Frustrated at myself;

But feel I need say more
than that
about these serotonin fumes
I give off.

Ye Ye - Daphni,
Heard it before
hon'. Where's the sweetness at,
Where've you gone?

What a strange Halloween week,
I am underwhelmed, I did not
overindulge, despite the
list of things I ate:
MPA, hash oil, 2C-B,
4-**-MiPT, escitalopram.
My head is not sated, I can feel
a sensation of unanswered cravings;

Let us focus on what matters,
Let other things fall to the side,

Let there be a wholesome truth
and an honest reconciliation,

Let our best selves manifest,
And let us encourage the best

in each other. I write this
'cause I reckon we're in it

for the long haul
surely as I know

I walked to the gig but it wasn't in me
Saw a couple heads as I was leaving.
I walked over, greeted them, lost myself
in the lull of conversation. As I looked
in their eyes, at their demeanor, I saw what
I'd been trying to leave behind. I tried to hide from it,
I realized: I wish I'd just get wrecked, be carefree and destroy myself,

That summer glow is on the horizon
and in the humid night air
I'm here trying
to learn to speak, not to spit
verses
but to utter truths. Trying to
find my voice without losing myself.
So here's what went down between me and
myself as we looked upon the town.

I spoke into the glimmer of its lights
and told it my deepest fears
and most tenuous hopes
and I let my feelings
flow forth as my voice
made quiet my mind.
I uttered a few words as
if they might make a man
realise who I am, and I had a moment
or two before I asked myself what'd become of my time.
I saw myself sitting in a room, all day
for many months, years,
A lifetime,

And thought to myself what a waste
and wished my voice was clear, confident, lucid
and longed for the authenticity and courage I'd stifled
and wanted my mind to be together, smooth, whole
and begged for the strength to make it through the months
and remembered those aimless summers past, lethargy
and apathy with a sentiment that almost bordered on fondness
and wondered at that trick: how wrong it is
to be wistful when memory is so selective.
Better to look to the future
with sincere notions of adventure
and convictions on how to regain one's
soul;

I'm getting derealization twenty-four/seven;
Unreality has made alterations
unto my perception.

Donnie Darko awoke in bewildered displacement,
I too arose to this disconcerting amazement.
Found myself lying on green grass
at a golf course twisted by Alice In Wonderland.
Checkered tiles black-and-white
and pine trees swaying in the half-light.
Familiar faces put me at ease, an acid blotter
got emptied.
Got dosed in my dreams. Got on my knees.
Was tripping in my sleep.
What would it mean for when I woke up?

This dream didn't stop.
I woke up but my mind did not.
Reality wasn't enough.
Disassociation followed me home.

I woke up
but kept dreaming. The walls felt soft
and the colors were peeling.
I have felt this before,
Felt the days double over;
My mind lucid,
Fatigued no more.

Hear me shatter and dissolve
like a pane of ice dropped on a warm floor.
Barefoot, I stumble home
and wonder whether sensation is egoless

and why cognition is not; but of course
serius est quam cogitas.
I find myself in memories so distant
they are like past lives,
I am so changed, mutation, smoldering;
I remind myself

At the heart of any analytic or scientific endeavor is logic,
Simple components used to build more complex propositions
which picture a way the world could be.

Any logical statement can be true or false
depending on its validity
and correspondence with the world.

The issue of correspondence, of soundness, will always foreground any application of logic to the world.

Logic can sate that analytic desire for objectivity or universality but this comes at the cost of certainty.

There is a limit to the amount of simultaneous precision one can impose upon the world.

Regardless of whether it is in the spatial, temporal, or cognitive domain, the nature of focus is exclusionary.
One cannot know with exactitude, both position and momentum, time and frequency, being and becoming, and so on.

Our ability to use logic is critical to us, it is a defining human characteristic and indeed is that thing which enables us to be critical.

The application of logic, representation and an ability to turn in unto itself (i.e. to verify its internal coherency) is its power.
Logic is always applied for purposes.


At the heart of poetry is the act of poiesis, the process of creation which reconciles mind and world.

We may say this of any artistic or aesthetic process (and indeed, art will abuse logic or go against reason for the sake of expression).

Such a process indubitably corresponds to the world in the instances of its creation, and there is certainty as to its correspondence.

What’s more, an aesthetic may be felt by others.
The logical contents of a poetic sentence may be invalid
but can still be meaningful (for otherwise it would not be poetic).

Poetry and lyric are inextricably bound up in language.
They closely track the threshold of reason and logic, but toe the line.

The possibility for meaningful communication arises independent from the probability of logical communication.
Meaning need not correspond to logic.
However, aisthesis is in the eye of the beholder,
and in this way art has is own issue of correspondence which is between others; thus it is an issue of interpretation.

Where logic strives for objectivity and is left with uncertain truths,
Poetry strives for inter-subjectivity but does not know it’s reach.


So things can be connected by meaning and felt as well as by cause and reasoned, but the relationship between meaning and causality then
is not a logically necessity
so much as meaningful necessity.

To establish a firmer contact between the two domains, we must constrain them through a practical bridge. There are many such crossings, but the stability of this bridge is most apparent in poetry.

Looking closely we see a relationship between phenomenal signs
and we fill in the empty spaces with proposed causes
such that it fulfills both meaning and logic.

Everybody wants to change the world but
nobody wants to change themselves;
Let me

help you. Won't you please
change me.
Chain me.
Deface me,
Erase me.
Replace me,
Scorn me,
Reform me.
Conform me.
Destroy me,
Enjoy me,
Rebirth me,
Begin again.
You start where you ended

and I'm unchained again.

The pines' silhouette a dusk sky.
Suburban streetlight glows in silence.

I cycle 15km to a rave in a quarry, take MXPr
and dance for several hours before cycling home.
I like dissos but they make me feel afar from people.

I want to be close with them, but a poison wellspring can
no thirst quench. At 28 I question if I'm borderline,
And some of it makes sense. I take my eyes
off the ground, and see clouds;

Another one got caught today, it's all over the papers. "Teenager Arrested in Computer Crime Scandal", "Hacker Arrested after Bank Tampering"...

**** kids. They're all alike.

But did you, in your three-piece psychology and 1950's technobrain, ever take a look behind the eyes of the hacker? Did you ever wonder what made him tick, what forces shaped him, what may have molded him?

I am a hacker, enter my world...

Mine is a world that begins with school... I'm smarter than most of the other kids, this crap they teach us bores me...

**** underachiever. They're all alike.

I'm in junior high or high school. I've listened to teachers explain for the fifteenth time how to reduce a fraction. I understand it. "No, Ms. Smith, I didn't show my work. I did it in my head..."

**** kid. Probably copied it. They're all alike.

I made a discovery today. I found a computer. Wait a second, this is cool. It does what I want it to. If it makes a mistake, it's because I ******* it up. Not because it doesn't like me... Or feels threatened by me.. Or thinks I'm a smart ***.. Or doesn't like teaching and shouldn't be here...

**** kid. All he does is play games. They're all alike.

And then it happened... a door opened to a world... rushing through the phone line like ****** through an addict's veins, an electronic pulse is sent out, a refuge from the day-to-day incompetencies is sought... a board is found. "This is it... this is where I belong..." I know everyone here... even if I've never met them, never talked to them, may never hear from them again... I know you all...

**** kid. Tying up the phone line again. They're all alike...

You bet your *** we're all alike... we've been spoon-fed baby food at school when we hungered for steak... the bits of meat that you did let slip through were pre-chewed and tasteless. We've been dominated by sadists, or ignored by the apathetic. The few that had something to teach found us willing pupils, but those few are like drops of water in the desert.

This is our world now... the world of the electron and the switch, the beauty of the baud. We make use of a service already existing without paying for what could be dirt-cheap if it wasn't run by profiteering gluttons, and you call us criminals. We explore... and you call us criminals. We seek after knowledge... and you call us criminals. We exist without skin color, without nationality, without religious bias... and you call us criminals. You build atomic bombs, you wage wars, you ******, cheat, and lie to us and try to make us believe it's for our own good, yet we're the criminals.

Yes, I am a criminal. My crime is that of curiosity. My crime is that of judging people by what they say and think, not what they look like. My crime is that of outsmarting you, something that you will never forgive me for.

I am a hacker, and this is my manifesto. You may stop this individual, but you can't stop us all... after all, we're all alike.

I did play with entactogens
but in relentless chemical exploration
I may have lost sight of things.

Those wondrous doses I dabbled in
brought me the closest I have ever felt
to perfection; it is fake.

This did not deter me, even though
some things can never exceed the temporary.
Alas, the blue pill is so appealing

"There is no emotion, there is peace.
There is no ignorance, there is knowledge.
There is no passion, there is serenity.
There is no chaos, there is harmony.
There is no death, there is the Force."

"Peace is a lie, there is only passion.
Through passion, I gain strength.
Through strength, I gain power.
Through power, I gain victory.
Through victory, my chains are broken.
The Force shall set me free"

In my city,
                 All I know is,
                                      All I want is;
I love you.
                 Sunrise over stone.

I see the reflection
of this world
and a reflection of myself,
Thy dilated pupil
sealed its glass envelope;
We consume and produce everything
that ever is, was and will be
simply by perceiving,
It exists regardless
but we give it meaning.

"Once the city used to pulse with energy. ***** and dangerous, but alive and wonderful. Now it's something else. The changes came slowly at first. Most didn't realize, or didn't care, and accepted them. They chose a comfortable life. Some didn't. And those who refused to conform were pushed to the sidelines, criminalized. They became our clients. We call ourselves Runners. We exist on the edge between the gloss and the reality: the mirror's edge. We keep out of trouble, out of sight, and the cops don't bother us. Runners see the city in a different way. We see the flow. Rooftops become pathways and conduits, possibilities and routes of escape. The flow is what keeps us running, keeps us alive."
*-Faith Connors

Qualia, if they exist, describe experience.

Perceptions are frames of consciousness
that define experience: would they be given a number
representing frames per second [FPS].

There must be something to perceive
for there to be experience, and the perceiver:
A machine/dreamer through which energy flows
for perception to occur; neural oscillation cycles
equating to perceptual frames of consciousness
where a frequency would equal a certain FPS.

A moment in a dream, a quale.
The realm of the Oneiroi beckons:

During REM sleep there is no experiential context,
Suppose a dream's content is be sourced from memory:
Thence memory morphs into dreaming. Perhaps the actions
of acetylcholine during sleep disrupt temporality, meanwhile
serotonin and norepinephrine play another role in dream activity;
Were dopamine ever-so minutely implicit in lucidity?

If a dream could be quantized could we identify a quale?
The goal, to prove that qualia exist. Perhaps this 'heavy realm'
could then be described using this qualitative formula, we strive
to produce a quantum of experience.

As analogue is to digital, so digital should be to quanta.
Ah, but who would ever listen
to my nonsense.

I'm just a dreamer
and such a chancer. (Aren't we all?)

Native American Code Of Ethics:

Rise with the sun to pray. Pray alone. Pray often.
The Great Spirit will listen, if you only speak.
~
Be tolerant of those who are lost on their path.
Ignorance, conceit, anger, jealousy and greed stem
from a lost soul. Pray that they will find guidance.
~
Search for yourself, by yourself. Do not allow others
to make your path for you. It is your road, and
yours alone. Others may walk it with you,
but no one can walk it for you.
~
Treat the guests in your home with much consideration.
Serve them the best food, give them the best
bed and treat them with respect and honor.
~
Do not take what is not yours whether from
a person, a community,the wilderness or from a
culture. It was not earned nor given. It is not yours.
~
Respect all things that are placed upon
this earth – whether it be people or plant.

Honor other people’s thoughts, wishes and words.
Never interrupt another or mock or rudely mimic them.
Allow each person the right to personal expression.
~
Never speak of others in a bad way. The negative
energy that you put out into the universe
will multiply when it returns to you.
~
All persons make mistakes.
And all mistakes can be forgiven.
~
Bad thoughts cause illness of the mind,
body and spirit. Practice optimism.
~
Nature is not FOR us, it is a PART of us.
They are part of your worldly family.
~
Children are the seeds of our future. Plant
love in their hearts and water them with
wisdom and life’s lessons. When they
are grown, give them space to grow.
~
Avoid hurting the hearts of others.
The poison of your pain will return to you.
~
Be truthful at all times. Honesty is the
test of one’s will within this universe.
~
Keep yourself balanced. Your Mental self, Spiritual
self, Emotional self, and Physical self – all need
to be strong, pure and healthy. Work out
the body to strengthen the mind. Grow
rich in spirit to cure emotional ails.
~
Make conscious decisions as to who
you will be and how you will react. Be
responsible for your own actions.
~
Respect the privacy and personal space of
others. Do not touch the personal property of
others – especially sacred and religious
objects. This is forbidden.
~
Be true to yourself first. You cannot
nurture and help others if you cannot
nurture and help yourself first.
~
Respect others religious beliefs.
Do not force your belief on others.
~
Share your good fortune with others.
Participate in charity.

And suddenly, for just a second, I saw it
again, beauty in the world, in the sky,
After dusk. Where've you been?
I've been singing, and it's
come back to me;
Kindness begets calm, and
right now I feel like I'm worth it.
Everyone deserves peace. The summer's

approaching, and there's nothing to fear.
I see the glow of streetlights appear as
the last hues of twilight begin to fade
and uncover the stars. It is good to

feel so human
at this point in time,
To feel the return of my
soul into my mind, psyché

We’re the kids your parents warned you about,
We've lived more than most adults.
We scoured sensation,
Soared high across the planes of elation.
Society’s scared of us,
Can you blame them?
People cross the street
just to get away from us,
Strange, we're ubiquitous.
Jealous?
Come join us;
I implore you
to explore you.
Find it within yourself
to go out and find yourself
(among us), should you so choose:
Realize you're alive,
Make something of your time.

Take the plunge,
Throw yourself into the thick of it;
Into the breach.
See things no one could ever believe
in the deepest dreams of REM sleep.

I became unsure as to the correlation of knowledge with meaning,
And happiness.

“There’s always a lighthouse.
There’s always a man.
There’s always a city.”
There’s always a question,
There’s ever a quest,
There may be an answer
but never an end.

Experience everything,
Be anything,
Forget nothing,
Become something;
This is existence.
There’s no turning back.
The unexamined life is not worth living,

But the over-examined life loses meaning.
All we can do is grant each other equal significance

I dreamed of Columbine
for months at a time,
So dark a place it was.
I swear I'll never go back.
Numbness take me,
Inhumanity break me,
Never go back.

Waiting to be born,
I felt so old,
When I tried to burn
away the cold.
I awoke upon red snow,
Blood-stained, steam rising,
Demon-born from silent agonizing.

Dreaming of Columbine
for months at a time,
I never let them know
how close I came
fire on a forgotten factory floor
and instead won
the quiet game.

"Do you want to see the most beautiful thing I've ever filmed? It was one of those days when it's a minute away from snowing, and there's this electricity in the air, you can almost hear it. And this bag was just, dancing with me, like a little kid beggin' me to play with it - for fifteen minutes. And that's the day I realized that there was this entire life behind things, and this incredibly benevolent force that wanted me to know that there was no reason to be afraid, ever. Video's a poor excuse, I know. But it helps me remember - I need to remember. Sometimes, there's so much beauty in the world - I feel like I can't take it, like my heart is just going to cave in.
-Ricky Fitts

She took his hand then and kissed him.

"Rise and shine, Mr. Freeman. Rise and shine. Not that I wish to imply you have been sleeping on the job. No one is more deserving of a rest. And all the effort in the world would have gone to waste until . . . well, let's just say your hour has come again. The right man in the wrong place can make all the difference in the world. So, wake up, Mr. Freeman. Wake up and smell the ashes."
*-G-Man

I am awash with this stuff, day-dreams
and stupor, imaginings, and visions.

The life I lived when I had those dreams
I only catch glimpses of in my sleep.
So strange, with Eternal September over

and everything in flux, the world is
full of potential, possibilities, panta rhei
and thence everything flows

My mind,
My thoughts,
My paradise lost;
Only you
dearest
reader
dare I let glance in here,
The corridors of my psyché echo
with the voices of friends and family.

My voice resounds in its chamber,
My thought reverberates on these planes,

I tell myself, the only reason I live is for others
because whatever would they think if I died.
Sometimes I wish I didn't exist, which is futile
because I know I am privileged.
Oftentimes I feel I died long ago.

Now I bask in the shower, its stimulus, the hot water
pelting down my back, I feel selfless, egoless, empty,
Questioning existence, bliss, I enjoy it before I turn
down for what, to the coldest setting,  step into it

Been awhile since I felt reason to type at 5am.
I've been so quiet this past month. December left me
enough to remember 2018 by. We're not out of winter yet

I feel lighter, a warmth I'd almost forgotten kindles in me.
She said something that struck me.
"Ya there literally is so many layers to me. As cliche as tht sounds... and its like sumtimes just unravelling all at once so can get soooooo confusing.
Or sumtimes i am so focused one idea
I am determined just a complete organised chaos hahaaha"

She speaks with such freedom
and soul that burn brightly
to the sound of techno.

“The world is changed. I feel it in the water. I feel it in the earth. I smell it in the air. Much that once was is lost, for none now live who remember it”
*-Galadriel

Dopamine hit for this data-addict,
Serotonin fix for your aesthetics;
Shooting up with the metaphysics:
I'm hooked on existence.

Incorrect views, lies and fault
all fueling further incoherencies,
Sometimes I feel as if all of thought
has become terribly misplaced, removed
from its immediate context, it loses any sense

Among the company of heroes

in a city of villains.

Being there, immersed
in that strange world, living it
meant something for a time, albeit brief.
Now ask ourselves
what's left?
Vonnegut said "We are what we pretend to be,
So we must be careful about what we pretend to be",
But if you're too careful you'll just become your anxiety.
Whatever of pretense, we question
what is spent.

I feel fated to remain seventeen for the rest of my days,
And they be memorable daze.

One must be knowledgeable in their field as the physician,
Wise in their ways as the shaman
and endeavour to educate those who show the interest.

Above all else, be safe. Prudence protects, go with her grace.
Conviction in compassion is my only held faith.

Put well-being before profit, share in your prosperity.

Keep a distance from those who would play at The Game,
Beware the lines we draw by way of work/recreation.

When asked what my drug of choice is
I could only narrow it down to this list:

Music or words,
Tea, ***, dreams
and the internet.

What of reward and belief,
These pathways that call us.
They drag me from this 'verse

even though I feel so bad
sometimes, sometimes
I just want to sleep

'cause I'm tired
and dreams are weird.
They seem beyond me, I feel

without control
but it's alright,
'cause I know

I feel the wind on my face
as it caresses my skin,
The breath of the world
as it whispers intuition.

I see the clouds unfurl
and vast expanses clear,
As a god's pupil dilates
bequeathing knowledge here.

I hear time draw quiet
as starlight is still,
Immutable undercurrents of
comprehension instilled.

All of this contained
the whole in my eye,
Every synapse in my brain
for a millisecond aligned.

Dripping in gold,
Basking in the glaze
of revelations untold.

I walked upon waves,
Physics torn
into a reality unfazed.

With such intuitive reasoning,
I pierced the maze
to glance at an age away.

It will find me again in time,
This power to define.

When indecision will leave me,
And the world will be mine.

Now dare to interpret any singular line.

Get in touch with your inner-demon.

I found mine,
He's not a bad guy,
He showed me the ropes;
Tethered to the sky.

Atlas endures.

Incite debauchery
in the heavens above,
Invoke music,
Provoke love.

Atlantean allure.

Chained to the sky,
Bound to the air,
Break perception,
Open a tear.

Neo-classical heir.

Skybound to the future,
The past under the sea,
The present forlorn holds the key.

I wrote you a poem but
"                                           "
I deleted it instead of posting.

I'm damaged,

Oh those cold, dreary, wet, winter days spent inside, warm and dry, looking out into the drizzle of these grey skies.
Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireann na daoine.
Lovers are patient, or so they say.
The quiet hours of our strange days
hold me close as hours pass and I look
into the clearing sky, a cold horizon falls
upon this tired denizen of the little
idiosyncrasies that life grants, such as
remembering, detailing, wondering what
atmosphere is and wandering down its path.
Follow your heart,
Consider with your head.


For awhile I thought innocence still lingered
in this old world. A fool I was,
That young word is used
against those who would
otherwise loiter on this old earth.
Ar scáth a chéile a mhaireann na daoine.
The future never arrives, plans contend
with the present just trying to survive;
We need be content, lost in sometime
and sometimes I do, I wish I was high.
I remind myself of someone,
I am so lucky to be alive
and when I realize
I am content enough to rest
for a time; sigh
What little of me did ever survive.
I wish I could offer you more
but I am selfish, I write
only for myself.

I watched Girl Interrupted
and felt slightly better about myself

but wondered when I would end up in hospital.
Everything looks perfect in the half-light

if you've got perfect eyesight.
I have such chronopathy

for these moments
that tear at me.

Heaven is dark,
and the dark is warm.

Much that once was still is
for one has lived to remember it.

Meaning in Perpetual Threads
Definition in Purposeful Thoughts.

Each of us is holding back the heavens
and thus we stand accomplished.

The things of earth will grow strangely dim
as we account for those times.

I'd forgotten the plural of anecdote is not 'data';
There are things for which no quantity will satisfy.

Trying to Get to Heaven
Before They Close the Door.

To make it, focus on an intention
and follow it as your guide star.