Thursday, April 30, 2009


I'm sorry, my dear, I couldn't find you.
I suppose you think that is better for me, that I not know just how bad you are for me. Fine, pretty, soft, smooth... Demon of knowledge.
You must be somewhere, somewhere in the history... Why can I not find you, ever? I need a name for you, m'dear. I need a name for you, because I think I'm falling in love with you. I want to see you in a form other than reptile. I want to... Oh dear. What have you done to me?
I thought I had you blocked out, but I guess you're more skilled at mindeating than I thought. I'm sorry I tried to evade you, I mean, I feel I have to, but I'm almost ready to give up.
I miss the words leaking off your tongue and into my mind...
Am I insane? Or am I really being 'touched' by something? If so, why for? What purpose do I serve in his games?
I can't believe I'll be posting this, but I need somebody to tell me what the fuck is going on, because I've become obsessed.
I've been fucking researching demons all night and can find nothing to match this... creature.


Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Kittens and dreamhopping.

It's probably a sign you haven't been sleeping enough when your body starts to produce it's own chemicals to fuck with your senses and state of mind.
And it's probably not a good thing when you get lost in the critter that have been drawn, personified, speech-bubbled and posted.
But it isn't the end of the world, yet.
We are fallen angels, here. We've forgotten what we have, and only remember what we've lost.
It's probably not a good idea for me to be here right now, but my perception of the world is a little foggy and everything is distant.
It's probably time for dreams, the ones you never want to wake up from, but I'm being tortured with nightmares, repeating themselves, repeating themselves, repeating themselves.
Where was I? Where have I been? Never mind where the hell I'm going, what the hell was I before life? Before I started to think, and feel, and influence?
I can't have never existed.
It wouldn't make any sense.
I must be... Ah, but I babble.
Things get a little complicated from here on in.
I wish I could remember... No, I wish I wanted to remember.
But I'm weary, and the lights are flickering with some new form of l4zzz0rzzz h4x1n9 into my brain. All the glitches.
"Why did the sky just go black?"
"It's okay to think about it, if we do not fear it".

But I am afraid...
I... Will... Be.
I am always afraid, of everything.

"Scared little kitten, look what you've done to yourself? Aw, it's okay, come here and I'l eat the darkness. There, there. No need to cry anymore. I can make the pain go away, little kitty, if only you'd let me... But you fear me too".

I probably shouldn't be here right now.

Friday, April 24, 2009

Abstract Obliterate

Silhouette encrusted in a memory, that special one of when we were thirteen and you showed me how to bleed. And you showed me how easy it was to lose control. Erotic asphyxiation of the mind. You showed me how easy it was to disappear. How easy it was to admit to your non-existance.

I could've turned back right then, but I was young and so eager to fit in. And that was years ago now, I'm a different person... But I hesitate to call myself a person anymore. I hesitate to look at myself, to compare myself, in case I remember what I've disentegrated into. Ashtray.

I am abstract obliterate, and nothing more.

When the clouds hovering over head are a conspiracy (probably because we've taken too much acid), it all falls into place in my open hands, extended to the sunshine. I am dead. I am dead. I am dead. I know this, I've seen The Fine Line. This is my proof. But I am not dead, for I still fear death. I still seek death. I am abstract obliterate, nothing more.

We are not actresses. I could've fooled the world, had I not stopped to take a breath and blocked Him out for good. For he is a mindeater. And I am tempted to let him in for a quick hello, for how I miss his soft, green and black, yellow-eyed appeal. He was simply beautiful, in all his demonic structure. He was a teacher, and a murderer. He was a mindeater, and I am his virgin.

I could've learned great things, but instead I feel so refreshed. Like the edge of the world... The edge of the mind! Sticking to the membrane. Ok, ok, the world is all a manifestation of your mind. Keep it that way. Never let it become to real, or you may evaporate. I am abstract obliterate, nothing more.

"Candy, my child? I am not a stranger, I am a friend. I've missed you, I never meant to frighten you away. I'm sorry, but you said so yourself, your blood tastes so sweet on my tongue. I miss it. Cut yourself for me. Cut yourself and let the chemicals bleed out".

No. You will have me no more. You could help me, but you will eat me. I am abstract obliterate, nothing more.

Wednesday, April 22, 2009

Zippedy doo da!

Zippedy doo da!
What a wondeful day!
Trying to inflict happiness on people by singing song off-tune in an annoyingly high pitched voice because they're stuck in your head is probably a bad idea. People end up telling you to shut up, or foreigners whistle at you and try to hit it off with you. Neither are all that great, I was just happy for no apparent reason and wanted to see the smiles.
I got our favorite crackhead to smile today, which made me feel like I'd done something good. He himself said he never smiles. And I know he doesn't. I observe. It is what I'm good at. He isn't happy, but he is happy at doofs.
Another person I noticed was down recently, let us call him Good Vibes, seems to have cheered a little, and I told him, he seemed a little surprised I had noticed but it also increased his mood.
I've lost touch with the demon of knowledge, I don't think we're friends anymore. He's very down as of late and I can't even get a human response from him. This is upsetting.
I saw CHEMTATS today, which is always a good thing, it was the best hour of recent times, other than the night me, him and my fractal peice drank the red wine and later harassed/flashed Muslim children with Gecko.
But my fractal peice is locked up. Distant. Set away from the world and I can not work a response from her, after the tearfilled phonecall, so I'm a little concerned.
The two from the Hospital, I saw, and they oth offered to visit her with me, but they soon took off with the New Centrals Meat.
I did warn that kid.
Two of the Missing Three are back. The other should be bck in a few days. I held onto Her for the longest of times. I have missed them terribly, and welcome them back full-force, all errors forgiven.
Kandi-king was arrested tonight for breaching a move on notice.
And Mr. Warmth continues to mock my interest in Maths, but his warmth allows me to forgive him, because he looked so adorable hidden beneath all that material.
Drinks with GB tomorrow. Oh God, help me. I don't even drink, less it is with my two.
And Dr. A continues to address me as if we are friends! Really, you should have figured out by now, I have a problem with you.
Oh, and the knight of pot actually smiled today. Not a goofy smile, a real smile. "Have you straightnened your hair? Yes, but that isn't it, OH, I know, you're sober!".
Otherwise, things haven't changed.

Zippedy doo da!
What a wonderful day!

Tuesday, April 21, 2009


Pale, livid.
Enter the keyhole. Here, the worms lie.
"Abandon all hope, ye who enter here", the maggots sing in usinson. Counting to 12... The world really ends in 2011, or maybe 2013, but we skipped year 0. He may win, again.
Tossed off a cliff, to fall forever for his accusation that 0 really did exist, was 0 percent accurate.
Pale, livid.
Decipher the missing code to break the lot, oldfashioned keys are well out of date, went out of style back in year 0000.
There is so much music in the structure of these lines, so much maths, so much to figure out and question, both as author and as reader. Plus, the edge of the world, the edge of the mind...
Is the mind a sphere? Well, it has no physical form. So how so sure it exists? I'm sure if it does, it is a sphere, so there is no EDGE of the MIND, only the ever so annoying loop.
"You smoked too much pot".
Come down, child, we're having a tea party with the cadaver.
Pale, livid.

Monday, April 20, 2009

Newest Gameshow.

Start up the freezer, there's something that needs to be frozen, because I feel like it is fucking melting and it won't go away, which I don't mind too much, because I kind of want it to stay.
Forget his warmth. Forget the promise. Forget the six months I kept him waiting, because there is an intruder approaching. Something from another world that totally just blew our entire minds right into a brilliant and intricate catastrophe.
Pretty, isn't it?
As the purple wallpaper peels off, for one single moment I hear myself say 'I'll be okay', and I almost believe it. We all almost believe it, until that mental photograph throws your heart in the blender, alongside nostalgic memories.
"Oh, I'm so terribly sorry, ma'am, would you like a little more tea? It will put you straight back to sleep and you won't feel a thing, savvy?"
Yes. Yes. Yes.
And then, yet another lingers somewhere in my intestines, deep down and writhing like an illness, but getting weaker and more distant every day. And for the final drop of lavendar, how about me sprinkle a dash of FRESH mixed spice across? "Because you don't want the same old batch of ingredients, need something new to excite your batty little mind, right you are, chap!"
Yes. Yes. Yes.
"Give me a little more of that drug, pray, what do you call it? Some sort of in thing with the kids these days, amirite? Ah, back in the day..."
Quickly, call the security, we're having a mild case of violence and disruptive behaviour. Something is going rattle-rattle-bang-pop down in the cellar.
Pretty, isn't it?
Yes. Yes. Yes.
"Oh, dear fuck, by the end of it, little by little Mr. M4th5 is totally killing of each of the other contestants! How rude, you mystery man! This is simply unjust, we'll have none of that, not until Miss Fuckedin-Thehead here decides what the bloody hell it is that's tugging. Tug-tug-tug, well then, mysery man, I guess you might as well win, since we don't want the woman to get a prize, right chap?"
So, Mister Original, how do you feel about this? Fine, not a care in the world, only slightly surprised and feeling slightly put-off.
Oh, and Mister Warmth, what of you? Fine, aside from the fact this here is a broken promise, but I know we're still good ol' mates, if I know what that is?
Well then, Mister N00b? Eh? Who is this chick? I mean, does anybody know 'er?
So, I suppose it is your turn, Mr. Maths. What are your thoughts?
We're sorry, mister mystery can not be predicted.
Thankyou, see you next time. Goodnight.

Saturday, April 18, 2009


So much could be said, I could write for days on it.
Our perfect connection, the three of us... To drunkenly flashing children and being chased by Muslims in an echanted park ruled by magical white foxen.
I think I've found something, a date that can't be discarded, one of those days that you'll think aout for the rest of your life and wonder how things got to be just that way.
How lucky I am to have found two people who's company is... Like everything. I can't explain it, like some things that aren't meant to be shared. But she knows it, she feels it, and I hope he can too.
I'm happy here, I'm so fucking happy I could cry.


She is a part of my fractal, illuminating what seems like forever with the glint of her tears. I'm sitting with the wine in my hands, listening to him and her and feeling like nothing else matters, like a trip in a confined area. The world outside is gone.
They come and go, and I wonder if it ever happened. She assures me I exist, it's refreshing. We crush the flowers with no reasons, n0 thought, no regrets. It is perfect, like I would never have pictured while I waited in the sunlight for her to appear and take me away.
Suddenly the problems never mattered, and matter all too much at the same time, and I am me, the person ou read, for the first time, viewed in public in the longest of years. I am back, and with me washes away the paint they used to cover up what they lacked. Everyone takes on a new image in my vision.
Like the crumble of the cigarette, I throw away my addictions and welcome something solid. Me. Them. I am here and they will keep me here, because I will let them.
At some point today, while everything seemed to be an illusion, observing but not being, I was CONNECTED. Within myself, maybe. Not perhaps with the outside world, but at least the puzzle pieces have joined.
A child will pull them apart again, to start a new game, since this is my life goal. But there. I know I can be. I will find the world and me, all of me, together one day.


Moths eating the windows, salt-stain litter. Little rodents swimming The Hexagon, cardboard box full of manic depressive stick figures. Voodoo clock on the wall, 911, 237, midnight. Writing to you on a click-by-click binary patterened semi-circle. Six hands and a bottle of vintage wine, tick tock, twelve o'clock, chickenpox. The siren singing to the mirror, messages bleeding through the brickwork as the head of the bee clears. Goblin thieves in the dark, dancing the pencil-thin lines of a dusty road to Ed Gein. Dragonfly paintings and virgin lillipads. Sing me to sleep, Sugarman.

Wednesday, April 15, 2009

11 - 3

Things are looking much better.

Number one, he taught me more things, and we drank juice and smoked cigarettes and it was so nice to see him after the weeks without him. I still never manage to feel awkward around him. Such a mysterious teacher.

Number two, he questioned where I'd been and our hug made everything better, like I knew it would. Our 'cigarette scabbing mission' turned into the usual 'Wanna hook up?'. Of course, due to my current health status, I had to sadly refuse. Ah, thankyou for making me feel so much better, so cared about.

Number three, he and I debate over everything, as usual, for we can never agree, and he seemed to insist I came along to the party. We talked shit, like I can do with so few people anymore... I actually laughed and felt like someone not only didn't mind my company, but desired it. My fucking idiot, pothead, ridiculous-looking best friend.

I saw three of the eleven people that I constantly seek in one day, and what is more, they all seemed happy to see me to.

I feel light, better.

I fucking love you.

Monday, April 13, 2009


I was a doof, yes. Dropped, emerged from the car, suddenly everyone is there.
I don't remember much of what happened, but over the past couple days, I think I remember something and I don't know what to think of it.

So, a someone taps me and is like "You remember me, right?"
And, I did, I mean, I know this guy. So I tell him, yeah.
And he says "Does this mean anything to you? I mean, you don't care?"
And I shook my head.
He seemed a bit upset by this.

I'm not sure if I care who he is, but nonetheless, that was a bit rude to say, right?
Ah, blame the drugs?
Or blame it on teh lulz?

Whoops! :3

Oh, and, btw

While we were having the session (which I wouldn't have been involved in, had I been less intent on what you were saying and more aware of what I was doing), just after you'd shown me the fractals with the lights, you explained to me almost all of what I now know of fractals, and the asked 'why do we see them on LSD?'. ( Though, as we've discussed, pure fucking research chemicals, don't think anyone had a good time whilst tripping at Chester).

You also said, and I won't give a statement since I can't be sure what I think you said was true, that you've been trying to figure this out since (unknown time), but it was a long time nonetheless.

How long ago was Chester fest? Couple months? I've tripped only once after you posed this question, on bromo-dragonFLY, and I came up with the answer, but I'm sure it's so simple that you must be meaning something else.

Right, right. So, fractals. A complex mathmatical equation that the whole universe is made up of, basically. A pattern that continues for infinity. In theory, you could zoom in on something forever, just as you could zoom out.

Understanding this, the basic idea of LSD is that it intensifies everything that is already there. Everything you know, see, touch. And so, since fractals are already there to begin with, whilst everything we see is being intensified, we see them. Though, we're already seeing them, all the time, we just don't notice. Understood?

It sounded better in my head.

But I'm unsure whether or not to tell, that is, if you haven't already gathered this. Because a friend of mine's father asked her why the sky was blue on his deathbed, and so she made it her mission to find out for him. So yeah, when I began to tell her why the sky was blue...

She didn't much like it!

So yes. Anyways, I like fractals. They're ppppprrrrrreeeeeettttttyyyyyy!

A little long and meaningless self-assessment.

I think I have no personality, or maybe a different one depending on who I am with at the time. Without realizing, I pick and choose how I will react to certain things being done and said. I am not funny, or smart, or creative, or generous enough. I'm not the one with the interesting stories, fucked if I can keep my mouth open long enough to say "While I was on the train, this one time, me and this guy". I'm not the one who's happiness makes smiles appear on everyone elses faces, because, while I'm not really unhappy, I am far from eccstatic. I'm not the one you come to when you need to buy drugs, when you need someone to do drugs with, when you're having a party and inviting people, when you need a place to stay.

Even if deep within this self, anyone could stand up and tell me I do, in fact, have something to offer, or some form of personality, it's only private. In public, I seldom speak, and if I do, it is something along the lines of 'sup 'n' shit?'.

So now that I know I have nothing to offer in public, I will assess whether or not I have something, say, judging from my writing, my 'one on one' time and whatnot. And I wonder. Do I make you laugh? Hardly, considering the majority of this shit is sooooooo serious! But then, is it serious enough to leave you pondering? To inspire? To make you think 'Wow, that bitch knows her stuff!'. Of course not, because I know nothing much whatsoever. I like to think, but I'm never right, only creating. And so, if you have nothing to offer, are not easily noticed, missed, loved, how are you anyone?

The problem is, I have no-i-fucking-dea how to get close to anyone. I don't understand friendships. Loyalty, trust, honesty? But who, these days, has a single of those virtues, let alone all three? And so, even if I AM close to someone, I wouldn't know it, because I would have seen something in one of us that would put us less than friends. Yet, when I think maybe I have made a friend somewhere, I'm utterly mistaken. So, let's keep any relations, acquaintances. This saves them wondering what they did wrong, and what I need to do to improve.

But also, though this would work, I have the DESIRE to make friendships. You know, have somewhere to go, something to do, someone to talk to. Someone to give a shit about other than myself. The human mind, on avergage, bases only about 10 percent on empathy. I could say this was correct NOW... But once upon a time, I would die for anyone, just to see them smile. Now I wonder if I could endure a broken bone to save their lives.

I could name six, seven people that actually matter at all to me, in some way. I'd like to be able to say more, you know, because they seem to enjoy my company, what are they doing wrong? Something small... Something small that makes me want to mutilate them.

Acid. As I said, the only knowledge I was ever going to gain, I got from my first time. Sure, whilst tripping, you may discover a lot, but the point is, the acid opened your mind and so, even while sober, you have the ability to think the things you wanted to. Yeah, LSD is great, sure. What you may not have realized is, there is a fucking price to pay. It steals some of your self, to make room for the knowledge. Suddenly, instead of a person, you're a fucking book.

I miss what I was, whatever it was. And maybe I'd have been okay with just the first tab, that lovely trip... But you know what else? If my mind hadn't already been somewhat 'open' to begin with, I would never have been able to handle it. Which is why I suggested certain people didn't touch it, they are not in the right mind state. Many of the thought I had now, even most of them, I had before. Yes, they are somewhat more intensified and I'm probably learing faster, but I wouldn't mind taking the longroad. It wouldn't be so overwhelming, and I'd still be human at the end.

I'm getting closer to throwing that fucking shit, everything, my beloved acid included right out the fucking window. At least I'm smart enough to see there is something wrong with it, there is some addiction. Your mind craves it, makes you think it's the best thing in the universe, that only with it can you learn, can you have a good time, can you see fractals. Get fucking real. If you'd paid any attention to your acid lessons, and looked beyond what you are shown and dug into the heart of the drug, you'd see that that's bullshit. LSD is wonderful, it is, I will never say it isn't, because it is.

But we weren't born with this gift. It's not ours to abuse.

Sunday, April 12, 2009


Memories. The reason I miss. They're making everything clearer now, I can get back to somewhere I was.
But the earth is shaking. Looking up from the cigarette to fondle crippled air soaked in dense sheets of tunnel vision. Something pretty for your Christmas present. I'll wrap it in the only thing I've ever had to offer, even though even this is no longer a talent, but a frustration.
When the activity becomes something you partake in, not because you want to, but because you need to, because there's nothing else to do, you might as well be the granddaughter of Sylvia Plath, who was doomed to die nine deaths, but couldn't wait for the fourth and departed mid-story.
I miss everybody, people I hate, people I don't know. Hiding out in this apartment, waiting for The Man to bring the medication so I can remember again. However, sickness is crawling up inside me and I've gone too far.
The sun always shines in the morning, and at least I can be grateful to be alive to feel that pretty warmth, unlike how I felt before, hiding in the shadows to protect my pale skin.
Losing weight, losing patience, losing contact. It seems like I've never created anything, it's all fake. The people I thought I knew are so far away while I bathe in my illness, I'm not sure how to get back to them. I'm not sure I want to. I might have just written them. Or drawn them. Dreamed them.
And suddenly, I don't care anymore, because I know I'll get better. Just let the illness pass, maybe it'll do you some good. Sitting here in your hood of memory, painting feathers in every kiss you blow, crushing flies between your fingernails and watching them decay a little more each day on the windowsill.
I wish I could've done things different, now. Trying to figure out why I'm so ill, did I lose my lucky charm? No, it's my excuse, so I don't have to go out there, it's scarey and dark.
The Man says I can stay here as long as I'd like, but I don't think I'll be here much longer, I seem to have forgotten who I am. My name keeps slipping out on the pages, like a silent reminder that I once was, but I'll never be.
If the fruit had never been eaten, the sword never pulled, the space left undiscovered. If Hoffman had decided to keep a secret...
I wouldn't be here, biting nails and living off junkfood, watching the kilograms drop off into the ashtray. Chainsmoking, heavy breathing, wolf spirit.
The characters are spiralling down now. I can feel them in my veins, I think this is what that slimey little mind-eater wanted me to tell.

Friday, April 10, 2009


Enter the dark room.
Scissors going hack, hack, hackity, hack. Been so long, now, I'm not too sure how to get it. Splintering, slowly. A glint of silver.
"Come on, you bastard".
Loose. That's it, baby.
Now, let's play naughts and crosses.
Crisscross, hopscotch.

Get back to where you came from.

Everytime you blink, you miss something.
You're too focused on one thing to focus on it all, bring back your eyes and look firmly at the full picture. It's beautiful, isn't it?
No. The little details are what makes it so pretty, but forget them, and look. Her face is painted in shades of blue, and her hair is tinged with purple, like the berries on your way to work every morning.
2PM, and you're alone, you should be at work, but you called in sick so you could get sick. Drinking again? The phone keeps ringing, and they want you to come visit them, but you're suddenly too tired to even answer the phone, let it ring out.
You know you can't stay here long, he said you needed to get a job, and you did, but you're not going. You can use it as an excuse as to why you can't be fucked seeing your friends anymore.
They're not friends.
Don't feel bad, he/she called my friends idiots.
Long line.
It's coming down, because you can't write pretty, or poetic, or intelligent, or original. Or even as yourself, for who are you?

Get back to ward 23.

The air smells like cherry apple, but only if you tilt your head and smile. If you frown, it smells like oil.

What are you doing this for?
You don't actually have anything to write. It's like, youre trying to get something onto the page that isn't a part of you.

Get back to ward 23.


And it was never easy, but not as hard as you'd hope. Isn't there comfort in trial?
I finally agreed, and when I did, you disagreed.
So I'll work again for myself.

Thursday, April 9, 2009


And, it's immature.
Bringing ourselves further and further to childhood, is this some race? We can not escape death, reach immortality. Only holes in the brain. Why don't we get it? We love the pretty colors, the melting time, the little grin and the sense of satisfaction we get, after two thousand kg's of knowledge are crammed in to our head in the course of six hours. Get fucked. When you suddenly remember who you were, you realize you're wasting your time. You think you're so different now, in a good way. You think you've gotten somewhere. Really, you can't focus. You can't think beyond it. You know how much you suddenly hate yourself.
He said, "Ferret, everything about you has changed. Your eyecolor, skin color", and he didn't like it.
I'm not saying I'm going to stop, I'm not even going to consider it, I'm just going to say that I should, probably, one dose got me all I'll ever get, unless I want the holes, unless I want the glares my lover gets, to be the topic of conversation.
I don't even want to stop, because I don't give a FUCK about anything anymore! Don't you see how wrong this is? It's not Zen, it's laziness!
I've lost the plot.

The edge of the mind.

Inside, crumbling in the ashtray. Something happened, I found the cure, now I'm getting sick again. Mental addiction. I'm going to end up like my lover, aren't I? I thought I was so right... But I've gone wrong. Knock me out of this Godfeeling, it isn't me. Pure, hand-flapping guinea-pig genius. I think I need help, but there's no such thing. I lost everyone I ever cared about, and anyone who ever cared about me by escaping what I thought was so bad, but it was total bliss. Pause time, and watch it all and see how I did it, find the cracks before I slip through. I don't want to die, but I'm not sure I can escape it. Life is some oldschool game with no checkpoints, He could tell me all about that. I think that is where I went wrong. Rambling, no idea what I'm going to write next, and I want to stop, it's hurting me everytime I read something and feel I should delete it. Not so far away now, but I've realized I'm not even ready. Holy shit, I wish I could back out. I wish I had listened. I don't want this anymore... But then, I don't want anything. Just me, maybe my lover, for one last moment... Then I'm through. Find me, I'm missing, have you seen this girl? DO I EVEN EXIST ANYMORE? Dreaming of supermarkets and the circulating lies, as if I've done something wrong. I never did anything wrong by anyone else, unless it was a mistake, but then, I am the biggest mistake I ever made. WHAT IS THIS? 'Hi, I hope all's okay'. Little tramp. Cuntscab. Fall off the edge of the world and drown in my anger. You're the only person I hate more than myself.

Tuesday, April 7, 2009

Spider dance.

Spiders in the trees, silken waterdrops on the leaves, intricate fractal patterns lacing the skies, behind your eyes, in front of the moon. Delicate, weaving in and out of time with the power of their spindly legs and their hypnotizing melodies, gently humming in oh-so-perfect beat with the grass as it sways, backwards and forwards, gaia's rythem. The black hole rears back, hackles raised, teeth bared as it threatens to devour you, always five metres away from the centre, while the grey matter sings you to sleep as it rocks you in it's arms. The spiders chuckle, sick and sweet, luminous rays highlighting their membranes, salvia divinorum, lizards bathing in the searing sunlight, awakened from dreams of earthquakes and retro dresses. A little bird with fluro feathers darting in and out of your peripheral vision, while the bark melts in to the shape of your lover. The flowers wish you good morning as their petals spread into nothingness, a weak everglow contorting the way the spider moves, now pitter-patter, pitter-patter across the glowing water, sailing by on the damp leaves, downstream, rockaby. Little fingers grasp at the memories eluding you, and place them somewhere deep in your veins, glass digging into the soles of your feet, the soul of your feat. Happy-go-lucky, smiley-glad-hands, little boy blue and bo beep's shotgun wedding in the middle of the hill, house of cards and glass. Matchbox. White rabbit. Yes sir, yes sir, three bags full. Mix it, blend it, stir it until it is a deep, black, citrus-to-the-eyes potion and dabble in black magic for a while with the popcorn birth certificate. Honey-soaked sheets making love to the chemtrails. Silly little girl, outside on the rooftop, marrying the boy with the violin and the black cat. Hatchet-hands, making dents in the walls where the spraycans thrived. Red, blue, red, blue. Flashing lights and disco nights. Sipping on the misery. Deep inside the serpents lair, dragon snare, adventurer beware. Gold. Silver. The spider continues to ascend, up into the sky. Humming, dancing, wicked two-step on your tongue. Open your eyes, the spiders wove the universe.

Something shiny.

Fade in.
There's an empty void you'll have to leap across. You must be prepared for the fall, you may never make it. If you do, you'll have found what you're looking for.
Fade out.

Fade in.
There's a door there, painted with the blood-red cross and someone whispering and reciting from the otherside and you suddenly want to get there, but you can't without first shaming yourself.
Fade out.

Fade in.
There's a peice missing somewhere and a little bird says you're in danger. You knowthis to be true but you know you're just bathing in ignorance if you stay beneath the security blanket.
Fade out.

Fade in.
Read a little more, you're doing okay, lay off the mind-numbing experiences for a while and just figure out something on your own. You may figure out you had the power in you all along.
Fade out.

Monday, April 6, 2009

Chicken Treat.

The following commercial is rated R+18 and is restricted to adults and may not be viewed by persons under eighteen years of age. It contains strong horror violence, actual death images and some nudity.

Sunday, April 5, 2009

Cheshire Cats

Fuck this,
I want Cheshire Cats.

I've been told by many frequent acid users that my continuous taking of two Cheshires is rather excessive, that half a tab was intense enough. I always just assumed the increased intensity was simply due to the fact I'd been used to taking a single Aztec, which while lovely, are quite weak, and then suddenly jumping to the two. Of course, they are a lot stronger, thus plenty more colors, intensity and information.
This all would explain the matter of why I looped out so often on my dose, though I can't say for certain what was in the Cheshires, only that they are simply brilliant.
I find that looping out, as frightening as that may be for yourself and people you are present with, is actually an increased method of aquiring the knowledge you were seeking. I have visited far more answers and realities while I have been scared out of my mind, and though once you've been there, you never want to be there again, you're always glad you went there.
Repeatition Hell. The most terrirfying location I have ever had the misfortune to stumble upon. A land in which the souls lay themselves across the roads that lead to nowhere to wait an eternity for the body collectors. They have nothing, they can not escape eachother, they are all eachother has. They will live by the same routine, a vicious, in your face routine until they decide to succumb to death. While they are beginning to die, they remember they are already dead and can never escape the horrible place they have found, can not find the answers...
I'm glad I went there. I learned many things in that place.
I've had the realization that I am God, that everything is an illusion and that I am entirely alone, for everyone is just a part of me that will never be anything more than an imaginary friend.
Yes, I constantly loop out, but that is where I find my answers. That is where I will continue to go. I want my two Cheshire Cats. I want my answers.


Your drugs are shit.
I went to sleep on your tabs, motherfucker.
Telling me it was strong, it'd last a while. Get fucked.
I wanted to learn something here. I managed to, but I had to really look for it. And I found proof of something I've been considering for some time, and solved many mysteries while I shivered myself to sleep in a pile of trashed and shameful bodies.
Or maybe, though they should be the perfect place, doofs just aren't a nice place to really get within yourself and the universe.
But I'm just assuming it's some ridiculous thing called... BROMO-DRAGONFLY. Holy shit, people enjoy this stuff? Oh, I s'pose it's better than being sober, says some random little ravefag. Bullshit, mate, I spent half the night trying to wear the shit off so I could be sober.
No visuals aside from the occasional closed-eye fractals, very little information and only a slight confusement, which made the whole thing worthless, boring... Bullshit. 18 hours? More like, 2 and a half, motherfucker.
Still, I'd rather buy from you then some other arrogant full o' shit wannabe-doofer. I mean, his drugs are there to break three year olds minds, because that would be funny. You may be an unreliable little shithead, but at least you give a shit. Besides, you didn't make the shit. I will be having a chat with you though about this, however.
It's rather annoying when you want some actual acid, I'm talking, LSmotherfuckingD, and every cunt is chewing on some substitute.

Disappointing doof. Disappointing acid. Disappointing people.

Gb2raves, faggots.

Not at all what it should be.

Exhibit 1) Arrogant cockheads on their 'hardcore' and 'scientific' diets of research chemicals, breaking young minds and generally playing a God figure.

Exhibit 2) Admiring little children eating their pcp based pills, getting 'lost' and squealing amongst the semi-psy-trance while grown men fondle their budding bodies.

Exhibit 3) Fifty eight 'fucking maggot' derro cunts starting shit and making the beautiful forrest fucking mental with rage, disrespectful at best.

Exhibit 4) Characters feeling like their duty is to serve, watching out for those they feel need to be watched.

The closest we get to doofers, swimming around the shisha bong being topped with marijuana. At least these appreciate the area.

Burn holes in brains and stomach lining, melt livers and hearts. Your splendid fixes must keep you feeling like there's something to live for, makes you feel like you're having a good time for once in your miserable lives. Paint your faces, drag yourself around in oldschool dress-ups and feed your sore throats with the love of tobacco. You're never learning, only forgetting. You've forgotten the purpose of the trees, the music, the people, the drugs, the earth. Suddenly, a doof is just an excuse to 'get fucked up', then moan to people in the morning when you've lost your belongings and/or your mind, can't remember at all what you did last night, so how can you say you had a brilliant time? Because you were 'gone'? Escaping reality, making a fool of yourself? The trees once liked the doofs, they once were a part of it. Now, they're just shelter from the cops. And how did all the shit-starters get here? Brilliant minds wearing down with too many drugs in a too shorta period of time. Will you remain sober for a doof? For a day? For an hour? Drugs in your mind, in your conversation. "Wanna buy pills? Got any weed? I was so fucked up, I took 3 tabs, 2 pills and had like 10 cones. Shit was intense! Lolololol, I'm so hardcore, those arrogant fuckers must be real proud of me for buying his drug over his, lolololol, look how much I had, I'm so motherfucking hardcore! Why are you sober? Lololololol, get fucked up, hahahaha". Yes, but those arrogant fuckers aren't proud of you, they're laughing at the state of your mind. Don't worry, they're all just as mentally inpaired as you, so get fucked up, children, drugs, drugs, drugs!

Doofs to drug-farms. Peace to chaos. A spiritual journey to a hole in the brain.

Burn in the hell of repetition, where you can't escape the same thing from slapping you in the face, over and over, you can't go anywhere, for you are nowhere! You are lost!

Hardcore scene faggots pretending to be scientists, philosophers and... Doofers.

Gb2raves, faggots.

Thursday, April 2, 2009


Eyes dartng from black dot, to white dot. White dot shifts to E4, where black dot waits, and they merge. Grey dot.
Grey dot splits, two grey dots.
Grey dot 1 uncombines.
Black dot, white dot.
Black dot splits.
White dot splits.
Two black dots.
Two white dots.
Three grey dots.
Split, combine, split, combine.
Merge, escape, merge, escape.
Three grey dots.
Blood drips.
Red dot.


"Coming back?"
Not yet.


Drip, drip, drip.
Ten thousand red dots.
Red stain.


"Come. We're waiting for you".
Let me count the dots.
"They're all gone".
"Are you ready?"
I think so.
"Okay, let's proceed".


Red stain.
Where are the grey dots?


"I thought you were ready".
I am ready.
"Focus, child, focus".
Focus on what?
"Anything but the dots. We know what they represent".
Okay, I think I'm ready.
"Then let's return".
Thank you.

Let's stitch up our lips,

We're being bugged.

The words, you can't pull yourself away.

Held on so tight.
It wasnt enough.
You havent forgiven me yet.

I let you leave, for I'd given up.
Until you grabbed me and held me.
I should still be holding you now.

I stared at the words, I think they were my own.
'I was there once,
so I do and did exist'.

Funny, I can't remeber writing them.
Which somehow presses the valus of the words,
Enforcing the fact I was there.

Even if I never remember,
I know I existed and by all means, should still.
I just can't explain why.