I want to weave a musical spell, that leaves you unwell and thinking of me everyday.
I want to play you a tune that leaves you marooned and troubled, each time I'm away...
Is there a melody... ?
that could lead you to me - like a lullabied child led to sleep?
So for one moment in time, you'd find that your mine
And softly I'd kiss you and weep.
I want to write a simple song that's so frequently sung,
That you call me to have the thing banned...
Who's sound so endears that whole nations cheer and sigh
When you take my hand.
Is there a melody... ?
that could lead you to me - like a lullabied child led to sleep?
So for one moment in time, you'd find that your mine
And softly I'd kiss you and weep...
For I'm a gambler that just wants to lose,
and be allowed to leave.
I'm a traveler with one last mile... my journey is complete.
I'm like a swallow that wants one long last look, before flying east.
Last on my list - and then I quit - to kiss your lips and weep.
I want to play a silver note that fills you with hope
And tames you to feed from my hand.
A turquoise chord that invites you to soar
And fly… to a far away land.
A symphony that gently leads you to sit and be still with me.
And grief doesn't frighten me
Cause I want to kiss you and weep.
For I'm a gambler that just wants to lose... and be allowed to leave.
I'm a traveler - with one last mile. My journey is complete.
I'm like a swallow that wants one long last look... before flying east...
Last on my list - and then I quit - to kiss your lips and weep.
Is there a melody - that could lead you to me - like a lullabied child led to sleep?
So for one moment in time you'd find that your mine
And softly I'd kiss you and weep.
So for one moment in time, you'd find that you're mine
And softly I'd kiss you and weep.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Dancing in the dark
Forensic Sci 9:195-203 - Oliver JS, Smith H, WIlliams DJ (1977) tells us that putrefying bodies have been shown to develop non-negligible proportions of b-phenethylamine under the right conditions... namely, kill it, chill it, inject sodium fluoride at about 1mg/L into the bloodstream, manually massage and then allow to rot for about a week before draining the blood and commencing electrophoreisis... these were studies on human cadavers, but I'm assuming most higher mammals would do the same thing... i was thinking maybe bulk-buy baby rabbits from irresponsible neighbourhood children, or just breed my own and gas 'em with sarin, which would also nicely push out the anticholinesterase balance to our favour...
cruel and unusual, but possibly viable! some human cadavers 3 weeks putrefied in a 14*C cooler were detected to have b-phen up to 193mg/L
it's a small yeild, but easily obtained and very repeatable.
apparently natural concentrations of 'wild' cadavers peak out about 5 hours postmortem but cholinesterase rips the shit out of everything after that... so chilling promotes higher production and NaF inhibits breakdown... internal surface flesh from the superior and inferior vena cava and right heart also bears marked additional concentrations
I wonder how hard it would be to steal a vegetable body from a hospital, set up a life-support system in my lab and jsut tweak his biochemistry to the desired enzyme stats and start pushing apiole or safrole into his liver... but then again, rabbits are far more efficient for that particular conversion... "Determination of biogenic amines in wine after clean-up by solid-phase extraction" - O. Busto, M. Mestres, J. Guasch and F. Borrull says that simple ion exchange cartridges and HPLC is pulling 50ug/L of phenethylamine derivatives from commercial wines.. with a little adaption, it shouldn't be too hard to be cleaning at least 100mg/L of beta-phenthylamine from a decent cadaver. most bodies are about 11% blood of mass, so for your average human male we're talking 4.7-5 litres... 500mg of b-PEA suitably preserved with a dash of NaF is enough for a little under 300mg of molly, via the easiest (but not the best-yeilding) pathway... with a lot of good equipment I could probably get 90-100% conversion rate! So, two bodies under ideal conditions would give me a gram of pure MDMA, which is enough for, say, ten good pills. In my awful, shitty city pills of that clibre go for up to $50 each. $500 more then covers the cost of a brick to hit hobos with, plus it's really freaking cool.
then again, most processed cheeses can be carrying up to 58mg/kg of b-PEA, according to "Biogenic amines in processed cheese available in Egypt" - International Dairy Journal Volume 6, Issues 11-12, November-December 1996, Pages 1079-1086 (M. M. El-Sayed) and cheese is a lot easier to hold onto then corpses...
But oh how I LOVE to recycle!
cruel and unusual, but possibly viable! some human cadavers 3 weeks putrefied in a 14*C cooler were detected to have b-phen up to 193mg/L
it's a small yeild, but easily obtained and very repeatable.
apparently natural concentrations of 'wild' cadavers peak out about 5 hours postmortem but cholinesterase rips the shit out of everything after that... so chilling promotes higher production and NaF inhibits breakdown... internal surface flesh from the superior and inferior vena cava and right heart also bears marked additional concentrations
I wonder how hard it would be to steal a vegetable body from a hospital, set up a life-support system in my lab and jsut tweak his biochemistry to the desired enzyme stats and start pushing apiole or safrole into his liver... but then again, rabbits are far more efficient for that particular conversion... "Determination of biogenic amines in wine after clean-up by solid-phase extraction" - O. Busto, M. Mestres, J. Guasch and F. Borrull says that simple ion exchange cartridges and HPLC is pulling 50ug/L of phenethylamine derivatives from commercial wines.. with a little adaption, it shouldn't be too hard to be cleaning at least 100mg/L of beta-phenthylamine from a decent cadaver. most bodies are about 11% blood of mass, so for your average human male we're talking 4.7-5 litres... 500mg of b-PEA suitably preserved with a dash of NaF is enough for a little under 300mg of molly, via the easiest (but not the best-yeilding) pathway... with a lot of good equipment I could probably get 90-100% conversion rate! So, two bodies under ideal conditions would give me a gram of pure MDMA, which is enough for, say, ten good pills. In my awful, shitty city pills of that clibre go for up to $50 each. $500 more then covers the cost of a brick to hit hobos with, plus it's really freaking cool.
then again, most processed cheeses can be carrying up to 58mg/kg of b-PEA, according to "Biogenic amines in processed cheese available in Egypt" - International Dairy Journal Volume 6, Issues 11-12, November-December 1996, Pages 1079-1086 (M. M. El-Sayed) and cheese is a lot easier to hold onto then corpses...
But oh how I LOVE to recycle!
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Fuck the army.
Experiment to understand and realise, just how difficult a task it is to exist as a concious being with an unconcious mind. To have your physical actions regulated - Heartbeat. Blinking. Sweat, fear, cry. Salivate. Shit, piss, scream. jack off in the latrines.
These are things we are used to controlling. Things we have been doing, with varying degrees of independence, since we were very small.
We break up this monotony with creative thought like water at dawn, disturbed by lurking waterfowl.
The army is the foulmouthed redneck bastard who smells like a brewery and lurks in the reeds at the end of the lake with a shotgun resting in the crook of his knarled elbow, waiting to blast your creative thought out of the water the moment it pops it's blinding white head up.
Fuck the army.
These are things we are used to controlling. Things we have been doing, with varying degrees of independence, since we were very small.
We break up this monotony with creative thought like water at dawn, disturbed by lurking waterfowl.
The army is the foulmouthed redneck bastard who smells like a brewery and lurks in the reeds at the end of the lake with a shotgun resting in the crook of his knarled elbow, waiting to blast your creative thought out of the water the moment it pops it's blinding white head up.
Fuck the army.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
Forget the brane.
In 1891 I was diagnosed on my deathbed with descendant awakening, and in a few hours I'm going to remember my birth tomorrow.
refLECT..IO??? /N. [experiments in languid language]
debate incipity against youthful exuberance; genocide against the argument of historically-established reasoning. when do jews stop being jews? when do nazis stop being nazis? When do they become the same thing? What maketh intolerance, what constructs xenophobia?
these are not questions I would pretend to know the answers to; givent hat I am neither old, young, jew nor nazi. A good friend of mine went to the doctor to get a physical. Att he end of it, the good doctor informed him "Mr. Peterson; I'm afraid you are colourblind." My friend Jack looked a little shaken, and exclaimed: "Shit, I hope none of my friends are niggers!"
Right now, I've god a bad case of the wibblety/wobbleties, bubbly funky morning music is dribbling out of the subwoofer horns and condensing on my eardrums - Warm, slimy wet tones that lurk in the lower registers of human hearing, occasionally dragged out via the constructive interference of more square-edged or sawtooth high tones - We drip to the beat and buzz to syncopate.
Morning psytrance is lovely. Everyone should wake up to the sight of a purple cheshire cat grinning in the sunrise light.
Mother always told me never to eat the cat; but then again, she also said "Don't ever lick anything at a Dead show", and yet, here I am today, dipping chupa-chups in liquid LSD and dispensing them to toddlers...
fucking wibblety-wobbleties.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Maxi Taxis on the edge of reality.
Every time you open your eyes you bounce text off the back of your skull, and it sticks with the same kind of wet thumping noise that you get when you punch a week-dead baby. Then, once there's enough semi-cogitated sputum accumulated there; it all comes crashing down, real tower of babel shit, and you rake through the vomit with your fingertips extended like a web spider, searching for the chunks that have glued together coherently. This activated complex soup of thoughts and conceptual diatribe filled with polymerised dumplings of sense - Be sure to wash your hands after every meal.
Studying neurolinguistics with present human languages as a base is sort of like realigning a maser collimator with a sledgehammer - It's either on, or off. 1 or 0. No subdivisions. We are hampered like all fuck by the languages we speak. Cogito ergo sum, writing itself is stupid. Trying to explain it is even stupider. Which makes me writing how to explain why explaining writing is so stupid, stupid cubed. Which basically sums up the majority of human existence - Three dimensions of fucktardedness.
But it's the closest fucking thing we have to a true record of conciousness, as an EEG is nothing more then polygonal, hard-edged and neon coloured spaghetti, some kind of ridiculous raver bolognaise that's completely indecipherable as to what they're actually thinking about, only giving us the faintest of inklings as to which bit of their brain is doing the thinking and how hard they're thinking about it. We have qualitative, but not quantitative. It's the marquis test, not HPLC.
Don't beat yourself up over it - It's not your fault you were brought up in this environment. Just remember, though... It doesn't have to be like this... All we need to do is make sure we keep talking!
Studying neurolinguistics with present human languages as a base is sort of like realigning a maser collimator with a sledgehammer - It's either on, or off. 1 or 0. No subdivisions. We are hampered like all fuck by the languages we speak. Cogito ergo sum, writing itself is stupid. Trying to explain it is even stupider. Which makes me writing how to explain why explaining writing is so stupid, stupid cubed. Which basically sums up the majority of human existence - Three dimensions of fucktardedness.
But it's the closest fucking thing we have to a true record of conciousness, as an EEG is nothing more then polygonal, hard-edged and neon coloured spaghetti, some kind of ridiculous raver bolognaise that's completely indecipherable as to what they're actually thinking about, only giving us the faintest of inklings as to which bit of their brain is doing the thinking and how hard they're thinking about it. We have qualitative, but not quantitative. It's the marquis test, not HPLC.
Don't beat yourself up over it - It's not your fault you were brought up in this environment. Just remember, though... It doesn't have to be like this... All we need to do is make sure we keep talking!
A giggle and a half, for sure.
An eventful year, that was. A dozen different lives played out in a multifaceted psychological journey from insecurity to god complex and back again to baseline - A lot of people have ups and downs, smooth sailing and an average amplitude in terms of general fucked-up-edness their lives follow; I seem to have some strange gabber kick that has me going nicely then dumps me on my arse, I'll be shit for a week or a month and then a single good event comes along. It's all balanced, karmically and harmonically; but to be honest i'd have preferred the transitions to have been a little bit smoother.
The morning of 2009 began with a severe psychoallergic reaction to several substances that normally treat me wonderfully. I am not entirely sure why; but I wasn't the only one whose vibes weren't in tune that sunrise. These demons were purged by a litle snuff of the demon tea on tobacco; and with them, my breakfast - I found myself poweryakking incoherently as the world burned around me, melting like wax and crumbling like lego. Fragments of glass cover my bare feet as my demons, memories and hatred are expengued in a bilous stream, a fetid ichor of unpleasant karma and unapproachable demeanour.
Rest easy, body. You have earned this.
It's just like the song goes...
My body is the car that I've been driving
Around for thirty six years
My body the car
Slowly burning out the rubber
and stripping the gears
Maybe the poet was right, but had the wrong timing. - revise my previous.
You don't know how to ease my pain
you don't know
You don't know how to ease my pain.
You don't know what the sound is
darling
It's the sound of my tears falling
or is it the rain?
You don't know.
You don't know how to play the game
and you cheat
you lie...
The morning of 2009 began with a severe psychoallergic reaction to several substances that normally treat me wonderfully. I am not entirely sure why; but I wasn't the only one whose vibes weren't in tune that sunrise. These demons were purged by a litle snuff of the demon tea on tobacco; and with them, my breakfast - I found myself poweryakking incoherently as the world burned around me, melting like wax and crumbling like lego. Fragments of glass cover my bare feet as my demons, memories and hatred are expengued in a bilous stream, a fetid ichor of unpleasant karma and unapproachable demeanour.
Rest easy, body. You have earned this.
It's just like the song goes...
My body is the car that I've been driving
Around for thirty six years
My body the car
Slowly burning out the rubber
and stripping the gears
Maybe the poet was right, but had the wrong timing. - revise my previous.
You don't know how to ease my pain
you don't know
You don't know how to ease my pain.
You don't know what the sound is
darling
It's the sound of my tears falling
or is it the rain?
You don't know.
You don't know how to play the game
and you cheat
you lie...
Grow the fuck up.
DMT is not an ego game. It is not something you use to one-up on people with. It is not a badge of mental fortitude. It is not a notch on your psychedelic bedpost, it is not a rung on your spiritual ladder. it is a whole new ball game, and if you're that wrapped up in your own fucking insecurities that you have to make it about how you got it, and how it's "not meant to be shared" then you need to seriously re-evaluate your life. DMT changes humanity, but only when it is taken with good intentions. If you pester and whine and bawl and ENDLESSLY complain until someone finally hooks you up with a few little bumps of soft yellowish glory, then you are never going to get anywhere and you need to just put down the bong and go find a good fucking therapist, you damaged fucking child.
/rant
/rant
Friday, January 2, 2009
Unidentified Thinking Object
LSD and DMT are potentially the two single most important substances in the world; if mankind ever wants to grow beyond the point of warlike apes.
Expand and diversify. Understand; love is the law. The universe is on track.
To say acid is bad is like saying a hammer is bad - You can build things or destroy things. The hammer is not inherently good nor evil; only the use to which it is put.
Conveniently; it's rather hard to put LSD to bad use, though a lot of people try. It is not what one would call an 'abusable' drug; those who find themselves fiending for the experience are clearly blinding themselves to what they should be feeling. These are the saddest of all minds, and should be walked alongside until they can get past the vapour rumours of life and time; and stop lying to themselves. Remember - It's no about how many tabs you can take, it's about how many tabs can take you. Just because you had an unpleasant experience doesn't mean it was a damaging or bad experience. You have grown; you have survived and you have pushed the boundaries of your conciousness. You know more about yourself then you ever would have without it.
Expand and diversify. Understand; love is the law. The universe is on track.
To say acid is bad is like saying a hammer is bad - You can build things or destroy things. The hammer is not inherently good nor evil; only the use to which it is put.
Conveniently; it's rather hard to put LSD to bad use, though a lot of people try. It is not what one would call an 'abusable' drug; those who find themselves fiending for the experience are clearly blinding themselves to what they should be feeling. These are the saddest of all minds, and should be walked alongside until they can get past the vapour rumours of life and time; and stop lying to themselves. Remember - It's no about how many tabs you can take, it's about how many tabs can take you. Just because you had an unpleasant experience doesn't mean it was a damaging or bad experience. You have grown; you have survived and you have pushed the boundaries of your conciousness. You know more about yourself then you ever would have without it.
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