All I have to do is turn off the lights
and the world becomes a magical place for me again.
It's that simple sometimes.

The recounts of infinite being call,
The path to lucidity is a long haul.

A paradigm shift is coming, and I'm ready.

Dark sunrise,
Heart of a glimmering empyrean.

Cross my heart
and swear to Justice,
The Phantom knows †
just where you placed it:
The Buckfast chalice, consecrated
by our tonic vintage of the ever-inebriated.

Does night fall
or do we raise it

Forlorn, heroic blue
deliverance, powdered
white crystalline shivers.

These nightfallen moments capture my gaze
to stun me so thoroughly and leave me amazed.

We did trespass, deface, vandalize, mace all manner of things, frequently, selflessly
What is noble, the non-aristocratic definition:
"having or showing fine personal qualities
or high moral principles". I saw both in places you'd never suspect,
-Anything abandoned and everything unintended
In faces I came to greatly respect,
-All those friends who moved us towards the transcended
In choices I don't (and cannot) regret.
-In what I consumed and with whom I slept
It amazed me,
-That dusk sky
It stays with me;
-My longing mind
What I witnessed,
-From way up high
What I experienced;
-Life and/or death
I never would have guessed
I could be a part of living like this.
For that I am blessed,
Even if only temporary
it's bliss nonetheless.
-Shivers down the back of my neck
But enough,
What tales have I to tell?
I fear mere words would be woefully inept
at describing how I feel about the times we've kept;
My city and I, and the people we adore.

Drizzle descended on the park's benches
but foul weather couldn't stop
our journey through the intoxicants

The night was cold but she was warm,
Under gushing orange lamplight
we were in each other's arms

All a fraction of a shard of that which occurred
beyond a sonder veil, yet I fear even this
shall remain an unspoken tale.

What truly captured my gaze
were not the drugs I've come to glorify
nor the women that caught my roaming eye,
It was the communality of it all; identifiable to a teenage.
We formed clans, became family; now we Grow Up and Blow Away.
Sometimes I do miss those subtle days.

Enough with these low doses, I feel like some real therapy.

A strong dose of some rather rare material, a designer dissociative
once highly popular, now virtually extinct: methoxetamine.

I disperse 47 milligrams into water and sup it, tentatively.

I feel the usual fear as a foreign chemical enters my brain en masse
and begins to alter the fabric of my mind.
It has a relatively long come-up, 45-90 mins.

In due time the chaos begins, I drift off into that aeon M-verse.
Eventually I get comfortable and listen to Skyrim atmospheres.

I have an epistmic vision, a vision of human knowledge as
increasingly ubiquitous, in line with the proliferation of modern ICT.
The use of tools, of signs and language is a gift unlike any other.
That we might imagine the past or a future. We are most fortunate
to have these stories, concepts and imaginings,
Things that allow us to venture beyond our home;
Things to remind us there's something to come back to.
They ask us what we want
and we answer: to share in this.
It asks me what I want and I answer:
To contribute, to feel this wash me away

such that I am no longer marooned.

In a forest where seldom much is heard
my steps fell solemn,
Reverent, undeterred.

Walking among sprites,
The trees were my guide,
The binding of aspects
witnessed in our eye.

Can everything we experience be delegated to brain activity?
What is mystical, how is it transmitted?
Who witnessed the birth of the empyreal?
Whatever is The Empyrean?

So many drifting realms call out
and questing minds have sought,
Time-in/time-out, to find them
yet again, resolving to determine
that definition, the word: 'change'.

The loneliness of the Apotheon is in its seeking
to control change, forever chasing an illusion,
Day-after-day. The surge of Endorphus is just
an extension of the lust of Entactus, it pushes
things farther, further away, the melancholy of
Empathos draws them closer to us (at dusk),
Alexithymia was begging to be broken, so chained
t'was by a human, pondering the depths of Absurdia
and beyond; a love of The Psychedelion might yet prove
harmonizing enough to climb over this wall that was built
to constrain our thought, make no mistake, t'was built by us.
Night-afore-night we remember a way to bypass Choler, to rend asunder temporality via escapism's wonders, quantizing oneirogenesis, living dreams.
I dreamt I lived in a keep,
How strange, a castle was my home;
It was homely though.
Hence the forlorn appearance of The Entheon
as (by dawn) it let go
of the notion of control,
Reflecting our determination {from eons ago/for aeons to come}

I was standing at my laptop, tripping, when the thought hit me: the reason we're so infatuated with technology is born of our yearning for control. What a lovely illusion to cherish, knowing does not detract from its merit; it sedates me wonderfully.

Ah but perhaps that's why Facebook is so addictive, as it lies in between ours and others spheres' of control. We push and pull, trying to hang on to these puppet personas. It's unendingly stimulating.

Virtuality offers us everything, and it's easily abused. So,
Here's something to always remember about the internet:

Once you put something online/out there it is no longer yours.

Yes, this applies to your words, you cannot control interpretations
nor can you prevent the theft of your world. Unlike reality,
Virtuality knows nothing of material scarcity,
The limit's the bandwidth and there be pirates aboard.
What am I if not begging for someone to come steal me? Take me away!

I don't have a name, all you can desecrate are these emotions I crave.
I'm writing these things because it stops me from killing somebody but
by all means, appropriate me, my work, my words, my world.

Maybe you'll add a bit of value to it, and god loves a data-*****.

On a final note, sometimes I am really afraid to be myself
because sometimes I think I'm a monster;
But I am getting better.


So there you go.

Some people are so alive and full of life,
Some people just want to die
as the world burns
around them

because nothing is
so warm.

You know,
I could have told you

so much more
if I weren't so afraid
of the stars and those lives
that I left behind all those closed doors.

I ripped out my eyes
so I could see sound,
Then stalked the earth
as it spun ever-'round

The sky turned red
with the blood of stars,
Chthonic heat
melted tar.
Underworld denizens
fled the scene,
For the storm had swept
Tartarus clean.
A hellion riot
was underway,
And angelic anarchy
had it's day.

No acumen to be found
in those novae eyes,
No subtlety,
No disguise.

The Oran rain patters against my home,
The wind breaks upon the house
and I lie in bed
feeling comfortably alone.

I need to sort my life, move on from this town,
Need to stop being on my own, want to give myself
away, want someone to take me
far away. I'd willingly lose myself
to another, a city or a person; the other,
Me. Is this narcissism? Can I just be happy,
Or must I change so radically
in order to escape?

The real work must begin,
This aimlessness must end before it becomes
ceaseless in its expansion. All I have are words
and melodies, moments in experience that will be lost to all
time. I might as well craft an album, and nod to all I've felt
and've left to feel. Music keeps me alive, 's the only thing
sometimes.

A swan cruised down Lough Atalia
as midnight struck this brisk November
a second followed in its wake.
Sparse weeknight traffic sews by,
Woven into the quiet breeze of a new Wednesday.

I listen to a few tunes as I cycled down The Line,
Pausing to note this moment
and gaze upon G-twn.

They say, "it's always safer not to take drugs".
What of medicine, what of utility?
There's certainly need for antidotes,
and pain relief and even wakefulness.

They'd amend, "It's safer not to take drugs recreationally",
What of therapy and wholesomeness,
The spiritual aspect or communal element
of mind-expanding or pair- and group-bonding.

I ask, is there a healthy amount of recreational drug use?
Can we perform a hedonic calculus to determine
this amount, per person, per substance?
How do we treat with the ethics
of recreational drug use?
What do we owe
the virtues we have inherited,
How do we reckon with the vices identified?

Is substance exceptionalism ever warranted?
Do we deserve cognitive liberty?
Is such a thing coherent
given I may have become biased

in partaking or abstaining
from those drugs
I endeavor to study.
How do we determine what is pleasurable and right?

This darkness, its warmth; those moments,
Their permanence, they're permanent; these
words ring with something I will not abandon,

Something real; it locks part of my soul, listening
for two minutes and forty-two seconds to the sound
of lake control.

This is the only thing
that makes anything
better anymore

whispered the
Scorekeeper to her
localized experience

machine running upon
everything possible;
Acknowledge the
choice desired,
Be sagacious
in choosing

for it's through the cracked ones
that the light shines.

One of those days where the weight of it all
seems insurmountable
in the face of life, of men
and mice, of gods wronged
by mortal songs, o' those few,
Precious few, fated to cast dice
and any other animal who might.

I know to be content
all I must do is stand here
in the drizzle during the witching
hour, all I must do is
feel the morning dew after it's coalesced,
Its moisture caressingly laid on each fine blade
of grass, all I must do
is breathe the afternoon mist, take in this fresh air,
All I must do is stride
thru nightly fog, taking it in; and above all, be present
while I can, all I must
do is appreciate that I
am

Lilith craved Ficus carica,
Mr. Robot brandished
a branch of Olea europaea.
Would either care to comment
on the state of the world? Their intentions
clear. Is it that "all the world's a stage"
or that all we are is a mirror?
Should it matter that I feel the motions of my mind, and
long to escape without the aid of their counterparts.
Subtle contrarian. Every reaction has its equal
in emotion; each moment has its fulcrum.

I miss being a teenager
because I can't grow up any-more.

I still get hormone swings
and that peer pressure thing
and regret I can't withdraw.

Yet my sense of being is not increasing,
No it's not at all.

I have a fondness for meaningless memories,
Their insignificance speaks to me
like culture shock when on holiday.

Effy Stonem's eyes pierce mine;
Mesmerized by irides the quality of sky.

What doth lie behind
those otherworldly portals
in link with the mind,
Thought;
Existence rests upon something intangible,
Memory is our cradle
from which we muse upon this design.
Do excuse my wandering mind,
She's still got the liveliness I left behind.

I would implore
the resplendent words
that a daughter of Atlas
might bring forth; a veracious
representation of the world,
To wit, her.

Don't stop writing,
It keeps the mind strong.

Apathy/lethargy, I do not wish thee
upon anybody;
Unmotivated perfection.

I can't start eternity.

Leaves seethe
outside my window.

I envy
the poor chap
who doesn't know pity.

I was at
the last supper.
Lost my train of thought
in a tunnel gone dark.

Stream
of
con-
-cious-
-ness,

The questionable house-shares, cramped studios,
Dilapidated granny flats, with bedrooms anywhere
a bed could conceivably fit. There is no dignity
to be found here, nor a notion of feng shui.

Countless hours trawling through ads,
Listings and social media pages,
Innumerable miles traveled to view
places too small, expensive, uninhabitable

or just plain inhospitable.
After a viewing I'd drive back, south
towards the Wicklow mountains, to Bree where

I could rest my head awhile, before my landlord
sells. I will find a place here, oh yes,
This city has it's charms.

Praise be oneirongensis,
[404: prophecy not found]

groggily:
**** you sleep inertia.

I lost it, lost you, lost me;
I'm not, I am. Somebody
come back and remind
me why, been working
so hard to get to that
place.
Have you even one iota
of post-human faith?
I almost died, all I
wanted was to feel
love.
So many beautiful
people and I feel so
detached.
Without a
sense of self
what am I really about?

During the summer of two-thousand-and-thirteen
many a night I did spend writing poetry
until eventually sunrise would creep up behind me
and I would realize how long I had spent
deliberating on little more than a few lines,
Tweaking their meaning, trying to find
something, a thing in them. Writing,
I aspired to go beyond rhyme,
To reconcile the world with my wanting mind
That searching, in-itself, was sublime;
In the act of poiesis one becomes divine.

Those were some of the best nights of my life,
Always ending with the sounds of the dawn chorus
which would rankle with me as I'd try to drift off
into a content and thickly sleeping state, from which I'd awake
groggily, in the afternoon of the same day.
That summer was my life.

During the winter of {twenty-thirteen/twenty-fourteen}
many a night I did spend alone, marathoning powerful
series (namely, Game of Thrones), until eventually
the sun crept up and finally I'd fall
into troubled sleep, exhaustion was the only stuff.
So eager to forget the world I was
that I found myself in such a lonely place. I kept what
it offered me: an escape. I went a week without daylight.
The night was all mine for this nocturnal escapism, it was
great, a ridiculous and foolhardy thing, I needed it so badly
back then. In this act of praxis I vilified.

It was during one of my worse times,
When I'd be out sessioning regularly
'til dawn and for days afterwards I'd
still feel the come-down. Two lives fit
into one sleeping pattern all-too-perfectly. I remember skagging with an odd fondness now, fairly irreligious yet therapeutic somehow.

All observation is from a particular point, but
acknowledged subjectivity's better than naught.
Thus follows some comments on their qualitative nature.
Use them as you deem. In this piece everything is as it seems.

Caffeine is unappreciated enough,
Give credit to that stimulant for the things it does.
Coffee has little time to play, for there are errands
to attend to before the light fades.

The amphetamine will spin you until you're spun,
The cathinone will also try you with its luck.
The stimulant is a trickster [touch within]
and a magician never reveals their secret,
Even when seeking it befalls endlessness.

Me and E(cstasy) used to dance all night,
Closer to all your dreams was as far
from the light, we soaked ourselves
in emotionality and I soared high:
Perfection in the dark
rekindled my heart; 'cause
on pills you love everyone.

******* is always hungry but will never feed you
for it is naught but the scent of pure ego;
because on coke everyone loves you.

There is nothing to learn from an opioid or benzodiazepine
beyond the hedonistic stupor in-between awake and sleeping.
Similarly, cigarettes never taught me anything about myself
much like quick, ***** ***, that's nicotine and painkillers, in essence.

Alcohol is reliable for those sociable
but can hurt the body and scorn the emotional.
Drink toyed with me, then she abandoned me;
Despite that messiness I still reminisce occasionally.

Gamma-HydroxyButyric acid [GHB] requires utmost caution,
One must observe the proper conduct when
wading through such subtle intoxication.

Don't use ket too much, don't use angel dust.
If you want a supreme arylcyclohexylamine
seek out methoxetamine, use it responsibly.
Dissociation, end of line; no[thing is o]ne.

Always be considerate before transcending reality,
Reverence for psychedelics keeps them self-regulatory.
Of all the compounds they would humble and reveal to you;
Existential, being when tripping; every[is]one.

Cannabis I dared to use recreationally
for it often reminded us when one should act sensibly.
That deep conversing with trusted friends
is better than any substance I have ever had the nerve to test.

I am apprehensive about dating,
It's something I feel I should pursue
while I'm still young; part of me wishes
to come closer, yearning for someone other,
To stand outside oneself and be with another.

Another part of me takes comfort in solitude,
My old soul is content, the sun goes down.
There are times when I reject warmth
and feel the cold universe
run through me;

Eternity is always just a few moments away,
Seeking the edge of chaos, searching for someone

Some bad habits
are etched into us.

I drank Havana Club
'tres años' to ring 20β2 in,

Surrounded by a few friends
(and honored to call them such),

I worry sometimes they're too good
for me. I am torn by my history, in 20ζ2

I am between selves.

Some better habits
are written upon
our conscience,

And ketamine;
But you know what they say,
Irony is golden.

The warm, entactogenic transience
of 5-MAPB carried us into 2δ24, thus
we found ourselves in January uttering:

Tempus edax rerum (time devours things).

I will finish five months of therapy
yet find myself wondering
should I have made it an even six?

I question with Four Tet on, As Serious
As Your Life has been, any answers given
have left me wondering.

How seriously do I take it,
Opia, existence?
All I want is to love life,
I thank music for being so kind. What Rom Di Prisco cast
I would divine, Gamma Velorum, Graviphoton, any other insight.

Today I considered several fluorinated analogues for the 2C-x and DOx families, extending these considerations to the 2C-T-x and Aleph branches of their respective family trees. There are perhaps
over a dozen viable compounds, clinical trials pending.
Afterwards I took a lengthy shower and cooked dinner.
Following this I joined my compatriots upon campus, wherein we engaged in conversation aided by the consumption of ethanol and caffeine, tonic wine indeed. These are my thoughts while I am still
drunk and wired. I've been afraid

I might not be ready to leave, I know I am.
"Ohana means family
and family means nobody gets left behind".

I'm coming back.
In that glittering, bottomless moment a pair of opaque pupils refocus.

Love is eternal
though spirit
may change.

Once you love you always love.
A moment in time is suspended
as past diverges from present,
Love becomes attached in memory.

People may change but memory is immutable
once its sense is set,
Although knowledge and understanding
are not always the fastest of friends.

Don't be afraid of change,
Embrace it, roll with it and
you always come out on top.

That numb, unfeeling sensation became dear to me, a state of mind accompanying serotonin depletion which meant I could no longer feel. A part of me misses
its darkness. Halfway in-between
checking myself out and going back
to those few, all-too-brief years spent
in the throes of junkiedom, it struck me:

It's the things people don't do that they truly regret.
You can laugh at how awkward you were,
You can't laugh at what never was.
No point living halfway,
All or nothing.
"If I don't go crazy I'll lose my mind,
I saw a life before me but now I'm blind,
I want to go to heaven, never been there before,
I want to go to heaven, so you give me some more".

Give me a decent cloak with a proper hood please.
Merci beaucoup.

Enough of this dark ****.
Asking me "bro, do you even know
how hard it is to **** yourself"
after taking potentially fatal doses
of various CNS depressants. I know

better than most. I cannot watch this.
Our lifelines are fragile things
and I shouldn't have to stare down Atropos
for anyone other than myself.
I wanna live.

"I want to hold on to the innocence I got".
We make our own fate, weaving stories
to tell ourselves, measuring the world
with them, and wearing our destinies out.

Just when I think it's left me
it returns, revived; renewal:
That sole feeling of existence,
When surprise is like a miracle.

Keep it continual
in this continuum of days,
Kick back and listen to the waves.

Keep it spiritual
in this continuous daze,
Hold it close to your chest and stay amazed.

I feel the memory of this world being recorded,
As I absorb every moment of it.

All subtle intricacy and half-lit beauty,
Living in Progress is a synthesis
of context and continuity.

We've got a problem and you know it,
We're both hypocrites and we love it.
Say it out loud, admit to it,
Say I'm a hypocrite.

She said I wasn't broken enough
but contradiction is my benediction

Acid cyclone on the horizon,
Shroom typhoon on distant shores,
Mescalito tornado on desert sands,
Psychedelic weather on the floor.

"What's your name?
What have you had?
Reach for the lazers.
Safe as ****."

The thought struck me,
How long it has been.
How long it seems,
But I wonder

whether it's that
you learn to live with a cleft heart
or that you replace a part here and there
until it no longer resembles whatever you once felt.

Memory's at the chasm. Guilt,
I wish I'd been better. Say I look better. D'I feel better?
What to do other than write ode to GABA, one for the Irish.

Earlier I took a low dose of phenibut,
Three-quarters of a gram,
Perhaps equivalent to a pint.
Mild result, tired now, my eyelids
are heavy with the experience of it all.

A short time ago, in a city far west
there were a few tribes
of women and men
who sessioned together
regularly, until the crack of dawn;
And when that healthy detachment
from reality faded you'd walk home.
Sneak up to your bed, quietly, lest ye
be caught in such a state, the state you
were in. Those heroes
who had a gaff of their own
could session endlessly, so long
as they had the energy, they pushed
those bodies as far as they'd go, lit by the fires of their bright souls.

I am somewhat disappointed
in myself and those old habits.

I did not intend
to drink or smoke
or take stimulants
last night. Alas, my former zealotry took me by surprise.

I was happy enough just being around my people,
Talking with them. There was no need for me
to be as concerned,
To champion
the cause.

This I regret
for I was far too drunk
when the 4-Fluoroethylphenidate
came out, and its nuances were lost on me.

The human cannot return to nature,
There is too much beyond us which we cannot return.
Signs, tools, and above all, promise.
To promise is to prescribe a duty, and offer one's reputation
as collateral. It implies trust, it assures
that one will act in accordance with their word.

What should make this anything other
than an elaborate set of signs
used to measure
the value of other humans?
An intricate social tool, as it were.

In promise there is a prescription of duty
towards another, and an invocation of hope.
In promise there is subordination, implied trust.

We are always interpreting ourselves,
Interpreting our actions, thoughts
and even those interpretations.
Will becomes the extension,
So too does it look upon
itself to ask where
the arbitrary line
should be drawn.
Where do I end,
Where does the machinery
of my intention take the place
of the unequivocality that I saw.

We had to grow up and pretend
like there aren't any of these problems
burning onto one's soul, eating at us

like fire around a coal;
Judgement and disbelief
are among my greatest fears

yet are the subtle expressions
of this fickle palimpsest, composite
of our longest years.

Thought I was creating something,
Detailing feeling and knowing,
Dedicating experience and growing,
Thinking of something better than me
in the hopes that it would better me.
I am not ashamed of myself-consoling poetry,
I had to try, that's all I ever meant by it.
If anyone should notice, and gods forbid they do
actually read this, then I'll admit it: I am Mydriasis

As narcotic erosion ate at my core
I asked is this life even human any-more?
"We're the ******' animals" now!
Leaving Fyrestone
as the skags howl.

Don't hate the player,
Hate the game.
"I need your love",
just to stay sane.

What's the score at forty to four?
Waitin' sixty minutes for a bRave new world;
Huxley was right (but Mescaline is hard to find).

Sorcerous balefire on desert sands,
Our methylenedioxy immanention is at hand.

Who ate Pandora's box?

Consciousness is a projection
existing in another's projection
which we presume exists inside
an ultimate projection, the universe.
Why stop there? When there's no context
there can be only infinite regress.

A more convoluted box you'll not
find than those pandoran trips
that the psyché left behind.


"All these infinite universes  . . .

Had a bump of hexen last night
and some heart-strain this morning.

I should probably worry, but I don't know
what takes precedent. To be politically incorrect,
I feel like I'm sick in the head
a lot of the time. It's who I am,
Who I had to become to survive,
To live, and even though
I'm through it
I struggle to forgive myself. I hope this is the start
of a better relationship between us, ourselves, I;

For the first time in a long while I felt
wholeness after poiesis, reconciliation, reintegration.