It is the strangest feeling to watch time travelling backwards and forwards, expanding and contracting like reality itself is breathing. To watch bursts of truth and dream unravel at the speed of thought, construct and deconstruct around you.
To know who you are, but not know where you are, or who anyone else is. To want to die. To see the world through someone else's eyes.
Those of you who weren't there, this probably won't make much sense to, but then again, I imagine word will spread pretty sharpish. And there wil be rumours. Oh yes, the rumours. I haven't heard them all yet, but I've heard a couple. And i guess, I can't say for certain what really happened because I myself don't entirely know, but I can tell you what was going on in my head.
Bottom line? I ate too much acid. I lost my shit. i can't say precisely how much that was, because I don't entirely know, but up to a point, everything was going fine. I'd started with the risne from one vial. I danced for a while, about 45 minutes later I wasn't feeling much, but gave it some more time. Another half hour and I had two more. Things started getting a bit better. Another 45 and I had the last one. Things were perfect after that. Bliss, total joy. I could hear colour, taste the bass and my entire world reverberated. it was heavenly - I thought to myself, "This must be what heaven is like", and that I pitied anyone else who wasn't here with me. because it was the single greatest experience of my life.
Then it all went strange. I ate a tab - I don't know what kind it was, but by the description of the people who sold it to me ("big, light coloured border and writing on the back") it sounded like one of the anniversary hofmann's - notoriously unpredictably strong. Whatever it was, it was one too many, because not long after that everything went wrong.
I don't know what set me off. but I think i went to wake up belle, because she was missing cosm's set. And then, I turned around, and everyone was looking at me. laughing. I don't know why. I knew it was the trip - that it couldn't really be happening, but yeah, that didn't stop whatever happened. I fell inside my head, and woke up in a dream world. Every now and then, I'd snap out of it for a second and realise that I was at the doof, and out of control - And i'd say so, I'd beg for help - But then just as quickly I fall out of my concious mind again, and whatever was going on in my head did not reflect what was going on in the real world. I can remember being at the foot of a hill, and at the top I could see my sanity, and I climbed to try and get to it, but as I did I was beset my beings from other worlds who were trying to pull me down. Suddenly, the illusion broke, and I realised I was trying to climb onto the stage from behind, and I was being tackled by peopel trying to help. I was on the ground, and then back to the dream world, where voices were telling me I had to have courage, i had to earn my sanity and prove that I deserved it- I had to fight to get it. So i fought. And I flailed. I bit and scratched. And a part of me could see my body doing these horrible things and was screaming at me to stop.
but I was trapped. Priusoner in my own body. I couldn't stop, I couldn' control it, but I tried to damn fucking hard to just lay still and relax. There were beings around me, otherworlds spirits who took the form of my friends and peers, because that way I'd be more incl;ined to lisen to them. They lectured me on the nature of reality, and on the afterlife - I saw it, I saw nirvana and the pure white bliss that awaited me if I made it through this alive and kept my soul intact. And then, I would bounce between that peace, to reality, and then to hell - Where I saw my violence, and my rage, and what it was doing to people. And when I was violent, the voices would say I wasn't ready. I would calm, for a moment, and then lapse through the cycle yet again.
I can remember hearing my voice pouring ou gibberish and nonsense, words I didn't mean, words I meant but in the wrong order, everything coming out. And then the screaming. I had to drown out the noise. I had to escape from my body through my mouth, to let my soul out.
I wish I knew what happened. I wish I knew why it happened.
I wish I knew what to do now.
Monday, June 29, 2009
Saturday, June 27, 2009
Good golly, miss molly.
I cannot for the life of me imagine why you have taken such an abrupt turnaround
I'm not going to try and comprehend it
All I have to say is that I'm not letting you go, and I will pursue you to the ends of the earth if i have to - you have always been there for me and I will always be there for you, whether you want me to or not.
and that this is why I said in the first place I didn't think we would work together.
I'm not going to try and comprehend it
All I have to say is that I'm not letting you go, and I will pursue you to the ends of the earth if i have to - you have always been there for me and I will always be there for you, whether you want me to or not.
and that this is why I said in the first place I didn't think we would work together.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
A propensity for intensity.
Having spent the better portion of today in the company of an unbelievably pretty girl, watching The Matrix and drinking mescal slings to wash down pepperoni pizza, I cam to some amusing realisations about the nature of reality.
Philip K. Dick says that "Reality is that which, when you aren't experiencing it, doesn’t go away."
This is all well and good for traditionalists, but when one delivers quantum notions and psychedelic drugs into the equation, you rapidly come to realise just how transient reality truly is.
Schroedinger tells us that until we observe an object, or to simplify matters, a choice, we cannot determine what state it is in, and for all intent and purposes, must be considered in both states, a quantum flux of living and dead, or 1 and 0, on and off, whatever the case may be. once you look at, smell, hear or touch the object, in other words, once you [i]experience[/i] reality, the waveform collapses and resolves into a steady and predictable straight.
But how do you know you can trust your perceptions? I cannot count the number of times I have eaten a powerful dose of some chemcial and seen things that weren't there. But that's the point, isn't it? how do I know they aren't there?
If you measure reality based on what is normal, of course they seem to be chemically-induced hallucinations, nonentities created purely by the action of certain seratonergic agonists on particular areas of my brain.
But - I have never been so high (and believe me I've tried) that all of what is 'normal' goes away. There are always elements of the sober world in my mind, that I can see and interact with. So no matter what i do, I am always interacting with the sober world - Always experiencing. it never goes away, and I cannot know whether or not it is real because it is always there.
However... No moment in my life has ever felt quite so real as certain experiences, particularly pertaining to the combination of LSD and DMT in high doses. They represent a complete invasion by the otherworlds, pushing through the membrane and exploding in our synapses.
Some break the shell.
I think that there are those who push their fingers through the brittle walls and make a hole. Through this cruel slit, they stare out across the cinders of the world with naked eyes and play themselves against the many-armed envy...
where am I going with this? what is the point I am trying to make?
One could easily argue that LSD and DMT are the same molecule, whenever i take them. LSD this week is the same as LSD the next week, which is why you have relatively predictable trips from the chemicals.
Anyone who has taken LSD or DMT know that this is not the case. There are, always, familiar elements in a trip, some degree of knowing-the-path even though you walk it blindly, because you've walked it before. But turning on is such a dynamic and conciousness warping experience, so dependent on so many factors totally outside our control, that it is different every time, for better or worse.
But there are still constants.
These are reality, I think. psychedelic drugs do not add layers onto the already-existing reality. They do not create things out of thin air, out of the ether, out of our imagination.
Rather, they strip away, layer by layer, until we start to see what is really out there, in other planes, in other facets of true reality. And then, we come down - We sober up, and we stop experiencing. But it's still there, evidenced by the fact that we can re-visit, any time we like, once more down the rabbit hole... And the next time we turn on, the net time we dose, the next time we trip - We remember a little bit more of the path in the dark, so we can walk a little bi farther each time. One day, we'll have walked it enough times that even blindly, sober, and without the aid of these chemicals, we'll be able to find our way to the other side.
That's why I take psychedelic drugs. So that one day, I won't have to, in order to find out what is truly real.
Philip K. Dick says that "Reality is that which, when you aren't experiencing it, doesn’t go away."
This is all well and good for traditionalists, but when one delivers quantum notions and psychedelic drugs into the equation, you rapidly come to realise just how transient reality truly is.
Schroedinger tells us that until we observe an object, or to simplify matters, a choice, we cannot determine what state it is in, and for all intent and purposes, must be considered in both states, a quantum flux of living and dead, or 1 and 0, on and off, whatever the case may be. once you look at, smell, hear or touch the object, in other words, once you [i]experience[/i] reality, the waveform collapses and resolves into a steady and predictable straight.
But how do you know you can trust your perceptions? I cannot count the number of times I have eaten a powerful dose of some chemcial and seen things that weren't there. But that's the point, isn't it? how do I know they aren't there?
If you measure reality based on what is normal, of course they seem to be chemically-induced hallucinations, nonentities created purely by the action of certain seratonergic agonists on particular areas of my brain.
But - I have never been so high (and believe me I've tried) that all of what is 'normal' goes away. There are always elements of the sober world in my mind, that I can see and interact with. So no matter what i do, I am always interacting with the sober world - Always experiencing. it never goes away, and I cannot know whether or not it is real because it is always there.
However... No moment in my life has ever felt quite so real as certain experiences, particularly pertaining to the combination of LSD and DMT in high doses. They represent a complete invasion by the otherworlds, pushing through the membrane and exploding in our synapses.
Some break the shell.
I think that there are those who push their fingers through the brittle walls and make a hole. Through this cruel slit, they stare out across the cinders of the world with naked eyes and play themselves against the many-armed envy...
where am I going with this? what is the point I am trying to make?
One could easily argue that LSD and DMT are the same molecule, whenever i take them. LSD this week is the same as LSD the next week, which is why you have relatively predictable trips from the chemicals.
Anyone who has taken LSD or DMT know that this is not the case. There are, always, familiar elements in a trip, some degree of knowing-the-path even though you walk it blindly, because you've walked it before. But turning on is such a dynamic and conciousness warping experience, so dependent on so many factors totally outside our control, that it is different every time, for better or worse.
But there are still constants.
These are reality, I think. psychedelic drugs do not add layers onto the already-existing reality. They do not create things out of thin air, out of the ether, out of our imagination.
Rather, they strip away, layer by layer, until we start to see what is really out there, in other planes, in other facets of true reality. And then, we come down - We sober up, and we stop experiencing. But it's still there, evidenced by the fact that we can re-visit, any time we like, once more down the rabbit hole... And the next time we turn on, the net time we dose, the next time we trip - We remember a little bit more of the path in the dark, so we can walk a little bi farther each time. One day, we'll have walked it enough times that even blindly, sober, and without the aid of these chemicals, we'll be able to find our way to the other side.
That's why I take psychedelic drugs. So that one day, I won't have to, in order to find out what is truly real.
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
IF YOU ARE READING THIS, DISCONNECT BEFORE IT SPREADS
LOOK AT THIS THIS IS FUCKING IMPORTANT
I don't have a lot of time, I need some help. Fucking listen. This message will probably be deleted before too many people can see it.
I have never been so scared in my life.
I ̷was w͞orkin̛g͞ in͜ m̛y ҉l͢ab wh̟̯͙e̗̭̲͍̥n ̙i̻̣͈̳̼͔̩t̳̤̩̟ ̳̝s̫̬̩t̰a̺̝͖̫̰r̯t̘ḙd̖.̜̹͈͚͈̖ͅ ̟͈̯̱̼ͅI̤̹̯'͎͇̮̞̹̻͍d̖̖̗͍ c͔͓̱̫̲̰o̼n̪͎̦͚n͈̘e̮ͅcte̫͎d̮̪̘͔͙̳ a̮̝̦̫͖̥̞n̜̻̗̱̹̘ ̱͓o̫̤̣̖͕̯rg̰̼̰ano͈̱̹̖̠m̰̱̣e̦͔͙͍͖t̟̜̝̫̳̫a̠̣̖l̩͚li̳̣̯͓c̞͙̣̦ ̞̻la̜̠̦͙̼͓͓t͖̬̻̯͈̦̹t̮͉͖͔̲͉̦i̝c̤̖̺̠e̟̟̣̘ ͍͈t̟o̻̖̞̹ ̮͖̞͙th̩ͅe͈̙ ̪̟͍a̻̤̲͍͔ͅu͚͈̳̖d̖̘̫io̥̼̤̻͙ ̳̹̖in̗̙̮̰̞̜p̞͔̱u̦t͚ ̟̖o̙̣n ̦̯̞̹̘̯̳m͔y̻̮̱ ̩̲̻̮͙̳̯c͍͕̲͙͍̗om̟p̤̪̤͉̦u͙͇̻̻t̬̤̭ͅe̤͉̫̖͎r͙̩̹̤ͅͅ,̭̹͖̬̪̦ ̤̹̳̗̯̲ͅI ͉w͈͉a̲̰s t͈̭̤͖̺̹r͍͍y͔̻̺̹̹i͈̣͓n̖͔g͚̲͕ t̠͈͕͕o̲ ̮̜͔use͚̭̮̫͎ ̤͈h̘͙̦͖̻u̩̫͓̣̭͚̱man ̺b͔͇͖̳̫r̯̺̼̙̰̱̥a̻͚̬̳̖͎ͅi͈͉͚n̲̦̳̰ c̬̪̦͈e̹̪l̹̼̻͈͎̻l̪s̻ ̞̘̮̙̲ṯ̘̞͎̲͍ͅa͔̫͖͖̬̲͙k̤̥e̝̗̱̬̫̟̳n͖͖͍̣͇͙̹ f͔ͅo̱͓̳r̳͙̦̜̩̱m̝̼̯̯ͅ t͙̜̪͓h̖e̗̗̱͍̯̟ ͉͍̤̪u͚͇̖͓͓ͅn̲̩̘̗͉̫i̫͔ͅv̬̗͎e̦͙̜͔r͓ͅs̼i̺͉͔̺t͉y̭ ͈̺ͅt̫͇̹̪̙̯o t͙͉̝̗͍͖ͅr̫͈y̠̖ ̳a͙͙̰̻̯n͔ḏͅ g̜͔̹̭̪̪̺e̗͖n͔er̻̠̰̬̳͕͙a̗̜t͍̳̼̯̥̞̮e̙̱̳̳͖͙ ͍͔̙̻̭͕ṣ̲ou̻͍̗n̫d̞s̨̤̹̗͍͙̕͝ ̛҉̩̦͖͖̤̤̘͇a̸̫̰̫n̡͟͏̳͈ͅd̖͈͚ ̣m҉̰̰͇͖͉u̷̴͖͇̫͈̮s̭͘͟i̧̥̪c̭̬̜͔̤͔͘.̴̣͖̗̕ ̢͠͏̦
̯̤i̡̪t͖̣͖̣̲̼͉͙ ͉̳͎̲̻̯̬̭w̴͏̖͕̖̳̮̖͙͙à̘̞͓̪͍͝ś͔̻͔ ̢̢͈̞͔̬̗̞͈̼͡w̥̩̱͎̜̝̹̻ọ̡̖̖̺̩̣͢͜r͇͓̀k̵͉̪͔͎͍̤̭͟i̪̟͓͞͠n̜̺͡ͅg͎̜͇̯ ͓̤͍͜͢b̴̺̟̤̭̲̬̩̀͢e͚̥͢͠ͅá͉̲̜͔͉ṷ̰̞͍̬͍̻̟t̷͙̥̘̦͎̘i͔͕̳͟͝f͡͏̥͚͔͉̤̯̦̟̀ú̢̖͔l̲͈̮͡͝ͅl̡͍̝̠y̶̖̮͉͉̪̱ ͢u͏̕n͟t҉i͘͡͠l̨ ҉i̢͟ ̶̴s͝p͠i̷l̛t̴̨͞ ̵t͟͠͝h̨͢͝e͝͠ ̷̡ vial
i͘ d̢o͞n͜'͞t know ͟ho͘w̕ ͝mu̷ch́ ͢d̡ìff̛used̴ throu̡g͡h ͟t͡he ҉m͏em̸bra͞n͜e, but̕ a̡t l̡east̛ ̴120͏0̶ ́mi̧c̢r̴og̴r̸ams҉ ͡o͏f ̴hi̷gh-͞pur̀ity ҉LS͘D i͏n l҉i͝qui͘d solu͘t͝i͠on̴ ̸wa̸s͟ ̷śp͝i̧lt͟ ͝ont̀o i̢t͞
s̹̟̱i͕̜͙̭̘͞n̳̗̺̳͜c̨̯̦e͈͓͓͡ ͓t͇̯h̳̺͇̫͝e̪͘n̠̥̮̺̮ͅ
I͉͉̼̠̭͉͖̮ͤ͛ͣ ͙̘͓̜ͯ̓ͤ͂d͖̤̓͆o͈̻͓̙̬̩͂ͫ͗n̮̞̟̲̩̳̖̬ͣ'̠̘̐̇̽̐ͦ̚t̩̱͚̦ͥ̋̏ͯ̽͆̂̽ͮ ̠̳̬̗̑͐͐̈͑̄͊̇k͎̯̬͉̞̗̎ͬ̿̿̌̑͒̏ͅn̻͔̪̮͎͖̦̼̉̄ͫ̆o͍̣̠̗ͬ̓ͫͦͪ͒ͧw̙̗̳̞̮̜̪̐͆ ̬̞̩̦ͯͦͤͪw̘̝̱̝̻̜̲ͣ̃̑h̘̫͙̲̞͙̘͔̞ͯͤ͂̓ȧ̦͚t͔̩̠͇̞̜̼͈͆̇̽̏ͮ ̤̝̤͓̞̤͉̪ͯ̏i̭͚̖̹ͥ̓̈́ͭ͆ͭṭ͍̆ͬ̈ͤ ͇̟͌̀̄ͯ̾ͮ̎͂m̥̝͈̪͈͉ͯ͂ͦͣ͊̔ͅͅe̦͔͇̬͓̳ͭ̐̄̑̔ͧ̚a͉͈̬̼̗̝ͯͦ̋͌ͯ̈́̔̐ͅň̙̭̱̘̭̰͎ͬ̐̒͛̊̾ͨs͍̞̠̹̝̏̎͐ͤ̽͋̈͑ͅ ̖̟͚ͤ͐͆̾̿ͤ͆b͎̳̟ͥ͗̚ù̞̭͔͍͖̠̯̿t͉͕̘̦̻͋ ̦̬̪͈̱̼̙̉ͫ̓̇̓̎ͯ̽i̙͓̜̘̟̋̆ͮ͒t̻̺̞̤̟̒ͪ̈͛̅͂̊ ̲͖͍͈̝̇̀̑͒ͅg̖͙̻̲͙̓ͬ̎ͤ̓ͮ̈͗e͍͆̏ͫͪ̋̇̐̾̆t͉̭̞̝͈̥ͣ̋ͨ̌̆̑̋͑̚s̹̎ͩͯͨ̑ͦ ̼̝̬̟̰ͦ̏̎̅ͯ̇w̮͚̯͕̠͌ͅo̪͉̮̬͓̊̓͐͂r͍̘̔ͭ̏͌͋s̪̠͉̲̜͎̿̂̀e͇̖̤͇͒̋̃ͦ ̟͉̋͆̆̚w͉͚͈̍̓̑ͬ̐̽̇͛î͙͖̜̯̜̈́ͮͦͧ̉t̮̬̘͊̐͆͒ͫͩ̑̍h̭͍͍͙͈͛̿ ͙͖̟̝̼͎̮̑̍͋̅ͅm͖̳͎̝̐͐̄u̹̱̻̠͖̗ͮ̿̔͗̽̎ͯs͉̜͛ͭȉ̦̫͓̮̗͔͍̭͇͂c̲̤̝̣̬̥̫͗ͧ̆́̐ͬ
BASSLINES SEEM TO STIMULATE THE RESPONSE
i̐̍͏̫̩͚̭̗͍̝ ̳̮͓f̢̜̝͉̘ͧē͚̞̼̮̣̃̽͆͂ͧ͞ȁ̡͂̈́ͦ̌ͥ̚r̫̗̹̾͊ͥͤ̊͒̚ ̍́̔̓ͣ͌̀̚iͦͯ̔͝t̛͈̭ ͎̟̼͉ͩ̍ͮ̔͛̐̾̕h̦̜͊̿a͕̼̼̳̭ͭṣ̸̩̬̥̱̿̎ͅ ̙ͧb̴̯̉ͩ̌e̞̩̳ͣ̈́̇̉ͬ̄̓c͉̠̖ͭ̊ǒ͓̤̎̆ͣ̓͆̏́m͍̝̠̥ͤ͞e̴̎ͥ͂͒ ̮͍̓ͬ̔͢ͅŝ̞̙̺̻͉͕͉ͪe͚ͯ͂͋̀ͅͅl̰͖͚̩̊̀ͨ͌̃̇̉͢f̮͙̙͇̦̬͚͛̂̆ͤ͘-ͧ͠ä͖̤̫̰͚͉́̃͆ͫ̚̚w̮̥̬̤̪͂͂̔̇͒ͤ̽́ạ̸̘̱̭̳͉̤͂̍ͭ̐͋ͨr̰̲̘̖̣ͣ͗̃̇̾͡e̱͖͕͖̲ͮ̆͐̅ͬͣ͌
t̙̝͓̮͖͓h̷̹̭̘e̦͍̤̗͟ͅ ̶b͕̦͎ḙ͚̞̱̪̫͍͟a̤̰̹ͅt̘̱̼
͓̹͞
͓̘̜͎͓̫̣t̲͉̙̯h̺̯̫͜e̡̪̬̠̺ ̙b̻͕̰͈ͅe̯̭͚̠̥̠͕ą̫̥̱̹͓t̨͍̼̟̠
̡͍̖͍
̞͕͓͎̩í̯t҉̮̝̬͈ ̙͇̲͘is̡ ̶̻̖̻̮͕̲d̻̙̜̳̞r̼̪͇̪͜i̱͈v͍̫̼e̝̘̭̦̳͉̼n̸̜͉͈̞̜͔͙ ̜̗͉͓b̻͖͔̱̦̺̭̕y̺͇̹̥ͅ ̭̝̗͓̭͘t̪̖̪͕̪͇͇h͚e beat
I don't have a lot of time, I need some help. Fucking listen. This message will probably be deleted before too many people can see it.
I have never been so scared in my life.
I ̷was w͞orkin̛g͞ in͜ m̛y ҉l͢ab wh̟̯͙e̗̭̲͍̥n ̙i̻̣͈̳̼͔̩t̳̤̩̟ ̳̝s̫̬̩t̰a̺̝͖̫̰r̯t̘ḙd̖.̜̹͈͚͈̖ͅ ̟͈̯̱̼ͅI̤̹̯'͎͇̮̞̹̻͍d̖̖̗͍ c͔͓̱̫̲̰o̼n̪͎̦͚n͈̘e̮ͅcte̫͎d̮̪̘͔͙̳ a̮̝̦̫͖̥̞n̜̻̗̱̹̘ ̱͓o̫̤̣̖͕̯rg̰̼̰ano͈̱̹̖̠m̰̱̣e̦͔͙͍͖t̟̜̝̫̳̫a̠̣̖l̩͚li̳̣̯͓c̞͙̣̦ ̞̻la̜̠̦͙̼͓͓t͖̬̻̯͈̦̹t̮͉͖͔̲͉̦i̝c̤̖̺̠e̟̟̣̘ ͍͈t̟o̻̖̞̹ ̮͖̞͙th̩ͅe͈̙ ̪̟͍a̻̤̲͍͔ͅu͚͈̳̖d̖̘̫io̥̼̤̻͙ ̳̹̖in̗̙̮̰̞̜p̞͔̱u̦t͚ ̟̖o̙̣n ̦̯̞̹̘̯̳m͔y̻̮̱ ̩̲̻̮͙̳̯c͍͕̲͙͍̗om̟p̤̪̤͉̦u͙͇̻̻t̬̤̭ͅe̤͉̫̖͎r͙̩̹̤ͅͅ,̭̹͖̬̪̦ ̤̹̳̗̯̲ͅI ͉w͈͉a̲̰s t͈̭̤͖̺̹r͍͍y͔̻̺̹̹i͈̣͓n̖͔g͚̲͕ t̠͈͕͕o̲ ̮̜͔use͚̭̮̫͎ ̤͈h̘͙̦͖̻u̩̫͓̣̭͚̱man ̺b͔͇͖̳̫r̯̺̼̙̰̱̥a̻͚̬̳̖͎ͅi͈͉͚n̲̦̳̰ c̬̪̦͈e̹̪l̹̼̻͈͎̻l̪s̻ ̞̘̮̙̲ṯ̘̞͎̲͍ͅa͔̫͖͖̬̲͙k̤̥e̝̗̱̬̫̟̳n͖͖͍̣͇͙̹ f͔ͅo̱͓̳r̳͙̦̜̩̱m̝̼̯̯ͅ t͙̜̪͓h̖e̗̗̱͍̯̟ ͉͍̤̪u͚͇̖͓͓ͅn̲̩̘̗͉̫i̫͔ͅv̬̗͎e̦͙̜͔r͓ͅs̼i̺͉͔̺t͉y̭ ͈̺ͅt̫͇̹̪̙̯o t͙͉̝̗͍͖ͅr̫͈y̠̖ ̳a͙͙̰̻̯n͔ḏͅ g̜͔̹̭̪̪̺e̗͖n͔er̻̠̰̬̳͕͙a̗̜t͍̳̼̯̥̞̮e̙̱̳̳͖͙ ͍͔̙̻̭͕ṣ̲ou̻͍̗n̫d̞s̨̤̹̗͍͙̕͝ ̛҉̩̦͖͖̤̤̘͇a̸̫̰̫n̡͟͏̳͈ͅd̖͈͚ ̣m҉̰̰͇͖͉u̷̴͖͇̫͈̮s̭͘͟i̧̥̪c̭̬̜͔̤͔͘.̴̣͖̗̕ ̢͠͏̦
̯̤i̡̪t͖̣͖̣̲̼͉͙ ͉̳͎̲̻̯̬̭w̴͏̖͕̖̳̮̖͙͙à̘̞͓̪͍͝ś͔̻͔ ̢̢͈̞͔̬̗̞͈̼͡w̥̩̱͎̜̝̹̻ọ̡̖̖̺̩̣͢͜r͇͓̀k̵͉̪͔͎͍̤̭͟i̪̟͓͞͠n̜̺͡ͅg͎̜͇̯ ͓̤͍͜͢b̴̺̟̤̭̲̬̩̀͢e͚̥͢͠ͅá͉̲̜͔͉ṷ̰̞͍̬͍̻̟t̷͙̥̘̦͎̘i͔͕̳͟͝f͡͏̥͚͔͉̤̯̦̟̀ú̢̖͔l̲͈̮͡͝ͅl̡͍̝̠y̶̖̮͉͉̪̱ ͢u͏̕n͟t҉i͘͡͠l̨ ҉i̢͟ ̶̴s͝p͠i̷l̛t̴̨͞ ̵t͟͠͝h̨͢͝e͝͠ ̷̡ vial
i͘ d̢o͞n͜'͞t know ͟ho͘w̕ ͝mu̷ch́ ͢d̡ìff̛used̴ throu̡g͡h ͟t͡he ҉m͏em̸bra͞n͜e, but̕ a̡t l̡east̛ ̴120͏0̶ ́mi̧c̢r̴og̴r̸ams҉ ͡o͏f ̴hi̷gh-͞pur̀ity ҉LS͘D i͏n l҉i͝qui͘d solu͘t͝i͠on̴ ̸wa̸s͟ ̷śp͝i̧lt͟ ͝ont̀o i̢t͞
s̹̟̱i͕̜͙̭̘͞n̳̗̺̳͜c̨̯̦e͈͓͓͡ ͓t͇̯h̳̺͇̫͝e̪͘n̠̥̮̺̮ͅ
I͉͉̼̠̭͉͖̮ͤ͛ͣ ͙̘͓̜ͯ̓ͤ͂d͖̤̓͆o͈̻͓̙̬̩͂ͫ͗n̮̞̟̲̩̳̖̬ͣ'̠̘̐̇̽̐ͦ̚t̩̱͚̦ͥ̋̏ͯ̽͆̂̽ͮ ̠̳̬̗̑͐͐̈͑̄͊̇k͎̯̬͉̞̗̎ͬ̿̿̌̑͒̏ͅn̻͔̪̮͎͖̦̼̉̄ͫ̆o͍̣̠̗ͬ̓ͫͦͪ͒ͧw̙̗̳̞̮̜̪̐͆ ̬̞̩̦ͯͦͤͪw̘̝̱̝̻̜̲ͣ̃̑h̘̫͙̲̞͙̘͔̞ͯͤ͂̓ȧ̦͚t͔̩̠͇̞̜̼͈͆̇̽̏ͮ ̤̝̤͓̞̤͉̪ͯ̏i̭͚̖̹ͥ̓̈́ͭ͆ͭṭ͍̆ͬ̈ͤ ͇̟͌̀̄ͯ̾ͮ̎͂m̥̝͈̪͈͉ͯ͂ͦͣ͊̔ͅͅe̦͔͇̬͓̳ͭ̐̄̑̔ͧ̚a͉͈̬̼̗̝ͯͦ̋͌ͯ̈́̔̐ͅň̙̭̱̘̭̰͎ͬ̐̒͛̊̾ͨs͍̞̠̹̝̏̎͐ͤ̽͋̈͑ͅ ̖̟͚ͤ͐͆̾̿ͤ͆b͎̳̟ͥ͗̚ù̞̭͔͍͖̠̯̿t͉͕̘̦̻͋ ̦̬̪͈̱̼̙̉ͫ̓̇̓̎ͯ̽i̙͓̜̘̟̋̆ͮ͒t̻̺̞̤̟̒ͪ̈͛̅͂̊ ̲͖͍͈̝̇̀̑͒ͅg̖͙̻̲͙̓ͬ̎ͤ̓ͮ̈͗e͍͆̏ͫͪ̋̇̐̾̆t͉̭̞̝͈̥ͣ̋ͨ̌̆̑̋͑̚s̹̎ͩͯͨ̑ͦ ̼̝̬̟̰ͦ̏̎̅ͯ̇w̮͚̯͕̠͌ͅo̪͉̮̬͓̊̓͐͂r͍̘̔ͭ̏͌͋s̪̠͉̲̜͎̿̂̀e͇̖̤͇͒̋̃ͦ ̟͉̋͆̆̚w͉͚͈̍̓̑ͬ̐̽̇͛î͙͖̜̯̜̈́ͮͦͧ̉t̮̬̘͊̐͆͒ͫͩ̑̍h̭͍͍͙͈͛̿ ͙͖̟̝̼͎̮̑̍͋̅ͅm͖̳͎̝̐͐̄u̹̱̻̠͖̗ͮ̿̔͗̽̎ͯs͉̜͛ͭȉ̦̫͓̮̗͔͍̭͇͂c̲̤̝̣̬̥̫͗ͧ̆́̐ͬ
BASSLINES SEEM TO STIMULATE THE RESPONSE
i̐̍͏̫̩͚̭̗͍̝ ̳̮͓f̢̜̝͉̘ͧē͚̞̼̮̣̃̽͆͂ͧ͞ȁ̡͂̈́ͦ̌ͥ̚r̫̗̹̾͊ͥͤ̊͒̚ ̍́̔̓ͣ͌̀̚iͦͯ̔͝t̛͈̭ ͎̟̼͉ͩ̍ͮ̔͛̐̾̕h̦̜͊̿a͕̼̼̳̭ͭṣ̸̩̬̥̱̿̎ͅ ̙ͧb̴̯̉ͩ̌e̞̩̳ͣ̈́̇̉ͬ̄̓c͉̠̖ͭ̊ǒ͓̤̎̆ͣ̓͆̏́m͍̝̠̥ͤ͞e̴̎ͥ͂͒ ̮͍̓ͬ̔͢ͅŝ̞̙̺̻͉͕͉ͪe͚ͯ͂͋̀ͅͅl̰͖͚̩̊̀ͨ͌̃̇̉͢f̮͙̙͇̦̬͚͛̂̆ͤ͘-ͧ͠ä͖̤̫̰͚͉́̃͆ͫ̚̚w̮̥̬̤̪͂͂̔̇͒ͤ̽́ạ̸̘̱̭̳͉̤͂̍ͭ̐͋ͨr̰̲̘̖̣ͣ͗̃̇̾͡e̱͖͕͖̲ͮ̆͐̅ͬͣ͌
t̙̝͓̮͖͓h̷̹̭̘e̦͍̤̗͟ͅ ̶b͕̦͎ḙ͚̞̱̪̫͍͟a̤̰̹ͅt̘̱̼
͓̹͞
͓̘̜͎͓̫̣t̲͉̙̯h̺̯̫͜e̡̪̬̠̺ ̙b̻͕̰͈ͅe̯̭͚̠̥̠͕ą̫̥̱̹͓t̨͍̼̟̠
̡͍̖͍
̞͕͓͎̩í̯t҉̮̝̬͈ ̙͇̲͘is̡ ̶̻̖̻̮͕̲d̻̙̜̳̞r̼̪͇̪͜i̱͈v͍̫̼e̝̘̭̦̳͉̼n̸̜͉͈̞̜͔͙ ̜̗͉͓b̻͖͔̱̦̺̭̕y̺͇̹̥ͅ ̭̝̗͓̭͘t̪̖̪͕̪͇͇h͚e beat
You there, at the back - CAN YOU HEAR ME?
I sit here with a small bowl of flaked bluefin tuna, lime juice and cracked pepper. Cigarettes are on the counter, but I don't smoke inside my house, and it's five degress below ball-stickingly cold outside. I don't even want one that bad anyway, but I ache for that dull burn. The savoury tang of red-hot smoulder, acrid twists inside and out. The borgeouis yellowing of the fingers is something I never took kindly to, though, and it's that thought which keeps my zippo quenched and the cigarette unrolled.
I'm rambling. Because I don't know what to say. Vital spark - Sparkless. Life - lifeless.
I don't know what to write any more. Fuck you all.
yeah, that'll do.
I'm rambling. Because I don't know what to say. Vital spark - Sparkless. Life - lifeless.
I don't know what to write any more. Fuck you all.
yeah, that'll do.
Every son kills his father.
Get in the trunk, you bastard. I'm going to bury you.
Pistolwhipped into submission, watch the body, like a sack of sweet potatoes, rolled into a shallow grave. I can smell the loam, feel the stones. My tongue is black, swollen - I'm choking on my own rage.
I/I
The wolf and the corpse. Id and ego. Tonight I kill you.
A cigarette butt winds up with the body - Enough evidence to send cops in the right direction, if they ever get this far.
Which they want.
Because nobody will complain when you're gone.
Because everybody hates you.
You are the part of me that everybody hates.
or at least, the part that I hate.
You are my weakness. My vulnerability, my selfishness. My pettiness.
Grow up, rot away. Gunshot, shallow grave.
Awake.
Pistolwhipped into submission, watch the body, like a sack of sweet potatoes, rolled into a shallow grave. I can smell the loam, feel the stones. My tongue is black, swollen - I'm choking on my own rage.
I/I
The wolf and the corpse. Id and ego. Tonight I kill you.
A cigarette butt winds up with the body - Enough evidence to send cops in the right direction, if they ever get this far.
Which they want.
Because nobody will complain when you're gone.
Because everybody hates you.
You are the part of me that everybody hates.
or at least, the part that I hate.
You are my weakness. My vulnerability, my selfishness. My pettiness.
Grow up, rot away. Gunshot, shallow grave.
Awake.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Smoking in the rain
spunsmoke, crack smoke, cigarette smoke.
gunsmoke, black smoke, gasoline smoke.
wet haze of acid rain carries ash to the rivers
greasy thin auschwitz smoke
redline emissions, the water on the window.
woodsmoke, a blanket, and a girl.
Spice smoke, truth and lies, beauty and sin.
my life - up in smoke.
gunsmoke, black smoke, gasoline smoke.
wet haze of acid rain carries ash to the rivers
greasy thin auschwitz smoke
redline emissions, the water on the window.
woodsmoke, a blanket, and a girl.
Spice smoke, truth and lies, beauty and sin.
my life - up in smoke.
Monday, June 22, 2009
Fuck you you fucking whore, I wish I never met you.
If you get to feelin' all alone
When your good time friends
have all got up and gone
Don't come knockin' around my door
Because I've heard your lines before
'Cause there ain't gone be a next time, this time
'Cause woman startin' right now
I'm gonna forget your name and your pretty face girl
And write you off as a bad mistake
You know that some women they are lovers
And some just got no sense
But a woman like you oughta be ashamed
Of the things that you do to men
And If you get to feelin' all alone
When you find that you can't make it on your own
Don't come knockin' around my door
You see I've seen your act before
And there ain't gonna be a next time, this time
'Cause woman startin' right now
I'm gonna forget your name and your pretty face girl
And write you off as a bad mistake
You know that some women they are lovers
And some just got no sense
But a woman like you oughta be ashamed
Of the things that you do to men
And If you get to feel' you where wrong
don't go wastin' your good money in the phone
'Cause I can hang up as fast as you can call
And that ain't all
'Cause there ain't gonna be a next time, this time
'Cause woman startin' right now
I'm gonna forget your name and your pretty face girl
And write you off as a complete disgrace
You know that some women they are liars
And some just got no sense
But a woman like you oughta be ashamed
Of the things that you do to men
Yeah a woman like you oughta be ashamed
Of the things that you do to men
When your good time friends
have all got up and gone
Don't come knockin' around my door
Because I've heard your lines before
'Cause there ain't gone be a next time, this time
'Cause woman startin' right now
I'm gonna forget your name and your pretty face girl
And write you off as a bad mistake
You know that some women they are lovers
And some just got no sense
But a woman like you oughta be ashamed
Of the things that you do to men
And If you get to feelin' all alone
When you find that you can't make it on your own
Don't come knockin' around my door
You see I've seen your act before
And there ain't gonna be a next time, this time
'Cause woman startin' right now
I'm gonna forget your name and your pretty face girl
And write you off as a bad mistake
You know that some women they are lovers
And some just got no sense
But a woman like you oughta be ashamed
Of the things that you do to men
And If you get to feel' you where wrong
don't go wastin' your good money in the phone
'Cause I can hang up as fast as you can call
And that ain't all
'Cause there ain't gonna be a next time, this time
'Cause woman startin' right now
I'm gonna forget your name and your pretty face girl
And write you off as a complete disgrace
You know that some women they are liars
And some just got no sense
But a woman like you oughta be ashamed
Of the things that you do to men
Yeah a woman like you oughta be ashamed
Of the things that you do to men
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Step by Step
I don't know why it's here. Did i bring this on myself? The karmic wheel, studded with the wrought nails, rusted with glee as it rolls along my spine? Am I a cosmic joke?
i never wanted this torment. i have hurt people, I don't pretend I haven't. I'm not a good person. Ezekiel 25:17, etc. etc.
But I'm trying, Ringo. I'm trying real hard to be the shepherd.
What joke of life, of love, I live. Divine farce, black comedy - Played out on a stage for those who see, for those who know. nobody's laughing, but that's half of why it's so funny.
The confusion. The paranoia. The total social strain, the endless nights and too-short days. never enough time to get anything done, but too much time to sit alone and think.
I found this path. I didn't ask to be shown it, I stumbled onto it and I can't find my way back.
One step forwards.
She thinks I'm hot when I'm angry. Her smile could light a candle, there is so much warmth in it's mischevious curves. Back massages, secret cigarettes and wanton emotion.
Two step backwards.
Gone without a word.
I don't know where this path leads. The end is too distant, shrouded in dirt and shade - I can smell cool, wet earth, but a stiff breeze crests up and down the gravel. With the wind comes a silent tang - bittersweet, tasting like bone and the flesh of those who stumbled, those who fell. I don't want to fall. I can't fall again. They are buried in the dark, either side of the path, you can't see them but you know they're there.
Every step I take I can feel them tugging at the cuffs of my jeans.
I can't promise that I know where I'm going. I can't promise I'll even make it there alive. I can't promise you'd be safe if you walked beside me.
but if I said I loved you, would you follow me?
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Rationalise this.
What does it mean when the only sane explanation is that you, yourself, are completely insane?
cut down and cast aside
i sow friends like wild corn and burn them when the summer comes - raking through the ashes trying to find the ring i dropped last spring during the harvest season.
I can't do it. I can't keep this up. I don't know how long they've been following me, but these mudtongued demons that plague and snap at my heels, they catch my clothes and tear at my eyes when I blink - when the darkness bursts in like hot dry, stale echoes - They whisper my name and laugh at my feeble attempts to keep my footing,, to stay afloat, to stop from falling into oblivion.
Logical reasoning - I hate myself. Why else would I put myself out there, time and time again, and TRUST HUMAN SCUM who have NEVER done anything but HURT, LIE AND STEAL from me. I hate you all. I hate myself. I alienate the people I should be keeping close. I focus on the wrong things, chase the wrong dogs from dark alleys and wind up but nothing to show for it but another scar and a little bit less of my mind to rely on. Why else would I treat my body like this? Hypocrisy, too many drugs and not enough sleep, poor diet and forced solitude?
She was right, you see, but for the wrong reasons. I don't think it's immaturity. It's just cowardice and the inability to man up and fucking shoot myself already, so I'm doing my best to kill myself slowly and accidentally, while deperately maintaining this facade of I'm-in-control.
I'm not.
i've lost my balance
and I'm falling down a well.
Every time I try and fix something I just make it worse for myself, and dig deeper into the patience of those who care about me - Who, i might add, are dropping like flies, through my own doing and others.
I know what this is. This is where I was in year ten. This, is what the doctors call [i]bipolarism[/i], with self-destructive tendencies. I can feel it, and I know when I'm not altogether there, but that doesn't mean I pay any attention. I make decisions on impulse, and fifteen minutes later know I've done the wrong thing but pride stops me from going back, from apologising, or frmo pulling out of a deal.
I hate this place. I hate you. I hate myself. I don't care what you think any more. This is not some self-righteous cry for pity. This is a brief section of insight so you all (however few still bother following my self-induged dribblings) can understand precisely why I pulled the trigger.
Click? Click? Click.
Live another day. Better luck next time. Give it another twelve hours and I'll have regretted this post, those actions, and be thanking whoever was looking out for me. Not long after I'll be rummaging again for cold metal comfort.
i shall go and rummage my room for more drugs. I can still breathe, and that won't do at all.
cut down and cast aside
i sow friends like wild corn and burn them when the summer comes - raking through the ashes trying to find the ring i dropped last spring during the harvest season.
I can't do it. I can't keep this up. I don't know how long they've been following me, but these mudtongued demons that plague and snap at my heels, they catch my clothes and tear at my eyes when I blink - when the darkness bursts in like hot dry, stale echoes - They whisper my name and laugh at my feeble attempts to keep my footing,, to stay afloat, to stop from falling into oblivion.
Logical reasoning - I hate myself. Why else would I put myself out there, time and time again, and TRUST HUMAN SCUM who have NEVER done anything but HURT, LIE AND STEAL from me. I hate you all. I hate myself. I alienate the people I should be keeping close. I focus on the wrong things, chase the wrong dogs from dark alleys and wind up but nothing to show for it but another scar and a little bit less of my mind to rely on. Why else would I treat my body like this? Hypocrisy, too many drugs and not enough sleep, poor diet and forced solitude?
She was right, you see, but for the wrong reasons. I don't think it's immaturity. It's just cowardice and the inability to man up and fucking shoot myself already, so I'm doing my best to kill myself slowly and accidentally, while deperately maintaining this facade of I'm-in-control.
I'm not.
i've lost my balance
and I'm falling down a well.
Every time I try and fix something I just make it worse for myself, and dig deeper into the patience of those who care about me - Who, i might add, are dropping like flies, through my own doing and others.
I know what this is. This is where I was in year ten. This, is what the doctors call [i]bipolarism[/i], with self-destructive tendencies. I can feel it, and I know when I'm not altogether there, but that doesn't mean I pay any attention. I make decisions on impulse, and fifteen minutes later know I've done the wrong thing but pride stops me from going back, from apologising, or frmo pulling out of a deal.
I hate this place. I hate you. I hate myself. I don't care what you think any more. This is not some self-righteous cry for pity. This is a brief section of insight so you all (however few still bother following my self-induged dribblings) can understand precisely why I pulled the trigger.
Click? Click? Click.
Live another day. Better luck next time. Give it another twelve hours and I'll have regretted this post, those actions, and be thanking whoever was looking out for me. Not long after I'll be rummaging again for cold metal comfort.
i shall go and rummage my room for more drugs. I can still breathe, and that won't do at all.
Monday, June 15, 2009
Where will the children play?
I'm so sick of hanging out with children. With the exception of my closest friends - who they themselves seem to be slowly slipping into madness and self-loathing (The godawful FEAR that grips us all) - I am beset on all sides by the impudent irresponsibility of people far, far too young - physically or mentally - to be dabbling with these substances.
And it sucks. Because I get lumped in the same basket. They're all my friends, but they're not all people I'd invite to my house - Because they'd probably get trashed and break shit.
And when other people - People I want to know and respect me, people I want to talk to and learn from - See me hanging with 'em, I automatically become someone you wouldn't invite round to your house.
And it sucks. Because I get lumped in the same basket. They're all my friends, but they're not all people I'd invite to my house - Because they'd probably get trashed and break shit.
And when other people - People I want to know and respect me, people I want to talk to and learn from - See me hanging with 'em, I automatically become someone you wouldn't invite round to your house.
Plutonic beats.
Life grows around us like a skin, to shut away the outer desolation. For if we clearly mark the furthest deep, and stare with hot, hollow sockets we should be dead long years before the grave. But turning around within the homely shell of worry and discontent, a narrow joy appears.
We grow and flourish and rarely see the outside dark that would confound our eyes. Some break the shell. I think that there are those who push their fingers through the brittle walls and make a hole. Through this cruel slit, they stare out across the cinders of the world with naked eyes and play themselves against the many-armed envy, the cautiously optimistic lifestyle that persistently waits for one of us to slip up, at which point life - the universe, the hot tarmac and damp earth - opens up beneath us, a grave maw that devours you whole, spitting out your flesh form like an owl, while digesting your soul and free will.
We grow and flourish and rarely see the outside dark that would confound our eyes. Some break the shell. I think that there are those who push their fingers through the brittle walls and make a hole. Through this cruel slit, they stare out across the cinders of the world with naked eyes and play themselves against the many-armed envy, the cautiously optimistic lifestyle that persistently waits for one of us to slip up, at which point life - the universe, the hot tarmac and damp earth - opens up beneath us, a grave maw that devours you whole, spitting out your flesh form like an owl, while digesting your soul and free will.
Thursday, June 11, 2009
Carry on my wayward son
There'll be peace when you are done
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more...
Lay your weary head to rest
Don't you cry no more...
I'm going to fucking get you, kixxy.
Is it morally wrong to use acid and crystal mdma as a way to get petite young raver girls to fall in love with you? because I have about eight of 'em hanging off almost my every word these days, and I'm wondering the best way to convince them all to be in my room at once.
http://www.myspace.com/caxxy69
I'm gonna get that one if it's the last thing I do.
http://www.myspace.com/caxxy69
I'm gonna get that one if it's the last thing I do.
Tuesday, June 9, 2009
What inspires a man to break bad?
Johnnys in the basement
Mixing up the medicine
Im on the pavement
Thinking about the government
The man in the trench coat
Badge out, laid off
Says hes got a bad cough
Wants to get it paid off...
I don't always know what drives me to my ends. I don't pretend to - Sometimes it's a kind of unfeeling, otherworldly tug in a certain direction, a culmination of fate and coincidence that all point down a certain road - And who am I to ignore blatant signs?
I dunno. When some things come together so easily, you start thinking that they have done so for a reason, and that if you pass up this oppurtunity, it'll be like slapping (someone) in the face, throwing it back at 'em.
I don't know what my purpose really is. I don't know where I'll be in 20 years.
All I know is that before I die I want to flood with world with LSD of my own making - Rivers of piezoluminescent crystal, vibrating in the dark and thick with purple-green thunderbolts that crackle between the synapses of the finally awakened, huddled masses - Rising to their feet with fire in their eyes and love in their hearts.
Open your mind. All is one. We're almost home now, we haven't far to go...
Mixing up the medicine
Im on the pavement
Thinking about the government
The man in the trench coat
Badge out, laid off
Says hes got a bad cough
Wants to get it paid off...
I don't always know what drives me to my ends. I don't pretend to - Sometimes it's a kind of unfeeling, otherworldly tug in a certain direction, a culmination of fate and coincidence that all point down a certain road - And who am I to ignore blatant signs?
I dunno. When some things come together so easily, you start thinking that they have done so for a reason, and that if you pass up this oppurtunity, it'll be like slapping (someone) in the face, throwing it back at 'em.
I don't know what my purpose really is. I don't know where I'll be in 20 years.
All I know is that before I die I want to flood with world with LSD of my own making - Rivers of piezoluminescent crystal, vibrating in the dark and thick with purple-green thunderbolts that crackle between the synapses of the finally awakened, huddled masses - Rising to their feet with fire in their eyes and love in their hearts.
Open your mind. All is one. We're almost home now, we haven't far to go...
Thursday, June 4, 2009
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
One day I'm going to drop a fucking bomb on this city.
And spread into the air a hundred gallons of chemical contraceptive, vaporised and migrating with the wind currents, diffusing into every corner of this filthy scrapheap so no matter how many times you animals fuck each other, turn on each other and bite out each other's spines -
You will all die cold and unfulfilled. Alone and sweating in the dark. Unable to speak more then a whimper, eyes screwed shut against the fluorescent sun, concrete dust and foundation under your fingernails, lips cracked and ears leaking a clear, straw-coloured fluid...
The blistersweet truth of endless reality tearing into your veins and nerves. I want you to live forever in shadow and shame for what you all do to each other in the name of humanity.
You will all die cold and unfulfilled. Alone and sweating in the dark. Unable to speak more then a whimper, eyes screwed shut against the fluorescent sun, concrete dust and foundation under your fingernails, lips cracked and ears leaking a clear, straw-coloured fluid...
The blistersweet truth of endless reality tearing into your veins and nerves. I want you to live forever in shadow and shame for what you all do to each other in the name of humanity.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)