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It's almost November,
I lied to myself
thinking I was better.

I went for a walk
to clear my head
of serpentine thoughts,
Turbulent, tempestuous and restless.

I miss her, my city/its tribes:
My love of all I can't
at once remember;
Sharp - Distance
as it were.

In the Heart of the Sunrise
I lost myself
to the memories of her,
A city, my tribe
and a lonesome road
home.
I am ever chasing
them, seeking something lost
to memory; true poetry evokes qualia.
The clever craft emerges from
intelligence, willpower. It allows
for healing, or human enhancement,
Provides a means to catalyze inspiration,
Or indeed proffers mere modes of recreation,
And of course a dark side which is unwholesome.

All the same I turn to those fabled schools of Alteration,
Of Conjuration, Destruction, Illusion,
Of Mysticism, and Restoration;
Its immanent applications

and its transcendent source:
Metaphysics. Knowledge, experience.
It is worth acknowledging recreation, playfulness.
I trial under 50mg of 3-MEC, fairly weak,
Temptation to re-dose but I refrain. For me
October's a great time to get ****** up, but
these days it would take true friends
to go there and come back again.
Amidst traipsing
through the town
I had such a clarity
as to where my soul
had been, as to where
I had gone;
Nu kyr'adyc,
**** taab'echaaj'la
.
Who is it that's survived me?
Amongst my menacings
about this city, I was

human, briefly
but now you feast
upon me

and I wonder,
Am I not a machine?
Are we not all proponents

of our own advocacies
or do some of us
have underlying cause
only you can see;
Intentionality?
I cannot fault your etiquette,
"Fate had you by the heel".
I state that Europe has committed to democracy;
Achilles might personify this at present
given the silence in Rome, Madrid, and Paris.
I hope our solidarity endures afterward, for
another great recession is coming, and thereafter
another counter-culture will rise from the discontent
and be fated to excess.
Palace of Nations
Broke my hand cycling. I fled, away
from something; chasing my psyche.
Felt nothing. Earth-grazer.
Rush of adrenaline. I fall, anger
turned inward does harm unto me;
I see myself spiraling.

They gave me a pair of local anesthetics
for the surgery, not psychoactive (although
the level of physical detachment was curious).
The nerve-block employed lidocaine, bupivacaine,
And the latter was mixed with epinephrine
to increase its duration of action:
This resulted in shivering and anxiety.
I suppose it is the archetypal stimulant.
Time changes people,
Power chains people.
What changed in me?
Whatever chained me!
Oh subtle judgement
and standard teleology,

Tell me:
Is the world
worth pondering,
Or is this all just
time wasting?
Thinking,
Longing;

Ruminating over purpose,
Contemplating loneliness,
Tell me: what am I typing?
These poems used to be my
escape, my passion, carefully
constructed as words were con-
-verted from temporal lifeblood
into digital ink which still I spill
over, the words trying, to find
something worth posting for
but sometimes it feels as if I
am not obsessing over these
sentences enough to pick up
the pieces, unapologetically I
throw out another uninspired
verse. Poetry's best not thought of
as work and therein lies the problem:

Me,
Writing the same poem
for the umpteenth time,
It feels like we've been
here before but can't seem
to remember; of which this piece is
a perfect example, disinspiration.
Of times, change
and a poet's written
interrogations, no regrets.
You must excuse the radio silence,
"Necessity has me by the foot".
I question whether America hasn't fallen into timarchy;
The Titanpointe facility might be enough to convince me
the world's a stranger place at present.
We desperately need a method of politics
that depends on articulation rather than representation,
Something to foster a more intelligent society. I fear
strange and merciless times are upon us
which necessitate emissions control.
Long Lines Building
It can't possibly be, eternity;
Aeon-Dissociative
doth cleanse me.

She did whisper, a
Deity of Absurdia
hath heard her.

The Way
is empathy,
Always immanent.
Embracing, and cherishing;
Our first doomsday kiss.
I walk these streets thinking
"this could be the last time",
She whispers to me subtly
and I know she's kind;
Lost thoughts ripple,
Abandoned to reflection,
Zer0-summing throughout all time.
I knelt 'afore those forlorn eyes
but kept my gaze, afraid I would
lose it to another lifetime.
How long can I stay before I'll never leave.
Graveyard of ambition, town of the lotus eaters,
City of the tribes. A tattoo of its name on my left rib
to the side of my heart. I was alive, once.
Now I'm a human In A Lonely Place,
New Order sharp, old chaos faint.
Oh, to be Anonymous
in that sweet darkness.

Ah, to be Philalethes
in the pursuit of truth.

Joy, to be with Pasithea
enveloped by relaxation.

Sorrow, to be a **** Lord
that never to comes-down.
A research cabal emerges
from the chemicals.
One moment, lost
in an October descent;
Yesterday we're innocent,
Then time is rend.

Consecrating her lips
with another crimson layer,
A red-stained cigarette
amidst fiendish black hair.

On skin droplets of water caress;
"Some people feel the rain.
Others just get wet."

Standing shirtless
that declaration was blessed
as skywater fell upon his demonic chest.

Rapturous Olympus enthralled Othrys.
Doomsday kiss. Infinity
and other stuff.

With arcadian theoxeny
the individuals' convergence
was unhindered by this rainy blitz.
Lost in the drizzle of descending mist

the outcast crowd knows a different kind
of bliss. The overcast cloud shows, context
is all that ever is.

"All these moments will be lost in time
like tears in rain..."; ion chaser ate a hurricane.
Quotes:
-Lines Ten and Eleven ascribed to Roger Miller
-Lines Twenty-Five and Twenty-Six devised by Rutger Hauer (as Roy Batty) in Bladerunner

Brief rememory of a day:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PhSTN8Q7cD8
The winds of change rustle The Empyrean,
Entheogenic vapours are adrift.
Awash in the ebbing tide of a perfect dusk sky,
Lying in wait, with patience, for this coming gift.
There's sincerity here, hidden
beneath Entheos-ridden mist.
Will it conceal to save face?

(I do swear by it's grace.)

Medina's breath refreshed us,
I took in her Aer under easing lights;
As one hot midsummer's day became
one cool midsummer's night.
We let the eddies of subconscious thought direct us
and we did soar, aloft to grand heights [buzzin'],
So high, no more. That's it, dizzy up the girl.

It was with such irrevocable jive
that we did commit to the night.

(Isn't self-sufficiency what we all strive for?)

It is the lateness of our chosen hour
that prompts such unequivocal pondering.

On absurd shores
lined by city street-lamps
waves pave the sand with swirls of starlight.


Morning eclipsed the other-worlds of last night,
A tsunami of sensation faded like umbrae unto dawn.


Acid cyclone ate the rising sun
as The Empyrean yawned
.
I smoked ***** with friends last night
'cause I can't relax, need
a reason to session
after attenuating those drives.

Dark as it seems, this
functional human being
continue to search for signs
of life.  Is it the good fight, or

is it the lengthy flight?
I coined the word apotheogen
to define substances which
are more likely to act
as a catalyst for addiction.
as you read me,

Feel this brief unity
and understand

I am only
brought to life
by your reading, it

allows me lucidity
in the symbolic silence
that words otherwise may
have had, before your glance.
Ever fantasise about dissolving oneself in a vat of acid?
Took so many psychedelics I very nearly lost it; it being
ego, ergo, myself. Found a solution, and don't give a ****!
'swear.
Of eye-openers, and time-dilation;
Thoughts' blossom at the fall of night:
Dusky lamplight below
a post-autumnal horizon,
The vista's indigo
tear-drop splotches
scar the skyglow

while wishing for moonlight.
The mind awaiting
is a soul in longing.
I stopped feeling love, stopped wanting to be loved, stopped loving.

I thought I would be happier on my own.
I push everyone away.

The blues kick, sensation
drips down the nape of my neck. I shiver;
Frisson.
  I crave the
feeling, the comfort of an all-too-familiar pain in the midst of my numbing depression that soothes this psychiatric ache; and substance that let us fake it
so much better, helped us feel
again, made it all seem better.
A special sort of lie
that erased heaven.
Sometimes I think about my life
and I'm struck by a vast sadness, for
my past and the future, hopeless, even
though I know there is hope, lovelessness
though I know there is love, and anger because
I cannot help but feel these things. I want to be better,
I'm trying, gave up all the things that made me forget
how broken I am, and I'm afraid to take them back up
again. Part of me knows I could be happy, another part
hates that possibility. Happiness made it fragile, it can't
show vulnerability and this's killing me. I am too afraid
of being hurt to stop feeling this pain and let myself out
and allow others back in. There is something wrong with
me and some days
I struggle to fix it
but other days I
just sink into it;
But you know
that's just life.

We all go on existing,
Until one of us does not.
Intoxication is in the air, and I wish to get spectacularly drunk
like so many of my kinsmen on this day of our nation,
A celebration that lacks class, brims with drama,
In honor of our patron Saint, Patrick.

Paddy's day, Lá Phádraig.
My wishful thinking was not in vain
but 'twas vainglorious in its promotion
of commotion, debauchery, devotion to revelry .

We are only be ashamed
by those who cannot hold their composure,
Those who don't know how to sesh responsibly; 'ara
sure you need to know how to let loose without letting go,

You need not know what the future holds to stave off despair.
Hold fast, hold on, I clutch a rose-tinged glass shard of fluorodrone
and a white parachute of pentylone. In this day and age
we do not simply drink our troubles away, stimulants
push past the brink of our limits.

It is not a simple day of sessioning,
It is a day of reckoning.
Tell us what is relief on this day?
The day of my people, when
we drown out our past

with the ultimate
session; the almighty
On the sesh, surrounded by friends;
Bottle of buckfast in one hand
and a joint of hash in the other,
Talking nonsense with the best of 'heads.

It is the best feeling in the world
for a man dreaming of that connection
and wishing for a loss of memory
rather than regain those moments.
Are you going to judge me for my life?
Are you so insecure
my happiness brings you strife?
I said one day that
"sometimes I wish I could just express myself
without being judged or misinterpreted".
And later
you laughed at me for it.

I'm may not be as smart as you
but I'm happy when it's quiet.
I may not have the money you do
but I'm content most nights.
I could be so **** dangerous
but that wouldn't be right.
It's never enough for you,
I'll never give up; get a life.

If you knew what it was like
to face yourself and come out alive;
I would not have felt obliged to write this.
Hoods up,
Huddled in groups,
Cheap phones blare fuzzy tunes
but we'd mosh to it anyway.

Winter months' wet weather
brought more to our shelter,
We'd skate, paint and
be anti-social together.

Our multi-story temple
to forsaken adolescence,
Smoke, drink, theft, ***.
Party for free, plan the next.

Our weekends were spent
surrounded by concrete,
We'd hide from our problems
where only we could find us.

One night at the top, nine o' clock,
A chorus of ringing church-bells knocked;
I held her close as we looked upon the city,
Skystruck teens getting dizzy.

It'd be a lie if I said I didn't cherish
some of these ******* memories.
Nostalgic ache is a beatific bane,
Good times are never in vain.
Ain't it funny, some of the things we do
to avoid pain. Am I kidding?
Surely I'm not. Who's laughing?
Everyone's leaving. Losing me for
some-other heathen, somebody a bit
more tangible, someone a little less lost.

"I asked God for a bike, but I know God doesn’t work that way.
So I stole a bike and asked for forgiveness."
Sprained my ankle cycling home, call it the karma I don't believe in.
Quote:
Lines Seven and Eight are a paraprosdokian by Emo Philips
But a shadow of the man,
Barely a shade of human.
(Ask Kharon.)

****-light
shining raggedly through
perceptual refractions
twice that of normality.
The twinkling
of dead-stars,
A thousand sons
to his beating heart; the death drum
rung, thunderous,
Like storm-clouds hum
before Zeus throws down:
Echoes of power, deep-sound.

In this half-life
we are left to choose.
Dust, light and fire consume.
Walking the waters
of The Styx, The Acheron
In his weaker moments he found want of the intoxicants,
When did he forsake the meaning of entheogenic?

If you don't treat the compounds with respect
they're gonna get you.
Drugs are a force of nature,
Gods play by their own rules.

Stimulants,
Depressants,
Opiates,
Psychedelics.
You are their plaything,
Nothing more.

The gods and drugs,
They become synonymous words.
Do your best to keep the score.
During the holidays we'd spend some time
on our university campus
tripping.
I'm sure the total amount of time spent there
under the influence of psychedelics
would surprise
a few of my lecturers, but I know that
places of learning benefit from
the open-minded.
Campus, when it's empty, is wondrous. It has
always been a place I can feel safe
and comfortable in.
I feel so lost
in my empty city
on a Monday night
as cool summer airs touch my brow, anxious habit
leaves my skin, and though I am not whole
I have found it again. I pass through
my old university campus
into millennium park, I listen
to Lake Control and feel this city
run though me, tethered memories
and fragments of my being, scattered
across a world I live in, and these words
I've given are all that remain of my moments,
Time spent about this town, which I share now.
I wanted nothing more
than to escape
into this
existence
I've forgone. A kind of experience
which now escapes me.
The sound of acid
held high, in lofty esteem.
Like a divine kindness,
These heavenly dreams;
In The Psyché I believe.
Inspiration:
Your Acid My Loft (Fearless Transhouse Mix) - Death In Vegas
Knowledge;
n.
The determination of given representations to an object.
from the Critique of Pure Reason (1791) by Immanuel Kant
Data addict needs a fix;
Dopamine ****** hypocrite.
"On my temple in Delphi there are two words written:
Know Thyself.

It's good advice,
Know yourself. You are worth knowing.
Examine your life. The unexamined life is not worth living.

Be aware that people have equal significance.
Give them the space to make their own choices, and let their choices count as you want them to let your choices count.

Remember that excellence has no stopping point and keep on pursuing it. Make art that can last and that says something nobody else can say. Live the best life you can, and become the best self you can.

You cannot know which of your actions is the lever that will move worlds. Not even Necessity knows all ends. Know yourself."
from p.364 of The Just City by Jo Walton
The nadir of humanity walked into the room,
Radiating unconditional misanthropy, he felt
everyone's eyes swivel to look at me, watched
them dart back to their original viewing position
a tad too quickly.
I'd do anything
to get us out
of our head.
I write when I am
distressed, when I
don't understand, when I
desire rest. I write when I wish,
I wish I were struck
by anything moving
fast, of adequate mass
that it might jolt me out
of this existence and into
a dimension which doesn't
quite exist, as it's residing in
thought, that fifth dimension.
It's calling me, calling to me;
Calling out my name,
Or do I call to it?
Wishfully.
I don't have to try
to think softly after
a roaring voice rips
through my mind, it
is just a thought that
crops up sometimes.
The sound is thought
which drifts, fear slips
and I know I'll stand
between sky
and sand
when this
is all over.
Ashes to
ashes,
Dust
to dustpan.
Sweep me up.
All I want is to cruise
high
before the time comes
and I am done,
Dead and dusted once again.
There's pain in me still
and I don't know how to
feel it. I don't blame anyone
except myself. I tend towards
sadness over anger, default to it.
Every morning I wake up and feel
my own judgement swallow me,
Only to spit out my dreams
and tantalize me with
undischarged tears.
Sometimes I feel so deeply
it burns me like kerosene.

The addiction is in superposition
and I'm ready to go.

Do you feel me?
Let us transcend this temporality.
It was during the Dangan days that I started losing everything, I had it all
and now there's nothing. When you're on top there's nowhere to go,
Better jump off than descend slow. Sometimes I wish I'd dived
right in; seeking these chemicals
to (k)no(w) satisfaction,
It's 'cause memory's not happening.

I need something that's intangible,
I fear it's gone away.
All the junkiesque rituals in the underworld
couldn't conjurer that place;
Only the apparition remains.
But I'll stay, because I found a poison; and it tastes good.

Now I'm a dope-dealing fiend,
And you know what?
I kinda like it. At the moment I feel like evil suits me,
If I had a vicious heart then I truly I could be
but I haven't got that in me. I just act and it relieves me.
Playing the drug-baron when I'm tired of the stick-monkey.
I'm doing it cause, just cause;
There's nothing left for me.
Unethical/free?
As I once said:
This is the beginning,
There is no end.
On the banality of perception
does all depend.

"Baby it was real
and we were the best."
Didn't we have it all?
But what is we
in the context of it all?

Have you anything to say,
Any phrase to call?
"Baby don't hurt me
no more", it's been a long haul.

We can become one, ever and all;
Just hold my hand while time stalls.
"Come on baby
(Don't fear the reaper)".

There is no end,
This is just the fall.
Pendent on The Deadpoint;
Know śūnyatā, feel all.
Quotes:
Lines Six & Seven: Graffiti - Unknown
Lines Thirteen & Fourteen: What Is Love - Haddaway
Lines Seventeen & Eighteen: Don't Fear The Reaper - Blue Oyster Cult
Inspiration:
Bye and Stuff - Nigel Godrich
@ http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KT3_EzeOL1Y&feature;=kp
If you head out into the desert
you might as well take something strange
with you, to catalyse a change within you.

Jupiter wanders across the summer night sky,
Raise your kylix to the auspicions of July, turn
whitewater into purple wine.

Saturn wonders
what was on your mind
the day the eart♄ smiled.

5ub1ime/Θblivious.
Inspiration taken from
Whitewater - Kyuss (generator gig):
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OQdY0LCqoeg
Exhortation:
Greetings,
Let no one hesitate to study philosophy while young, and let no one tire of it when old, for it is never too soon nor too late to devote oneself to the well-being of the soul.  Whoever says that the time for philosophy has not yet come or that it has already passed is saying that it is too soon or too late for happiness. Therefore both the young and the old should study philosophy so that, while old, one may still be young with all the joy he has gathered from the past; and while young, one may at the same time be old through fearlessness of the future.
We must practice what produces happiness because when we have it, we have everything, and if we lack it, we shall be doing everything necessary to regain it.  So I encourage you, as always, to study and practice my teachings, for they are the basic ingredients of a happy life.

Don’t Fear the Gods
A god is an immortal and happy being. This is well-known, but do not believe anything about divine nature other than what is congenial for an eternally happy existence.  The gods do exist because we have preconceived notions of them, but they are not like how most people describe them.  Most people embellish their notions of the gods with false beliefs.  They credit the gods for delivering rewards and punishments because they commend those who share their own ways and condemn those who do not.  Rejecting the popular myths does not make one impious; preaching them is what demonstrates impiety.

Don’t Fear Death
Death is no concern to us.  All things good and bad are experienced through sensation, but sensation ceases at death.  So death is nothing to us, and to know this makes a mortal life happy.  Life is not improved by adding infinite time; removing the desire for immortality is what’s required.  There is no reason why one who is convinced that there is nothing to fear at death should fear anything about it during life.  And whoever says that he dreads death not because it’s painful to experience, but only because it’s painful to contemplate, is foolish.  It is pointless to agonize over something that brings no trouble when it arrives.  So death, the most dreaded of evils, is nothing to us, because when we exist, death is not present, and when death is present, we do not exist.   It neither concerns the living nor the dead, since death does not exist for the living, and the dead no longer exist.

Most people, however, either dread death as the greatest of suffering or long for it as a relief from suffering.  One who is wise neither renounces life nor fears not living.  Life does not offend him, nor does he suppose that not living is any kind of suffering.  For just as he would not choose the greatest amount of food over what is most delicious, so too he does not seek the longest possible life, but rather the happiest.  And he who advises the young man to live well and the old man to die well is also foolish – not only because it’s desirable to live, but because the art of living well and the art of dying well are the same.  And he was still more wrong who said it would be better to have never been born, but that “Once born, be quick to pass through the gates of Hades!” {Theognis, 425 - 427} If he was being serious, why wasn’t he himself quick to end his life? Certainly the means were available if this was what he really wanted to do.  But if he was not serious, then we have even less reason to believe him. Future days are neither wholly ours, nor wholly not ours.  We must neither depend on them as sure to come nor despair that we won’t live to see them.

Master your desires
Among desires, some are natural and some are vain.  Of those that are natural, some are necessary and some unnecessary.  Of those that are necessary, some are necessary for happiness, some for health, and some for life itself.  A clear recognition of desires enables one to base every choice and avoidance upon whether it secures or upsets ****** comfort and peace of mind – the goal of a happy life.

Everything we do is for the sake of freedom from pain and anxiety.   Once this is achieved, the storms in the soul are stilled.  Nothing else and nothing more are needed to perfect the well-being of the body and soul.  It is when we feel pain that we must seek relief, which is pleasure.  And when we no longer feel pain, we have all the pleasure we need.

Pleasure, we declare, is the beginning and end of the happy life.  We are endowed by nature to recognize pleasure as the greatest good.  Every choice and avoidance we make is guided by pleasure as our standard for judging the goodness of everything.

Although pleasure is the greatest good, not every pleasure is worth choosing.  We may instead avoid certain pleasures when, by doing so, we avoid greater pains.  We may also choose to accept pain if, by doing so, it results in greater pleasure.  So while every pleasure is naturally good, not every pleasure should be chosen.  Likewise, every pain is naturally evil, but not every pain is to be avoided.  Only upon considering all consequences should we decide.  Thus, sometimes we might regard the good as evil, and conversely: the evil as good.

We regard self-sufficiency as a great virtue – not so that we may only enjoy a few things, but so that we may be satisfied with a few things if those are all we have.  We are firmly convinced that those who least yearn for luxury enjoy it most, and that while natural desires are easily fulfilled, vain desires are insatiable.  Plain meals offer the same pleasure as luxurious fare, so long as the pain of hunger is removed.  Bread and water offer the greatest pleasure for those in need of them.  Accustoming oneself to a simple lifestyle is healthy and it doesn’t sap our motivation to perform the necessary tasks of life.  Doing without luxuries for long intervals allows us to better appreciate them and keeps us fearless against changes of fortune.

When we say that pleasure is the goal, we do not mean the pleasure of debauchery or sensuality.  Despite whatever may be said by those who misunderstand, disagree with, or deliberately slander our teachings, the goal we do seek is this: freedom from pain in the body and freedom from turmoil in the soul.  For it is not continuous drinking and revelry, the ****** enjoyment of women and boys, or feasting upon fish and fancy cuisine which result in a happy life.  Sober reasoning is what is needed, which decides every choice and avoidance and liberates us from the false beliefs which are the greatest source of anxiety.

Live Wisely
The greatest virtue and the basis for all virtues is prudence.  Prudence, the art of practical wisdom, is something even more valuable than philosophy, because all other virtues spring from it.  It teaches us that it is not possible to live pleasurably unless one also lives prudently, honorably, and justly; nor is it possible to live prudently, honestly, and justly without living pleasurably.  For the virtues are inseparable from a happy life, and living happily is inseparable from the virtues.

Who could conceivably be better off than one who is wise?  No one could be more content than one who simply reveres the gods, who is utterly unafraid of death, and who has discovered the natural goal of life.  He understands that pleasure, the greatest good, is easily supplied to absolute fullness, while pain, the greatest evil, lasts only a moment when intense and is easily tolerated when prolonged.

Some believe that everything is ruled by  *fate,  but we should dismiss this.   One who is wise knows that the greater power of decision lies within oneself.  He understands that while some things are indeed caused by fate, other things happen by chance or by choice.  He sees that fate is irreproachable and chance unreliable, but choices deserve either praise or blame because what is decided by choice is not subject to any external power.  One would be better off believing in the myths about the gods than to be enslaved by the determinism proclaimed by certain physicists.  At least the myths offer hope of winning divine favors through prayer, but fate can never be appealed.

Some believe that  chance  is a god, but we should dismiss this also.  One who is wise knows the gods do not act randomly.  He does not believe that everything is randomly caused.  Nor does he believe, in cases when they are, that chance is doling out good and evil with the intent of making human lives happy or unhappy.  He would actually prefer to suffer setbacks while acting wisely than to have miraculous luck while acting foolishly; for it would be better that well-planned actions should perchance fail than ill-planned actions should perchance succeed.

Conclusion:
Practice these teachings daily and nightly. Study them on your own or in the company of a like-minded friend, and you shall not be disturbed while awake or asleep. You shall live like a god among men, because one whose life is fortified by immortal blessings in no way resembles a mortal being.
-Epicurus (341-270 B.C.)
I have an irrepressible drive
to archive knowledge,
A data addiction.

I'm fulfilling it right now
by writing this.
"I can't get no sleep",
My interminable drive to score
until I win.

Yeah, that's the way librarians binge.
Quote:
-Line Five from Insomnia by DJ Tiesto
Consciousness is the genealogy of language;
Entheogenesis, Apotheotelos.

Communication is the teleology of language;
Entheopoïesis, Apotheopraxis.
Information wants to be free.
I hear the nightlife scream its thrill, raucous calls
of unadulterated glee.
Drunken voices resolve, then pass, fading
into their night.
I realize love lost for a city I dared lay a claim to.

Keep me awake and I'll finish this poem. I'm into some
serious sleep-debt. One problem
is being too willing to see the other side.

Despite misgivings that've run amok, I trust my ethics enough
to study the dark arts.
Good morning Roman Countryside.
The City of Rome's dawn asks kindly
would I arise?
Knowledge is inapplicable without wisdom,
Wisdom is impotent without passion,
Passion must be tempered by knowledge
(to build understanding and forge compassion).
These aspects form the basis for comprehension.

To grasp comprehension one must acknowledge
that the great equilibrium does move unevenly.
Only in motion can true balance be maintained.
To do this one must conceive (in mind and hold)
the absurd notions of belief, ridiculous but bold.

To be aware one must seek truth.
To be sublime one must have conviction.
To be oblivious one must embrace ridicule.

To comprehend we must perceive
context and continuity simultaneously.
To attain mastery over their psyche one must first
achieve existential comprehension.
Mastery leads to an intuitive state of being [seemless progression]
which enables zero-summing.
Such is Living In Progress.
First Plane: Precursory Aspects To Comprehension (Prerequisitive Anachronism)
Thesis: Knowledge
Antithesis: Passion
Synthesis: Wisdom

Second Plane: The Equilibrium Paradigm (Discordian Hypothesis)
Thesis: Equality
Antithesis: Imbalance
Synthesis: Motion

The Sublime/Oblivious Trifecta (Aware/Ridiculous Decision):
Truth, Belief and Choice.

Third Plane: The Mastery Convolution (Existential Apotheosis/Entheogenesis)
Thesis: Context
Antithesis: Continuity
Synthesis: Comprehension
Ultimatum: *Living In Progress*
The mind is the hearth of the soul
but emotion keeps the fire going.
When I first saw her arms
they made me feel so afraid,
Those scars that betrayed the masquerade.
I would have killed to save her.
Now I belay this oxymora charade;
But I'm still here, with my broken passion,
Even if you all seem to have forgotten.

Scratch me, I ain't got nothing.
I'm parched and it hurts something.
Double negative.
Soft earth between my fingers

breathe sempiternal
to shirk the sun.

I'm leaving
"the days that must happen to you".

I'm gone.

"How will we ever get out
of this labyrinth of suffering? -AY
Straight & Fast."

I hear you
but you're gone.

Line Five seen at the smoking spot in Looking For Alaska (2019) S1E8; appears in Song of the Open Road by Walt Whitman.
Possibly proposed as an answer to Alaska's question.
Lines Seven, Eight, and Nine from from Looking For Alaska by John Greene.
Strange that I missed those gray skies
and places I've hated in shallow moments
and glacial moods. I suffered such confusion.
My shadow told me: I wouldn't know what to do
with someone. I realize I am splitting, these runaway
valuations have me reckless and lost, out on the borders
my lines are crossed.

"When I was younger I could not concentrate", she said.
That really stuck with me, because I'd been there
and found it happening to me once again.

My consciousness locks up, its parts bristle in anarchic chaos,
Incoherent, indominant. I am bedridden into the afternoon,
Indecisive, fetal. I muse on possible chemical motivation:

The unsubtle euphoria of dexamphetamine,
The warm excitement of a phenidate,
The cold focus of an adrafinal,
The brutish pyrovalerone,
And my prescription
NDRI cathinone.

I get up, disconcerted, apathetic, yet I write this
just to prove that darkness can be a source of strength
when more wholesome platitudes fail.
I know those feelings of power are founded on something
unstable, unsustainable, cruel; yet here I am, in this moment with you.
Buproprion 150mg,
Phenylpiracetam/Citicoline 85/250mg,
Magnesium 375mg,
NAC 600mg.
How well-equipped our astronauts are,
Such rigorous standards set for them by their governments.
It strikes me there are certain things a psychonaut should be,
Some level of training to make us proficient in these practices.

How to build a program or curriculum,
And how do we assess one's competency
in configuring mind? We can qualify it but
without a quantifiable unit of measurement;
We can only teach through experience.
We must borrow from other disciplines,
Adopting as many methods of description
as are useful. Ultimately our notation will fail
the exploration of inner-space, I think no metric
can adequately represent how we navigate a soul
The territory we meander through is so different
yet we may share an inkling
between people.

There is this feeling
that some experiences
are ineffable. No, I think
it's that they affect our means
of expression. States of mind that
break through self-concept, dissolve
our components, ego, id or otherwise.

We must reconcile postmodern relativism
with the richness of our own subjectivity.
Sometimes I worry it is merely a question of language.
A long summer's dusk
yawned
as if this side of the earth
were tired
of day and wished to usher
in the quiet of night. I found
myself sitting on a stone bench
overlooking the river, cathedral
and town as magnanimous indigo
stretched so spritely to ripple across
the sky and corral the light so that the
stars could guide me home.
Something shone
so I asked, where have all my people gone?
The reply, they're still here.
This lonely fiend's new friends
remind him how temporary relief
is
because I have done this too many times
and I have lost interest in living
as I wander this town,
My sweet city
split me
into
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