Begin: 1:58 A.M.
Begin: fully processing the moment
how chemicals can fully possess you, how words are
smooth coins-
the exhiliration! how difficult it becomes to write in the captive arms of freedom, of the breath-
this feeling of flying and of falling, how we have always
been searching for it.
Yes yes, I have
always been searching for
for this,
your quiet eyes
your voice, these
dancing notes

i cannot both write and experience these feelings
but i must try, as i have always
been meant to try

oh the body,
where you were always
meant to be.
oh the bated breath,
the heightened awareness,
that pre-race warmup
mile around the block
tripping out on your
own letters
as you
write them
down
n
n
n
yeS! to be
here!
where where?
right here!
to do
absolutely nothing
to do this
and this
to do things for their own
god’s fucking sake
to be this
crazy fucking creature
independent of social construct
and of your construct
and of this great urgency,
this sense of foreboding

be the feeling you wish to create in people

it doesn’t even matter what the writing on the wall is saying
you love just reading it

this:
you are just a
little sneaky creature
watching things move

it’s all waiting for us
here now
we are
waiting
for this
second

this
is all i need, all
i need is this
an instant of
utter bliss,
etcetera
you sweet little etcetera!

i have fallen in love
with this place, i
have fallen in love
with this time
thank the lord that i’m insane.

(tonight is the story of
how you were a hero
come come let us disintegrate!)

reminders:
-your mind, perhaps?
-all of these
things for smoking
-tearing down preconceived
notions, your sense of being
derived from the delectable now.

Because the clouds above me are washed purple from the urgent electricity of the city below.
Because I walk down these familiar roads in the pouring rain at five in the morning on the first of december,
not wanting to be anywhere else in the world.
Things could only ever make sense to me exactly this way.
And to you, you who would sparkle like fresh morning grass,
you darlings of a generation,
oh never could my sad, bewitched eyes
be more or less in your gaze.

Opium + Mushrooms + Marijuana = blazing ecstatic pretty shiny things!