Indiscriminate intimates attend dives to dive into forlorn fallings that hold truth and so many analogues of it. Resting on the eigth indole of a different periwinkle of hydrogen creates a new universe unbenknowst to the ones who find it edible. Indoles, trade from one innocent to the next or one guilty to the perplexed. An impure safrole extract that finds digestion before discretion. We dance around these compounds. We trip face first into beauty, on anything but purity. We base our lives on the antithesis of Shulgin and Sandoz to embrace the dirt black-market of the anti-chemists. A weight that bares coincidence coincides with breath taking sacraments, like a deity for some, returning us to grace. Musical notions relapse and embrace sacraficial taste, if forever changing then you reflect a drone, being pushed and pulled and killed, returning home, not a martyr, but prone to invented purpose that was never your own. How much writing must I do before I can extract something too masterful to be ignored? Will I ever catach a break from this petty notebook or will it continue to break me? Rape me of all of my thoughts rape me of all of my ideas rape me of all of my worth. So that in my wildest dreams I can be worth something. Who am I trying to kid? This is my wildest dream, this petty notebook is my dreams, my dreams are petty and I can live with that If they're willing to come to life. But when they start to breathe, I grow tired and sleep, smothering enlightenment with the brevity of a dream.
