and I.

They tear at this cold
physical design; (companionship
might yet grant
a refrain of some kind.)

Lone wolves howling at stars
as a quantum state subtly occurs.

I am in superposition.

The dice in motion,
Lucky eight ball rolling,
Poker chip flipped
all the cards in the ocean.

I got pinched
but they missed out.

Just hope the cravings
don't set in.
Which one of y'all don't go hungry
e'ery once and again?

Ha, just let it come.
Let it take me up
in one grand wave.
I would; heaven, haze.

There's blood on the tracks.
I derailed a train.

Let it rend.

Looking back over my shoulder
down the path we're walking,
Looking for a wolf howling

out for nostalgias past. So broken
I knew winter that summer, so much
it was enough. The wonders discovered

under the throes of streetlight
broke me down
and I did rejoice
because I knew nothing else,

That 'static burn on my heart and a tang of
crystal streetlight in my mouth.

To find true meaning
you must first lose everything.
Even yourself.
Then you will understand
the gravity of things.

Hanging on the wind
like a plastic bag,
Dancing in the rain
like a white flag.
Relinquish your pain,
Then the world is yours to gain.
Change the game. Give it a name.

I value my privacy if you must know,
Because occasionally I need to be lost or alone.
Forgive me if I should seem so forlorn,
My mind likes time to recover on it's own.
For where my thoughts reside is where I often go,
To be revived
and rejuvenate the soul.

Hanging on the wind
like a plastic bag,
Dancing in the rain
like a white flag.
The instance when you realize
that anything is yours to have;
Born again.

If I don't survive, at least I lived.
Reborn in the fire
of the trials that I stood.

"Apply yourself",
Strive to live.

I felt an overwhelming need to get lost
just as school was about to start.
Something was wrong,
The sways had begun to occur for too long
and I felt existence laid bare.

My eyes are open, the colors are intact.
Of those who gaze into the abyss,
Few have seen it stare back.

I continued to look
even when cooler heads' turned
and more courageous hearts' shut their valves.

You see, I would go about obtaining knowledge
in all the wrongs ways.
I am altered.

I'd ask questions
that'd bring me back.
Can I perceive what I am?
Who is that?
Is patience the right course of action?
Will it come back?
Am I insane, what of insanity?
Does it slowly grip me like an ego grows vanity?
Return to the plain from where you absconded?
What might you find has settled in your mindset?
What see you that'd scares you so?
This psychobabble taken root in my soul.
What eats at you,
What do you know?
Are you so scared of what you've grown?

Am I so scared.
What do I know?
What've I become?

There is work to be done.
Before you know it
you'll be back again.

You told me you see angels sometimes
and hear them talk. I hope you're ok.

I see the fallen one. In reflections,
Watching me, surfing on glass,
Menacing, gliding across
or astride my path,
hiding in corners (he's got my back).
A soft voice with life's answers at my beckoning ear,
"Through victory my chains are broken".
I figured I would not be missed.
So personal it became
the person split.

I felt this wonderfully sick thrill in my veins
as I became a devilish man; sardonic eyes
brimming with mirth, the eyes of the dammed
that I forged, pupils dilated; content with the way
the wind blows, in pursuit of happiness at every turn;
And they call this evil.

I have ventured there
and for a while I thought
I would not return
from the realms of the mind
that go beyond this earth.

No words can summarize
the sensation/experience
of existence in a psychedelic state.
The breadth of those
hyper-associations.

Psi.
Time dilation via thought acceleration.

Cyborg;
n.
A cybernetic organism,
Cyb[ernetic]-org[anism].

Cybran;
n.
A cybernetic human,
Cyb[e]r[netic]-[hum]an.

Nation;
n.
A large body of people united by common descent, history,
Culture, or language, inhabiting a particular state.

Aeon;
n.
Originally meaning life, being, age and/or time,
Now relating to nous, noesis, noema, noumena, noumenon;
The noumenal world-in-itself, eternity and immanence.

The Way;
The philosophy that all should embrace peace.

The Illuminate;
Those who subscribe to The Way.

As one ages it can become difficult to see
that beauty in the world, I try
to remember to look for it,
To enjoy simple aesthesis when possible.

Listening to Ocean Eyes
and I feel older inside.

Realized how alone I am, wondered
whether I haven't been clean for too long.
I keep forgetting
I don't have a substance use disorder, I keep forgetting
I'm not currently a drug user.
I gave up that life, and
can't remember why.

Take enough benzodiazepine and you can time travel,
But only forward;
Was never really too bothered with benzos, 'cause I just
wanna go back

Relativism does not usually trouble me,
That our knowledge is perspectival
and our morality, cultural;

I do not think this precludes communication,
We can still share in cause and meaning.

Physics and metaphysics can prove
the unity and continua
of matter and energy,
Of mind and body,
Of one and many,
And of opposite
properties, even being
and becoming, essence
and existence.

A relativism of the self
is something entirely else
which I find quite troubling;

Should one's experience change
uncontrollably, and of course
it will. That drastic instance

it diminishes one's choice.
That afternoon I took MPT,
An obscure base tryptamine.

Psychedelic compounds do not reveal truths and such,
They reconfigure mind to make associations potent.
I am concerned the intimate sense qualities of
this mental life are precarious, beckoned
by contextual substrate, they submit

My heart twinges
and my ears roar
with the afterthought
of my actions
in the world. I haven't

believed my story matters
for some time.
There were days when I'd listen
to Buckie High by BoC
so frequently.

I lived through
that tune for some time.

Longing to connect through that
sweet nectar, the comfort of Buckfast;
The heft of a bottle that felt right
in my hand, an extension

of my body
and its beliefs.

I'd like to say she abandoned me
to the depths of sweet junkiedom,
But that place is yet to come.

I'm waiting for the fall
but I know I'll jump.
Anticipating my fun,
Planning the run.

The summer so far
is yet to come.

I rarely feel anything
anymore, think I'm in
a lot of pain but I can't

tell, been playing with
this numbness for too
long, hide and seek.

Somebody
answer me,

Why are we
human?

Psilo-Cybrans [bear-headed-cybernetic-humans] experience cyberdelic information via symbiotic cybernetic augmentation.
By substantially replacing many parts of the occipital & parietal lobes
and installing a complex biofeedback device in the corpus callosum
the user can moderate the flow of information (between the brain's hemispheres and a reworked central nervous system) in real-time. The biofeedback device is a two-way interface which enables the user
to supplement internal calculations with those of an onboard computer.
Using this device one merges consciousness with artificial intelligence,
Overhauling most mental faculties while retaining complete autonomy.
This is known as a 'twined-A.I.'.
In addition to data moderation one can qualify feedback excitation and quantify signal-lag, this allows for superior diagnostics and analysis.

Using a twined 'A.I.' one can effectively manage information generated by The Psychedelion, reducing the accompanying data of Absurdia with ease. The Psychedelion is accessible through cyberspace or by conventional means, though the degree or level of access does have proportionate side effects such as
physical/perceptual alterations: e.g. increased local power usage, changes in pupillary response, yawning, ect.  / i.e. visual, cognitive, ect.

Some Psilo-Cybrans forego the growth of hair after cranial augmentation to simplify cleaning such implants (which lends itself to their name). A select few continually install more implants to better facilitate their cyber-immersion and often wear hooded garments/robes to hide this, they are known as Cybran Illuminate; these Others use Aeon techniques such as meditation or dissociation to further enhance or induce their immersion into a cybernetic or cyberdelic trance.

There are many practical ways of disrupting the body
to produce interesting cognitive and phenomenological effects.

There should also be ways of consolidating and expanding upon
****** processes which extend to our cognitive system
to produce unparalleled psychoactive effects.

Wanting someone to understand me?
Selfish cliché.

I want to understand them,
Share empathy at a glance, for our perception to intertwine
and emotion to be enhanced;

Another sleepless night spent
messing with synthesizers, drum
machines and groove-boxes. Music
may have stalled my flow of words
but I dream of joining them together
and spinning songs out into the world.
I wonder when this penchant for insomnia
will create something worthy.
The storm outside is howling
and my mind drifts towards
philosophy, a thought of
pharmacophenomenology.

What of a philosophy
of psychoactivity?
What does a philosophy of drugs entail
if we are to do it justice?
Will it help us better assess the cognitive
component of substances, their suitability
for patients? Is there more to psychology
than cognition? Will it help us appraise
those supposedly ineffable qualities
of mind? Will it help us understand
the patterns humans engage themselves in?
Will it help one follow the string, the thread,
The knots and narratives that we are composed of.
These are valuable enough questions for me to justify
developing the pharmacophenomenological method.

My head's spinning
with the flaws of the earth.

Commit to the tailspin
and let the truth wash over us.

What I want is a mystery
yet I ruminate over our prospects.

I'm so afraid I won't ever be strong enough
to be in a relationship.

Videoslave,
Audiosavant;
It's iconic/echoic:
So noetic, no one knows.

I am a philosopher compelled to record my love of knowledge in verse,
I plumb the depths of philosophia and present the findings as poems;
Disguising my discoveries in the midst of such wonderful prose.

Ask yourself, is most poetry not philosophical?
And are most philosophies not poetic?

Such is the method of Teaching Philosophy Through Prose.

"I’ve seen things you people wouldn’t believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion. I watched C-beams glitter in the dark near the Tanhauser gate. All those moments will be lost in time like tears in rain. Time to die."
*-Roy Batty