- Collective Writing -

eh, all of this writing is pretty much mental waste if you ask me lol.

we are just sharing, why not put up some english stuff for us dumb people?

 

purple haze, jerry saves
long strange dreams wth renagades
parade through my synapses and whisper
secrets that i cant understand
just listen to the band, rainbow eyes
tye dyed, my sometimes fried outlook on life
once clearly defined by highway signs
tickets for campin on my own homeland
an quite a few high times
i woulda really dug a few more cassidy's, or a terrapin or ten
but just got a buncha berthas and on the road again
but the sign onthe highway says forty miles to go
it takes along time on trans-love airways
and i dont like to stand in line
my mom didnt let me play in puddles when i was a kid
maybe thats why i play in em so much now
"wade in the water, you'll never get wet'
if ya keep on doin' that rag"

 

It's true, but the thing is that in Spanish it feels like MY mental waste. In English it's like wtf? haha, but I'll see if I can find something. I need to check my notebooks, all I have online is so old that I now hate it.

 

oh I never even thought about if english wasn't your primary language. you type so well on here I just figured it was very natural for you! sorry

 

O AY O



Music.
Moeic.
Medic.
Mixic.
Muvick.
Mupick.
Moyic.
Merick.
Mewic.
Minic.
Moxick.
Maoic.
Mojick.
Muqic.
Mebic.
Magick.
​

 

A monkey squirts a tiny vial in my black lit palm
and I lick the glowing liquid
because
I can not deny these capabilities.
I can not forget what it's like on
overdrive.
Some little ergot that looks like a microscopic psilocybe cubensis
wrapped around
your crops might drive you mad might make you kill witches dance in the street kiel over dead and science
executes the algorithm of a bow-tie, walks up to the podium
and synthesizes divinity.

I am not one to know the source of these micrograms of molecules,
but I find them. (Or do they find me?)

May this ode be my eternal thank you
to all the mad scientists
synthesizing LSD,
wherever you are.

We laugh, we love you. ​

 

I have constructive criticism but I'll keep it to myself, for I myself happen to be a mediocre poet.

 

it's a poem about my smoke and death fetish, and also about my delusional relationship with the spirit world, much like how I'm typing to you now.
my poetry is not perfect, it just flows. I am known to destroy everything in my path. You got any poems?

 

My criticism is more of grammar then of the actual poem, its nice. I have never even attempted writing poetry, maybe if I was smoking for several consistent days or weeks... Or maybe after or during a trip I would find myself attempting poetry. The only thing other then research papers I have attempted was a novel, and it was very poor. Maybe I'll make other attempts later.

 

post anything you have, anytime
especially if it's psychedelicly inspired

 

Well I am hoping to get myself some psychedelic mushrooms that I plan on doing next week when nobody is home, I also hope to pull out the paper and pencil so I might just do that.:biggrin:

 

Haha I miss Sydney

 

Oh thank you, that makes me feel good

 

Glory the father
his wit and his wisdom
that filled up our cisterns.
He set up our harbours,
we harbored his shame.

My mother! Oh mother
Who begged me to flow

 

fantastic +

 

* Early Morning Prayer From the Kynd Folk *

A frog climbs a mossy rock and drops down into lotus posture for a breath catcher rest and a mind easing composure. ​

A brown frog who blends in on logs but a green frog who tends to the bog. He is a representative for the Organic Forest Music Society, an entire sound production company featuring the finest woodwind bebop folk jazz, kicked off by a Badger who happens to wear the monks earth tone robes and travels the forest asking for dimes. A loud gang gathering of all types of marsh, swamp, jungle and forest beasts bumping everything from squirrels dropping acorns in synch to anoerxic manitees baking painted underbelly trumpeting out echoing death cries under the firery Red suns.

In fact, most of this neck of the woods is carpeted with at thick blanket of moss, and the sink pond bass section which usually accompanies the Tuesday night jamborees, hosted by the minnow and largemouth bass themselves, layered upon layered with copious amounts of luxurious algae/lichen writhe jive dancing lovers. The lampmouth fish provide the lighting for special late night hootenanny’s by, well, opening mouths, naturally. ​

Anyhow, a highly intoxicated black cat sporting a full white robe with the hood pulled up high stumbles into the neighborhood. A bottle of BerryBlossom Wine in one hand and a magical bamboo flute in the other, her sharp yellow eyes squint and catch a zoom in on our brown frog, and then shift back into a glazed over, mellow hello kitty kat eye smile as she moseys on down the God provided cobblestone lane. In between blowing reeds, under a canopy of heavy willow dangling and oak foliage she makes her way to the frog and plops down right beside him on the rock, only she lazily sprawls herself out and rests on one paw while looking up to the early morning Spring skies.

Burp! *Hickup!* Burp! *Hickup Hickup!* goes the cat.
“My, my dear friend, however do you manage your life, being so drunken and warm this early in the days? And your flute? Can you play like this?”
“*Hickup!* My good man, my good man! I do say! Lay some hindu chants on me brotha Im feeling misty eyed under this *Hickup!* mother lovin*Hickup!* beautiful heaven!”​

And with that the frogs eyes swelled up with white liquid and the lenses turned bright orange-red then they bulged right out as he went into an epileptic fit of seizing the moment, right proper electrocuted with this prana harvesting mama cool cat! He did a quick in-place back flip, sat back down, steady, steady…and began to sing “Hare Krsna, Hare Krsna, Hare Rama, Hare Rama, Om Shanti Shanti Shanti Shanti Shanti Shanti Shanti Shanti…” And the hidden glade lived happily ever after forever and ever Aumen.
The End.

 

was asked to share...but would introspective journal entries count?

 

I wrote that for my son He loves his children storys :tongue:

 

but of course m'lady!

 

you are amazing, I love your story, and you