BANKBOOK TERMITE THIGH MOTOR
KABOB GROMMET THIRTIETH NOOK
EMBARKING BOTTOM HIKER TOOTH
HEARTTHROB TOMBING TIME KOOK
BIRTHMARK BOOTH EMOTING TOKE
BATHROOM BETTING HERMIT KOOK
MOTORBOAT HOMBRE KITE KNIGHT
BANKBOOK TERMITE THIGH MOTOR
BANKBOOK TERMITE THIGH MOTOR
KABOB GROMMET THIRTIETH NOOK
EMBARKING BOTTOM HIKER TOOTH
HEARTTHROB TOMBING TIME KOOK
BIRTHMARK BOOTH EMOTING TOKE
BATHROOM BETTING HERMIT KOOK
MOTORBOAT HOMBRE KITE KNIGHT
Tallest Building Rule
the lesson of language told tallest building to grip. the billowing love of falling down met the earnest republic. steps were taken, and not given back. tallest building cried into the sky for years to come. the years came not. lessons of language stared a colour on the side of tallest building. people were shy in various ways, until the falling building settled nicely without leaving a single. single couldn't believe. we lost a lost of republic but saw the building tall. it went tall for moments, and the sky was mentally energized. a situation's extended republic fell out of the topmost window of tall building. we work with what we know, or so much more of the settled affair. a big building stopped in love, and the people, they wrote poems. poems are a language specifically tip of the tongue. then tongue died like a building and all we knew became republic, in the black honest scuffing wind of night.
tyr questions the gods about linear morphea
tyr tyr tyr
m' ter tir tear
tierily
tired 2 tel
a tea
tea river <-> angel falls
no impression
tyre
to
tain
tyr
the one handed son
of odin
odin left
n
odin right
updn
d n
heavy fleece cruise-sea-fiction
sleeping bag
the bodhi hung like a backpack
frm the mast
crown of antennas
lover in the torso hold
pregnant bulge
she was diagnosed with morphea tday
please do not be linear
m' ter tir tear
tierily
tired 2 tel
a tea
tea river <-> angel falls
no impression
tyre
to
tain
tyr
the one handed son
of odin
odin left
n
odin right
updn
d n
heavy fleece cruise-sea-fiction
sleeping bag
the bodhi hung like a backpack
frm the mast
crown of antennas
lover in the torso hold
pregnant bulge
she was diagnosed with morphea tday
please do not be linear
Mary's Story
Mary was so busy trying to play a role that she had forgotten what the role was. Other Prosecutors had created the role for her so that she would, under certain circumstances, be fooled into believing that she was a criminal. The term ‘criminal’ in this case, can be loosely defined as anyone who has ever:
- made a mistake
- revealed their feelings
- stolen a Wheely Bin
- slapped the face of a boy
- taken a piece of Nougat out of a friend’s lunchbox
- slipped on a banana skin
- slashed their wrists in fury
The precise element, which disturbed Mary the most, was the fact that the Prosecutors had committed far worse crimes themselves such as:
- having affairs with their pregnant mothers
- stealing diamond necklaces from jewellers
- pretending that they were someone else
- forcing their relatives to live on some remote island with only two Motown records for company (and no Gramophone)
- rejecting invitations to weddings
- flirting with warthogs
- accusing their tormentors of being ugly, weak, fat, two-faced or lonely
- stamping on the deformed stumps of amputees
Also, on reflection, Mary had realised only a week previously that her Prosecutor(s) had been (themselves even) reflecting on the level of passionate mind games that were afoot in this realm of the universe. They were kissing their children’s best friends. They thought they lived somewhere in the Deep South. They were planning and plotting ways of escape precisely five sessions ago. To move to Europe. They were preparing elaborate schema, all disguised in the form of ‘art’. You know, art in the sense of ‘how can we get on?’ The kind of art that only links hand in hand with the people who have jelly fish eyes in the world of ‘art’. The ones who have the ‘retail detail’ as it were. The other, so called art belonging to the victims, would only be glanced at during free time, usually once every three months. This would satisfy the regular customers and would boost the fragile egos of those not so disposed to ‘real art’. These artists, for all their efforts and struggles amongst the £5 an hour lot, subsisted on £2,000 p.a. Their steady, plodding personification and their desperate allure would only get them to the point where a glance was seen to be a good thing.
However, on closer inspection, the £2,000 p.a crowd could be forced forward at an alarming rate. Their work, not being ‘real art’ had no pretensions of being otherwise. The quiet, dignified workers, with their clean clothes and neat cupboards, scorned the Prosecutors. With their bourgeois idealism and their grants from the BFI, London Eye Awards, Petty BBC Journalism Bursaries, Loan from Pa. For writing only five words, I ask you.
The carefully constructed Myths were all too clever for Mary and the dignified workers. She would be far too stupid to notice what was happening. She would be far too gullible. Surely she would. Surely? She would not mind would she? She would just laugh it off. And anyway, she deserved it for being a (insert appropriate term here if it makes you feel any better).
Mary was ready to play into the Myth. The Prosecutors thought her too trite, too ‘personal’, too open. Mary was much more wise to the game than her Prosecutors could admit. She was far too introspective to trust them. She was far too willing to play the game to inform her inferior art. It was a fuel, this trust, built on nothing. It was a game, she knew, from the very first. All of the fakery and trickery and nothingness. Wasn’t Mary playing a game as well?
- made a mistake
- revealed their feelings
- stolen a Wheely Bin
- slapped the face of a boy
- taken a piece of Nougat out of a friend’s lunchbox
- slipped on a banana skin
- slashed their wrists in fury
The precise element, which disturbed Mary the most, was the fact that the Prosecutors had committed far worse crimes themselves such as:
- having affairs with their pregnant mothers
- stealing diamond necklaces from jewellers
- pretending that they were someone else
- forcing their relatives to live on some remote island with only two Motown records for company (and no Gramophone)
- rejecting invitations to weddings
- flirting with warthogs
- accusing their tormentors of being ugly, weak, fat, two-faced or lonely
- stamping on the deformed stumps of amputees
Also, on reflection, Mary had realised only a week previously that her Prosecutor(s) had been (themselves even) reflecting on the level of passionate mind games that were afoot in this realm of the universe. They were kissing their children’s best friends. They thought they lived somewhere in the Deep South. They were planning and plotting ways of escape precisely five sessions ago. To move to Europe. They were preparing elaborate schema, all disguised in the form of ‘art’. You know, art in the sense of ‘how can we get on?’ The kind of art that only links hand in hand with the people who have jelly fish eyes in the world of ‘art’. The ones who have the ‘retail detail’ as it were. The other, so called art belonging to the victims, would only be glanced at during free time, usually once every three months. This would satisfy the regular customers and would boost the fragile egos of those not so disposed to ‘real art’. These artists, for all their efforts and struggles amongst the £5 an hour lot, subsisted on £2,000 p.a. Their steady, plodding personification and their desperate allure would only get them to the point where a glance was seen to be a good thing.
However, on closer inspection, the £2,000 p.a crowd could be forced forward at an alarming rate. Their work, not being ‘real art’ had no pretensions of being otherwise. The quiet, dignified workers, with their clean clothes and neat cupboards, scorned the Prosecutors. With their bourgeois idealism and their grants from the BFI, London Eye Awards, Petty BBC Journalism Bursaries, Loan from Pa. For writing only five words, I ask you.
The carefully constructed Myths were all too clever for Mary and the dignified workers. She would be far too stupid to notice what was happening. She would be far too gullible. Surely she would. Surely? She would not mind would she? She would just laugh it off. And anyway, she deserved it for being a (insert appropriate term here if it makes you feel any better).
Mary was ready to play into the Myth. The Prosecutors thought her too trite, too ‘personal’, too open. Mary was much more wise to the game than her Prosecutors could admit. She was far too introspective to trust them. She was far too willing to play the game to inform her inferior art. It was a fuel, this trust, built on nothing. It was a game, she knew, from the very first. All of the fakery and trickery and nothingness. Wasn’t Mary playing a game as well?
Un beau rayon de soleil
Un beau rayon de soleil clair frappa ma rétine. Je fermai les yeux. Je n'avais pas réussi à sortir du millier de labyrinthe. De nouvelles constructions d'aluminium et autres matériaux recyclés s'étendaient vers le ciel. Après les cages à lapins, ils avaient décidé de nous faire vivre dans des délires d'artistes concrétisés. Les investisseurs avaient embauché en contrat d'apprentissage des jeunes délinquants branchés pour réalisé le plus radical lifting urbain jamais vu depuis un siècle. Les habitations avaient changés de forme mais elle gardaient toujours leur fonction intrinsèque de déféquoire à pigeons. Il n'y avait plus de problèmes de chômage, les nouvelles installations crématoires tournaient à plein régime. Un double barbiturique coca coûtait dans les 5 dollars, deux fois moins que dix ans auparavant. Hier soir, je suis allé voir pour la première fois une performance artistique à la salle des fêtes municipales. Un ancien acteur porno après deux mois d'abstinence devait baiser sur scène pendant deux heures une vierge de 15 ans sans éjaculer. D'ailleurs à la fin, derrières leurs masques furtifs des gens applaudirent vivement l'acte héroïque. A la radio une pub me prodiguait ses conseils : Alcalinisez-vous ! Ne soyez plus radioactif ! Des rires résonnèrent derrière la cloison. Mon voisin, tueur en série renommé, rigolait avec sa femme à gorge déployée, ils repassaient des bandes magnétiques des enregistrements audio de son dernier meurtre, on entendait le cri d'un enfant assourdit par l'épaisseur du mur.
The Jackal's Tongue
“Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not love, I am become as a sounding brass and tinkling cymbal.”
- 1 Corinthians 13:1
Black jackal in the desert giving tongue
whose echoes shake the hanging cymbals
in the conqueror’s tents: Make faint their hearts.
Vengeful ghosts come forth across the sand.
The hourglass empties itself of sand
as the minutes whisper from tongue to tongue.
We’re no longer convinced by flags and symbols
for there’s too much desolation in these hearts—
too much broken glass in these hearts
too much blood spilled on foreign sands
too many curse our names in foreign tongues.
You still mean us to march to drums and cymbals
but don’t imagine that I speak symbolically
for these are the words of an angry heart.
You fed my generation on lies and sand.
Now we speak truth in the jackal’s tongue.
Your tongue is the sound of an empty cymbal.
False prophet, your heart bleeds sand.
- 1 Corinthians 13:1
Black jackal in the desert giving tongue
whose echoes shake the hanging cymbals
in the conqueror’s tents: Make faint their hearts.
Vengeful ghosts come forth across the sand.
The hourglass empties itself of sand
as the minutes whisper from tongue to tongue.
We’re no longer convinced by flags and symbols
for there’s too much desolation in these hearts—
too much broken glass in these hearts
too much blood spilled on foreign sands
too many curse our names in foreign tongues.
You still mean us to march to drums and cymbals
but don’t imagine that I speak symbolically
for these are the words of an angry heart.
You fed my generation on lies and sand.
Now we speak truth in the jackal’s tongue.
Your tongue is the sound of an empty cymbal.
False prophet, your heart bleeds sand.
Instruction Manual #7 (a found poem)
I
First you must tear a hole in the sky. Use whatever implements you have available. Further instructions will arrive in the mail. Please leave your mailing address in the hole.
II
If at night you find a strange man smoking a cigarette on your front porch do not be alarmed. He has been sent ahead to scout the location. If he himself is burning please keep clear as this takes immense concentration.*
III
Included in this kit is a rarefied divination rod (which also doubles as an antenna). Keep it safe as others will try to take it from you. Use of force is authorized.
IV
Prepare yourself by bathing and rubbing essential oils into your skin. We prefer lavender and ylang ylang, but if these are not available do your best to replicate them. Remember in the end it is all about the seduction.
V
Most of our candidates have some martial arts training. You will have to decide for yourself if this is a path that you are suited for. No special consideration is given one way or another.
VI
On the eve of your departure be sure to drive your companion up into the hills. Where the both of you should strip naked and walk out into one of the fields there. The grass should be waist high and dewy. Do not hold hands. Lie down and watch the stars. Conversation is encouraged, but not necessary. If your companion brings up the subject of your departure you should immediately change the subject. Sexual intercourse is permitted, but not encouraged. You will need your strength. Be sure to watch the northern horizon; it is there that you will see the sign.
*please note we are not liable for any property damage. You have been warned. Any damage complaints will be carefully considered then rejected out of hand for lack of evidence.
First you must tear a hole in the sky. Use whatever implements you have available. Further instructions will arrive in the mail. Please leave your mailing address in the hole.
II
If at night you find a strange man smoking a cigarette on your front porch do not be alarmed. He has been sent ahead to scout the location. If he himself is burning please keep clear as this takes immense concentration.*
III
Included in this kit is a rarefied divination rod (which also doubles as an antenna). Keep it safe as others will try to take it from you. Use of force is authorized.
IV
Prepare yourself by bathing and rubbing essential oils into your skin. We prefer lavender and ylang ylang, but if these are not available do your best to replicate them. Remember in the end it is all about the seduction.
V
Most of our candidates have some martial arts training. You will have to decide for yourself if this is a path that you are suited for. No special consideration is given one way or another.
VI
On the eve of your departure be sure to drive your companion up into the hills. Where the both of you should strip naked and walk out into one of the fields there. The grass should be waist high and dewy. Do not hold hands. Lie down and watch the stars. Conversation is encouraged, but not necessary. If your companion brings up the subject of your departure you should immediately change the subject. Sexual intercourse is permitted, but not encouraged. You will need your strength. Be sure to watch the northern horizon; it is there that you will see the sign.
*please note we are not liable for any property damage. You have been warned. Any damage complaints will be carefully considered then rejected out of hand for lack of evidence.
Mona's doxy
welfare has a doxy hovered over the plane gath.
its pate was mix switch over exed, in whip the ass
over the Height of Jill's banter. the plate of imitation was the coat of embroidered delta.
a stat like a word a word like a fat cat camping in the pixy part of the old god.
not the old god, the old god, the repetition compulsion of muslin skirt and old hat
prime and other matter. or say, the schismogenesis of its relaxed room. or the kilt
and then when it works it goes henchman and mother. not a contact ferule or eye-pieced narrow beding
and hill like body decamping the bivouac. She narrows her gait to his double on hex.
enter here a detourne consonant an elapsed consonant and this chip off the old block
the gauge
o come on yer address is a dharma
so Jill chilled the moo and the boo
Mona hankered for plates of pilate speaking becoming of truth and fiery limb.
Escaping out of its narration.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Mona's _notes nietzsche_ Jill wore a suit a coat
its pate was mix switch over exed, in whip the ass
over the Height of Jill's banter. the plate of imitation was the coat of embroidered delta.
a stat like a word a word like a fat cat camping in the pixy part of the old god.
not the old god, the old god, the repetition compulsion of muslin skirt and old hat
prime and other matter. or say, the schismogenesis of its relaxed room. or the kilt
and then when it works it goes henchman and mother. not a contact ferule or eye-pieced narrow beding
and hill like body decamping the bivouac. She narrows her gait to his double on hex.
enter here a detourne consonant an elapsed consonant and this chip off the old block
the gauge
o come on yer address is a dharma
so Jill chilled the moo and the boo
Mona hankered for plates of pilate speaking becoming of truth and fiery limb.
Escaping out of its narration.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Mona's _notes nietzsche_ Jill wore a suit a coat
------------------------------
for fictions are art
not subjective
>>>>>off thIs blog
bloge<<<<<<<<<<
Scientology, Quakerism and Dementia
Ibanez Clod has a predilection for cold sores and cankers and whooping like a dog when he clears his throat. He prefers the fez to the boater and wears socks with sandals and gloves with three fingers on each hand. He affects an air of generosity and solicitude and crouches when tying his shoes. His mother, a Quaker with iron-gray hair and a clove lip, and his father, a Scientologist with a palsied leg and a hacking cough, live in sin in a hovel shack next to the Sears behind the aqueduct behind the Waymart near the haberdasher’s who has a pencil-thin moustache and a dog with three legs and one eye. Ibanez Clod smokes Guyanese cheroots and chews quid with saltpetre, to lessen the effects of dementia that has all but rearranged the mantle of his thoughts and forced him into solitude and hiding. He can be seen feeding the pigeons on Sundays and Thursdays next to the Waymart behind the haberdasher’s across from his parent’s hovel of sin, Quakerism and Scientology. He will be the man whooping, wearing socks with sandals and crouching when tying his shoes; and yes, wearing three-fingered gloves and clearing his throat of Scientology, Quakerism and dementia.
Leaves Of Glass
Ever since the sun first rose,
shining green through leaves
dancing in the dawn wind,
light like shifting stained-glass—
I’ve been sitting with this glass
or half a glass, of vin rose
that I can’t finish and won’t leave.
How did I come to wind
up here, alone, listening to wind?
Will another turning of the glass
find me walking among roses
or sleeping under falling leaves?
By my elbow, my book’s leaves
turn one by one in the wind.
Too delicate, this house of glass
to withstand the storm on the rise...
Better a green leaf in the wind
than a dried rose under glass.
shining green through leaves
dancing in the dawn wind,
light like shifting stained-glass—
I’ve been sitting with this glass
or half a glass, of vin rose
that I can’t finish and won’t leave.
How did I come to wind
up here, alone, listening to wind?
Will another turning of the glass
find me walking among roses
or sleeping under falling leaves?
By my elbow, my book’s leaves
turn one by one in the wind.
Too delicate, this house of glass
to withstand the storm on the rise...
Better a green leaf in the wind
than a dried rose under glass.
Byron was a vandal
Byron was a vandal.
I realize that this is
a mere digressive quibble
in any discussions
of a rakehell wastrel
possessed of such
monumentally weird
and creepy appetites
that no one country
could contain his
exuberance for long
and who also wrote
a decent poem or six,
but really,
it makes me cranky that
whatever romance
Byron felt surrounded
the poor guy they
bunged into the bottom
of Chillon keep
for a half-dozen years
of rusty chains, bad food
damp draughts
and amazing views,
the smug bugger
kind of spoiled
the whole effect
with an amateur's
keen grasp of advertising
and a narcissistic pro's
equally keen edge
of overweening ego
when he chiselled
his own lordly name
per the Debrett's listing
into the third stone pillar
from the dungeon door
to make sure you
couldn't miss it
when you walked past
to the fifth one,
where Mister de Bonivard
was actually manacled...
I realize that this is
a mere digressive quibble
in any discussions
of a rakehell wastrel
possessed of such
monumentally weird
and creepy appetites
that no one country
could contain his
exuberance for long
and who also wrote
a decent poem or six,
but really,
it makes me cranky that
whatever romance
Byron felt surrounded
the poor guy they
bunged into the bottom
of Chillon keep
for a half-dozen years
of rusty chains, bad food
damp draughts
and amazing views,
the smug bugger
kind of spoiled
the whole effect
with an amateur's
keen grasp of advertising
and a narcissistic pro's
equally keen edge
of overweening ego
when he chiselled
his own lordly name
per the Debrett's listing
into the third stone pillar
from the dungeon door
to make sure you
couldn't miss it
when you walked past
to the fifth one,
where Mister de Bonivard
was actually manacled...
His Mother Spit... As A Child
in Communist Russia you find
the grandiose piano playing
that pervades the formerly mentioned
anti-gravity fantasy,
I just wants to have the courage
to face the camera with dad
oppressor-father will stop his oppressive behavior
only after he is dead "dad
space" in my heart as a kid
I don t know what the hell you are,
so just stop it,
cried the man who dresses like
these dumbass teeny-bopper fans,
what happens if dad's at work on a lyrical book
called The Judgements ?
“I’m too tired, Dad. Leave me alone,” he said, getting up
off the couch
"Hey, dad, can I go into my picture and play?"
little does the dad realize that two little eyes
follow him down the dark where he spent
the rest of his life
producing surreal main characters
of Magical Girl,
Hey Dad, I dug another hole!
my Dad would lean back at Ghost Dad Space
and sing his solo part
peppering the dope music,
my dad does the scariest pop-bottoms!
my dad never got to explore space in his lifetime,
my dad played guitar forever
the grandiose piano playing
that pervades the formerly mentioned
anti-gravity fantasy,
I just wants to have the courage
to face the camera with dad
oppressor-father will stop his oppressive behavior
only after he is dead "dad
space" in my heart as a kid
I don t know what the hell you are,
so just stop it,
cried the man who dresses like
these dumbass teeny-bopper fans,
what happens if dad's at work on a lyrical book
called The Judgements ?
“I’m too tired, Dad. Leave me alone,” he said, getting up
off the couch
"Hey, dad, can I go into my picture and play?"
little does the dad realize that two little eyes
follow him down the dark where he spent
the rest of his life
producing surreal main characters
of Magical Girl,
Hey Dad, I dug another hole!
my Dad would lean back at Ghost Dad Space
and sing his solo part
peppering the dope music,
my dad does the scariest pop-bottoms!
my dad never got to explore space in his lifetime,
my dad played guitar forever
sketched elegy
if i were to die you might
never know, in this world
of unseen faces of imper-
ceptible becomings.
should you, i would
from the elegy on
the brimming plane
of the web-field
and yet, what would it
really matter if
it were to end since
it has already started
some time ago
in the white
spaces that punctuate.
never know, in this world
of unseen faces of imper-
ceptible becomings.
should you, i would
from the elegy on
the brimming plane
of the web-field
and yet, what would it
really matter if
it were to end since
it has already started
some time ago
in the white
spaces that punctuate.
When The World Hands You Lemons
___________________
Juggle them,
make light of the situation
by tossing each one
into the air,
by judging them incapable
of sustaining flight
without having first
spent time in your hands.
______________
Juggle them,
make light of the situation
by tossing each one
into the air,
by judging them incapable
of sustaining flight
without having first
spent time in your hands.
______________
the song is lion
As a result of his dream experiences
("Growl growl growl," he'd say)
he claims to attain the state of the eagle
wearing a tiny backpack fitted with
a satellite transmitter.
This pleased me greatly, causing some
new details to form. Perhaps the effects of
the drug were wearing off. Section members
showed solidarity by wearing matching
Hawaiian spartan armor and
shooting at tom delay. 'twas a
a-bomb a-fortiori a-la-grecque that
targeted Generic Wellbutrin, a relatively new
antidepressant medication given to help
sexual dysfunction extrapolate the shrunk.
Gushing juice sliced this stroke back with
heavily traveled iron blue misinterpreting
the bonzer hamadryad pillbox hat for optical products
to recommend books that are suitable for young girls.
I pretty much had to keep my face in the bowl
as Alexander attempted to speak to the goblin .
Q: Have you ever done any remodeling?
Bad Boy immediately began a low, moaning growl.
("Growl growl growl," he'd say)
he claims to attain the state of the eagle
wearing a tiny backpack fitted with
a satellite transmitter.
This pleased me greatly, causing some
new details to form. Perhaps the effects of
the drug were wearing off. Section members
showed solidarity by wearing matching
Hawaiian spartan armor and
shooting at tom delay. 'twas a
a-bomb a-fortiori a-la-grecque that
targeted Generic Wellbutrin, a relatively new
antidepressant medication given to help
sexual dysfunction extrapolate the shrunk.
Gushing juice sliced this stroke back with
heavily traveled iron blue misinterpreting
the bonzer hamadryad pillbox hat for optical products
to recommend books that are suitable for young girls.
I pretty much had to keep my face in the bowl
as Alexander attempted to speak to the goblin .
Q: Have you ever done any remodeling?
Bad Boy immediately began a low, moaning growl.
CHINESE REST ACROSS STREET
the phone book is a terriffic feature, double
hand basins and long bath, the telephone
is a patient's first impression, forward all
calls and then walk out the door,
we have an opening for a new patient
tomorrow -- how tongue-twistingly terriffic!
the view is terriffic and a house is comfortable,
the telephone is excellent, Rosanne came back
several times to see interactive tv - tea kettle -
modem - car park, here's a great tip -
get a copy of David Powers' terriffic book,
extensive lunch, bathrobe, bathtub with
spray jets, separate tub and shower, the
Chinese restaurant is a hair dryer, hotel
management is Russian, rooms come with
air condition, mini bar, in room safety box
facsimile, car rental, hair dryer on request,
baby cots on request, parking facilities,
valet parking, iron/ironing board in rooms,
microwave oven in rooms, fitness center,
free local telephone calls, international
phone service (with charge), satellite
television and tea, complimentary
airport shuttle, indoor pool, spa & sauna, and
1 KING -SMOKING HAIRDRYER-enhanced
american buffet
hand basins and long bath, the telephone
is a patient's first impression, forward all
calls and then walk out the door,
we have an opening for a new patient
tomorrow -- how tongue-twistingly terriffic!
the view is terriffic and a house is comfortable,
the telephone is excellent, Rosanne came back
several times to see interactive tv - tea kettle -
modem - car park, here's a great tip -
get a copy of David Powers' terriffic book,
extensive lunch, bathrobe, bathtub with
spray jets, separate tub and shower, the
Chinese restaurant is a hair dryer, hotel
management is Russian, rooms come with
air condition, mini bar, in room safety box
facsimile, car rental, hair dryer on request,
baby cots on request, parking facilities,
valet parking, iron/ironing board in rooms,
microwave oven in rooms, fitness center,
free local telephone calls, international
phone service (with charge), satellite
television and tea, complimentary
airport shuttle, indoor pool, spa & sauna, and
1 KING -SMOKING HAIRDRYER-enhanced
american buffet
RoughSea
I walk in lights
weep of purple fans,
I hear the mysterious singing of
the conjuring butterflies,
the yellow sunflower colour
covers the small wings
of the imaginative costumes.
I'm going round
now here and now still again here.
Marjorie calls me in a low voice
has to tell me the little
stories that are impossible to forget;
though my way further
in the depth, is sinuous
the breath passes through
round gorges.
Marjorie doesn't stop,
she wants to speak about her grandaddy
that wrote the blues
at the Collinwood station,
her grandaddy's, she says,
name was Alfred, but all the villagers
called him " RoughSea"
because of his previous life
as a sailor, between the Fortune Islands.
And now in the school
in the five meters wide corridor
they will nail nineteen postcards,
and the purple fans
will be always behind me, to protect me,
to save me, to make me happy.
"RoughSea" has taught the sound,
Marjorie talks of his
strokes of genius cancelling
the penury.
RoughSea sings
" Happiness is a friendly talking"
weep of purple fans,
I hear the mysterious singing of
the conjuring butterflies,
the yellow sunflower colour
covers the small wings
of the imaginative costumes.
I'm going round
now here and now still again here.
Marjorie calls me in a low voice
has to tell me the little
stories that are impossible to forget;
though my way further
in the depth, is sinuous
the breath passes through
round gorges.
Marjorie doesn't stop,
she wants to speak about her grandaddy
that wrote the blues
at the Collinwood station,
her grandaddy's, she says,
name was Alfred, but all the villagers
called him " RoughSea"
because of his previous life
as a sailor, between the Fortune Islands.
And now in the school
in the five meters wide corridor
they will nail nineteen postcards,
and the purple fans
will be always behind me, to protect me,
to save me, to make me happy.
"RoughSea" has taught the sound,
Marjorie talks of his
strokes of genius cancelling
the penury.
RoughSea sings
" Happiness is a friendly talking"
Burrasca
Burrasca
Cammino in una leggera
distesa di ventagli porporati,
sento il misterioso canto delle
farfalle illusioniste,il colore giallo girasole
copre le piccole ali
dei fantasiosi vestiti di scena.
Sto andando in circolo
ora qui e adesso ancora di nuovo qui.
Marjorie mi chiama sottovoce
ha da raccontarmi le piccole
storie che non si possono dimenticare;
per la mia via ancora più
nel profondo, è sinuoso
il fiato che percorre
gli sferici anfratti.
Marjorie non si ferma, ha
da parlarmi di suo nonno
che scriveva il blues
nelle stazioni di Collinwood,
suo nonno, mi dice,
si chiamava
Alfredo, ma tutto il village
lo chiamava "Burrasca"
per la sua precedente vita
da marinaio, tra le isole della Fortuna.
Ed ora nella scuola
nei corridoi larghi cinque metri
appenderanno diciannove cartoline,
ed i ventagli porpora
saranno sempre alle mie spalle,
per proteggermi, per salvarmi,
per rendermi felice.
"Burrasca" ha insegnato il suono,
Marjorie ne racconta
i colpi di genio per annullare
la miseria
Burrasca canta
"Happiness is a friendly talking".
Cammino in una leggera
distesa di ventagli porporati,
sento il misterioso canto delle
farfalle illusioniste,il colore giallo girasole
copre le piccole ali
dei fantasiosi vestiti di scena.
Sto andando in circolo
ora qui e adesso ancora di nuovo qui.
Marjorie mi chiama sottovoce
ha da raccontarmi le piccole
storie che non si possono dimenticare;
per la mia via ancora più
nel profondo, è sinuoso
il fiato che percorre
gli sferici anfratti.
Marjorie non si ferma, ha
da parlarmi di suo nonno
che scriveva il blues
nelle stazioni di Collinwood,
suo nonno, mi dice,
si chiamava
Alfredo, ma tutto il village
lo chiamava "Burrasca"
per la sua precedente vita
da marinaio, tra le isole della Fortuna.
Ed ora nella scuola
nei corridoi larghi cinque metri
appenderanno diciannove cartoline,
ed i ventagli porpora
saranno sempre alle mie spalle,
per proteggermi, per salvarmi,
per rendermi felice.
"Burrasca" ha insegnato il suono,
Marjorie ne racconta
i colpi di genio per annullare
la miseria
Burrasca canta
"Happiness is a friendly talking".
Openned magazine Issue 2 - submissions request
Hello all,
This is a general submissions request for the next Openned magazine, Issue 2, which will be available at the sixth Openned reading, taking place on Wednesday 1st November (details here). The magazine has a limited print run, but will also be available as a .pdf download from Openned.com. We are also looking to distribute the magazine at other readings and various random/innocuous locations. To view the first issue of the magazine, please download it from here as a free pdf.
We are aiming to expand the magazine, so this is a request not only for poetry (visual or otherwise) but also for critical writings, reviews, rants, and cultural commentary. If you wish to contribute, please send your piece to this address. All works remain respective copyright of the authors and we will credit you in full whenever we use your work.
If you have any questions about submitting to the Openned magazine, we will be at the next Openned reading (see the Openned blog for more details) to answer any questions you might have.
We look forward to receiving your work and hopefully seeing you at the next reading. Get sending!
Best
Steve & Alex
P.S. A thanks to Clifford for suggesting we add this to Brim_the blog.
This is a general submissions request for the next Openned magazine, Issue 2, which will be available at the sixth Openned reading, taking place on Wednesday 1st November (details here). The magazine has a limited print run, but will also be available as a .pdf download from Openned.com. We are also looking to distribute the magazine at other readings and various random/innocuous locations. To view the first issue of the magazine, please download it from here as a free pdf.
We are aiming to expand the magazine, so this is a request not only for poetry (visual or otherwise) but also for critical writings, reviews, rants, and cultural commentary. If you wish to contribute, please send your piece to this address. All works remain respective copyright of the authors and we will credit you in full whenever we use your work.
If you have any questions about submitting to the Openned magazine, we will be at the next Openned reading (see the Openned blog for more details) to answer any questions you might have.
We look forward to receiving your work and hopefully seeing you at the next reading. Get sending!
Best
Steve & Alex
P.S. A thanks to Clifford for suggesting we add this to Brim_the blog.
æther
It's a life in fragments
sailed off the edge
of an unaccountably
flattened world
cascaded into
æther incognita
where conditions
for proto-life
are unbalanced
after the fact;
all of the perfect
precursor chemicals
degraded now to
imperfect proportions
and misfired sparks
igniting only
hallucinatory truths
and all-too-real lies
left over from
the lucid times.
But on the odd good day
he can see far enough
through the haze
over the end of the world
into that other life
to still play a guitar
like liquid love.
sailed off the edge
of an unaccountably
flattened world
cascaded into
æther incognita
where conditions
for proto-life
are unbalanced
after the fact;
all of the perfect
precursor chemicals
degraded now to
imperfect proportions
and misfired sparks
igniting only
hallucinatory truths
and all-too-real lies
left over from
the lucid times.
But on the odd good day
he can see far enough
through the haze
over the end of the world
into that other life
to still play a guitar
like liquid love.
Five Self
"Rushin' rivers, thread so thin, limitation
Dreams with the flying pigs, turbin blue and the drugstores too
Safe in their coats and in their do's
Yeah, smother in our hearts a pillow to my dots
One day maybe one day
One day she'll be her own." --Tori Amos
Five Self
Dreams with the flying pigs, turbin blue and the drugstores too
Safe in their coats and in their do's
Yeah, smother in our hearts a pillow to my dots
One day maybe one day
One day she'll be her own." --Tori Amos
Five Self
What price is word...
The weight of soul?
Well spoken,
For make believe.
Five self me
(spirit - sword - love - sex - mind)
Lives past the hour of knife.
The time of our lives
Is now.
Losing track
Innards of clocks.
Pause -momentarily-
A Prayer.
Articulation trapped.
Memory of a kiss.
You said, "Walk through the fire
With me."
The climax of her number.
Chist-like,
So young at thirty three.
Not now
Not ever
Or in Pine Box.
Being-being-Not
Martin had an illegitimate son who went by the name of Hedley. Not wanting to exist in the coattails of his father, the eminent father of being-being-not, he chose a vocation that better suited his mien and temper. Being, as he was, half Jewish and half Teutonic, he chose the life of the cooper, working in the smithy and ironworks with other illegitimate men who’s names began with the letter H and who’s fathers’ eminence far outweighed their wherewithal and temperament. Hedley invented the coopers’ bunghole stopper; a brass spigot formed from cows’ heads and gunpowder, though the Chinese insisted that they were true author of the latter, and had given much thought and effort of mind to the former. Hedley lived out the remainder of his life living with a cloister of cooper monks in a mud hovel on the cliffs of Dingle overlooking the Irish Sea, in keeping with his mien, temper and choice of vocation.
La parade (2)
Partir. Je voulais partir vers le wilderness mais je suis parti dans les ténèbres. Celles qui avalent le monde morceaux par morceaux. Emiettant chaque chose molécule après molécule. Comme il ne restait que dix minutes avant la destruction finale des espaces sauvages, j'ai décidé de conserver dix grammes de désert californien dans une petite fiole de cristal. Dix grammes de vieux désert dans une petite fiole bleu comme le ciel, c'était largement suffisant pour se souvenir. Ensuite j'ai pris à gauche, en direction de l'est, le soleil se levait me tracant la route d'or des rois, pour passer de l'autre côté par la petite porte en chêne. Hier j'avais 10 ans. Je me souviens du vieux poivrot qui traînait sur le banc à la peinture blanche écaillée du parc municipal, il avait fait l'Indochine, il gueulait ses histoires (je ne l'ai jamais entendu parler normalement) aux gamins de sa voix à l'odeur de vinasse aigre, comme quoi qu'il avait eu une panthère apprivoisé, dix femmes et toutes les putains d'Hanoï ! Il disait toujours : dans la légion ! Dans la légion ! Nous on pensait que c'était un capitaine corsaire et que la Légion était son bateau. D'ailleurs il avait une jambe de bois. Il nous disait qu'il avait perdu sa jambe alors qu'il chassait le Niakoué à la machette. On pensait que le Niakoué était une sorte d'animal sauvage, nous on savait pas. On savait pas. Ce jour là un scolopendre long comme son bras lui grimpa le long de sa jambe. Il disait que sa jambe était devenu rouge bleu et avait triplé de volume. Les médecins ont fait des tas d'incisions et ils ont retiré des litres et des litres de pus, des dizaines de seaux remplis à ras bord. Il fallait amputer. Ils lui ont donné un coup sec sur la tête pour qu'il dorme et quand il s'est réveillé, son lit était rouge de sang et sa jambe reposait à côté dans un bac. Un niakoué (apprivoisé comme il disait) était en train de découper au hachoir la jambe en morceau avec la précision que l'on doit à la ferveur du travail bien fait. Le Capitaine demanda : tu va en faire quoi de ma jambe face de cul mal torché (c'était bien, avec lui, on apprenait plein d'insultes) ? L'assistant vietnamien répondit dans son accent rapide, haché de boucher oriental : pour les cochons, pour les cochons, pour les cochons, pour les cochons. Puis un après midi le vieux est mort. Mais on ne s'en est pas aperçu tout de suite. Les gens continuaient à promener leurs bambins et à déambuler avec leurs clébards. Les gens n'ont pas fait attention, Il dormait comme d'habitude. Nous on courrait, on jouait au foot. Mais les gens n'ont pas fait attention aux mouches qui grouillaient sur la bouche grande ouvert et sur les yeux. Les gens continuaient à jouer à la pétanque à l'ombre des grands arbres. Nous on continuait à courir. Les pompiers sont venus et ont emmené le cadavre dans une grande bâche en plastique noire. Tout le quartier est venu voir le spectacle gratuit comme pour de vrai. Quand ils ont soulevé le corps une pluie drue d'asticots est tombée entre les lattes du banc. Le vieux a émit un énorme pet de désapprobation qui a résonné dans l'air quand les pompiers l'on plié pour le mettre dans le grand plastique noir (comme un sac poubelle mais en plus épais) , c'était les gaz de décomposition mais nous on savait pas alors on a ris. Un vieux appuyé sur sa canne se sentant concerné par la chose nous dit qu'il ne faut pas rire des morts que ça se faisait pas. Alors nous on a arrêté de rire. On a courut sur l'herbe et on a joué au foot. Les vieux disent toujours qu'on a pas connu leur époque qu'avant quand y avait pas à mangé on jetait les bébé à la rivière pour ne pas avoir une autre bouche à nourrir, on pensait qu'à manger tellement y avait rien. Après les pompiers sont partis et les gens ont recommencé à marcher, parler, s'agiter certains ne sont plus venu et d'autres les ont remplacé et le vieux banc a continué de se désagréger. Aujourd'hui il ne reste que les deux pieds et quelques morceaux de lattes pourries entre les graviers et les herbes folles. On continue à courir, on court dans les catacombes en bas tout en bas. Le serpent passe, trace sa route millénaire, son dos visible ondulant comme une mer d'écailles au dessus de la cime des toits. Nos eucharistie désormais sexuelles et morbides alimentent la grande parade, la rivière charrie des flots de nouveaux nés blafards presque amorphes. Il faut savoir nager quand le flot des évènements vous emporte ou alors vous coulez comme une pierre sans que personne ne s'en aperçoit sauf quand l'odeur de votre cadavre pourrissant finit par déranger le confort des voisins, quand le jus de votre puanteur finit par couler sous la porte et qu'il faut faire un détour pour ne pas glisser sur la flaque. Je ne sais pas combien de bébés ma mère et ma grand mère on emmené à la rivière avant ma naissance. Dix ? Vingt ? Mille ? De toute façon c'est pour ça que les hommes se sont toujours établis près des rivières. Pour se débarrasser des bébés en période de guerre ou de famines. C'est évident. Pour comprendre j'ai appris l'alphabet A B C D E F G H I J K etc... Puis les mots qui définissent toutes les choses du monde. Ensuite j'ai tout oublié pour apprendre par les sens. Quand l'univers sensible me fut connu dans son intégralité, j'ai décidé de me crever les yeux les tympans trancher la langue. C'est le moyen idéal pour voir l'esprit. L'esprit immaculé pur et originel. Puis j'ai quitté l'école car on n'y apprenait rien et je suis descendu jusqu'à la plage pour mater les seins vibrant des femmes. Courtney 16 ans, est venu a moi avec le feu du soleil avant le crépuscule dans les cheveux. On a fait des serments puis nous avons lié nos mains, nos langues nos cheveux nos corps sous la lune. A nous deux nous formions l'être androgyne d'avant la chute. Mais avant ça je montais sur les toits derrière l'orphelinat des filles et je les regardais se déshabiller derrières les fenêtres l'oeil brillant de lubricité reproduisant les rites orgiaques dionysiaques de la Grèce antique à mon petit niveau masturbatoire. Puis je suis descendu à la plage pour écrire des chansons tout en matant les seins des filles en cachant ma concupiscence derrière des lunettes noires. Le soir tombant sur la lumière rouge du soleil j'ai grimpé dans ma voiture, j'ai avalé une fameuse poignée de poison hallucinogène au goût de vomi sec et j'ai pris l'autoroute. L'asphalte ondulait comme le dos d'un reptile noir brillant j'avais du mal à garder les mains sur le volant mou comme de la guimauve. Une fois arrivé au lac primordial entouré de pins millénaires aussi froid et noirs que la nuit, j'ai posé mes vêtements sales et frustes sur un rocher et j'ai plongé dans l'eau glaciale. Je suis descendu à la recherche du fond, dans le silence et la froideur molle de l'eau. Dans ce lac vous pouvez descendre, descendre, descendre vous ne trouverez jamais le fond.
short poem
our world is a weak place
of towers and ruin,
tears, taste.
a sun comes up
in an old man's face,
happy to hurt
when the stars race.
turn of grace,
these letters
returned,
the same place,
without cataclysm, nor trace.
shorter poem
my dress caught fire
a thousand polka dots
up in flames
my hair
mud
my feet
trodden whimpers
in the unbaked clod.
don't feel so good.
our world is a weak place
of towers and ruin,
tears, taste.
a sun comes up
in an old man's face,
happy to hurt
when the stars race.
turn of grace,
these letters
returned,
the same place,
without cataclysm, nor trace.
shorter poem
my dress caught fire
a thousand polka dots
up in flames
my hair
mud
my feet
trodden whimpers
in the unbaked clod.
don't feel so good.
VoiLa_to be deleted
a New Look /and theres a whole gang
of rambling poets over there aNd as UsUal
is doing a superbly poetic poet Job on the anatomies
and neurologies... of .. this collective...Is the reference here to Wordsworth's poetry recollected in tranquillity? or is it more the re_memberin' the disMember'd bodies of Eurydice Orpheus... which ... make Our thighs TRembLe as
we read breathlessly takeN!
and of newer links over atwe
find the elegant
colonsandwich
check it all Brimmers
if yer poetic ears
want to slant
learning love delights and
diamond disasters of desire ....
of rambling poets over there aNd as UsUal
is doing a superbly poetic poet Job on the anatomies
and neurologies... of .. this collective...Is the reference here to Wordsworth's poetry recollected in tranquillity? or is it more the re_memberin' the disMember'd bodies of Eurydice Orpheus... which ... make Our thighs TRembLe as
we read breathlessly takeN!
and of newer links over atwe
find the elegant
colonsandwich
check it all Brimmers
if yer poetic ears
want to slant
learning love delights and
diamond disasters of desire ....
DMT, ALIENS & CHURCH
Dimethyltryptamine or DMT is an extremely powerful hallucinogenic drug reported to be more powerful than LSD. DMT is a member of the substances known as indoleamines, which are compounds similar in structure to the neurotransmitter serotonin. DMT is an extremely powerful hallucinogenic drug, yet DMT exists and occurs naturally throughout both the plant and animal kingdoms.1
Plants containing DMT are frequently found Latin America where indigenous tribes have been experiencing the amazing effects of this drug for thousands of years. The substance DMT is endogenous to human beings, meaning it is produced from within. DMT is created in small amounts within the human brain during normal metabolism2 and can be found in the blood and urine of human beings, though its origins and functions are unknown.3
Psychedelic alchemist Alexander Shulgin declares in his book TIHKAL: Tryptamines I Have Known and Loved that “[DMT] is, most simply, almost everywhere you choose to look.” Indeed, it is getting to the point where one should report where DMT is not found, rather than where it is.” 4
DMT can be actively administered intravenously, nasally or though inhalation when heated to a vapor. DMT is not orally active when ingested unless combined with a monoamine oxidase inhibitor or MAOI such as harmaline or Banisteropsis caapi. DMT taken orally with an MAOI turns off the digestive enzyme which would otherwise metabolize and quickly destroy the DMT in the stomach and therefore render no hallucinogenic effect.5
The effects of DMT are short lasting. Unlike LSD which effects can last 6-12 hours, the effects of DMT last around 5-10 minutes. Commons experiences reported from DMT use include space time distortion and complete loss of ego and awareness of the human self with an emergence into an alien world. Unlike LSD and other hallucinogenic drugs such as mescaline, the effects of DMT do not seem to development a tolerance with repeated use.
Some researchers believe that DMT plays a major role in the visual activity of dreams, near-death experiences and other mystical altered states of consciousness achieved by certain yogic practices and hermetic traditions of Gnosticism. Medical researcher JC Callaway, suggested in 1988 that DMT might be connected with visual dream phenomena, where levels of DMT in the brain are elevated.6
Dr. Rick Strassman has proposed that DMT is produced within the pineal gland of the human brain. Strassman also holds a theory that massive amounts of DMT are released from the pineal gland prior to death or near death explaining the near death experience phenomenon.
In September 1989 Dr. Rick Strassman was awarded a grant to study DMT through a Schizophrenia Research program funded by the Scottish Rite Foundation branch of Freemasonry. In late 1990 Strassman obtained approval for the DMT research at the University of New Mexico.7
The study concluded that approximately 20% of volunteers injected with high doses of DMT had experiences alien-like entities. One of the subjects reported sexual contact with such a being, and others reported erotic type experiences. Several subjects reported contact with ‘other beings’, alien-like insectoid and reptillian in nature, in technological environments.8
Andean Shamans in South America use a concoction of a DMT containing plant and another plant acting as an MAOI to produce a drink called Yage which means “the vine of souls”. Yage is ingested to allow the shaman to travel outside of his body to the places of the dead. Shamans typically report that they are guided on their journey by spirits.9
The Beat Generation’s avant-garde novelist William S Burroughs described the sensation of long-distance flying when he took ayahuasca during an expedition to South America in 1953. “Yage is space time travel,” he wrote in a letter to Allen Ginsberg. “The blood and substance of many races, Negro, Polynesian, Mountain Mongol, Desert Nomad, Polyglot Near East, Indian—new races as yet unconceived and unborn, combinations not yet realized pass through your body. Migrations, incredible journeys through deserts and jungles and mountains… A place where the unknown past and the emergent future meet in a vibrating soundless hum.” 10
Since DMT is illegal in the United States and yet occurs naturally within the human body, in the eyes of the law we are all guilty of possessing a Schedule I drug.
In December of 2004, the Supreme Court lifted a stay allowing the Brazil-based União do Vegetal (UDV) church to use DMT containing brew in their Christmas services. The “tea” is made from boiling the leaves and vines from plants, one containing DMT and the other an MAOI. The brew is known as ‘hoasca’ to the UDV. The Supreme Court unanimously ruled in February 2006 that the U.S. federal government must allow the UDV to import and consume the tea for religious ceremonies under the 1993 Religious Freedom Restoration Act.11
Another Brazilian Catholic based religious movement called the Santo Daime partakes in the consumption of Ayuascha tea as part of their religious ceremonies and rituals. Daime meaning “give me”, or “give me love, give me light, give me strength”, described as “a sacrament, a vehicle for the Divine Power that is present in the whole creation”. Disciples of Santo Daime live communally within their own piece of land which they work and live together. There are religious ceremonies, during which people dance and sing after drinking the holy Daime.12
Compared with the late 60s and early 70s, in recent years there seems a resurgence of underground religious psychedelic cults popping up throughout the internet, rave and nomadic subcultures with neo-shamanic techno-pagans contacting aliens and talking to god through their ritual sacraments.13,14
It seems that all sources of reference and research regarding DMT are not only extremely fascinating but indeed screaming for more freedom from the current restricting drugs laws that prohibit mankind to not only gain insight into this amazing compound but perhaps our own human experience. Much of the information available regarding DMT is separated in two distinguishable streams of reference. One of which coming from the academic field of scientific research and the other sect of those seekers of secrets brave enough to travel within hyperspace and experience DMT firsthand.
To understand something so phenomenal, the effectiveness of reading about DMT can only go so far as to perpetuate interest. One can read for days on end with only ignorance to the profound effects of such an amazing substance.
REFERENCES:
1. Rick Strassman, DMT Spirit Molecule (2001) p.42
2. Barker SA, Monti JA and Christian ST (1981). N,N-Dimethyltryptamine: An endogenous hallucinogen. In International Review of Neurobiology, vol 22; Academic Press, Inc.
3. Alexander Shulgin, Profiles of Psychedelic Drugs (1977)
4. Alexander Shulgin and Ann Shulgin, TIHKAL (Berkeley, CA: Transform Press, 1997), 247-84.
5. Callaway JC and Grob CS (1998). Ayahuasca preparations and serotonin reuptake inhibitors: a potential combination for adverse interaction. Journal of Psychoactive Drugs 30(4): 367-369.
6. Callaway JC (1988). A proposed mechanism for the visions of dream sleep. Medical Hypotheses 26: 119-124.
7. Rick Strassman, DMT Spirit Molecule (2001) chapter 6
8. Rick Strassman, DMT Spirit Molecule (2001) chapter 13
9. Lamadrid, Enrique R., Treasures of the Mama Huaca: oral tradition and ecological consciousness in Chinchaysuyu, Latin American Institute, Albequerque (1993)
10. Martin A. Lee (2001) Shamanism vs. Capitalism: The Politics of Ayahuasca
11. Gonzales v. O Centro Espirita Beneficente Uniao Do Vegetal. [Supreme Court: Chief Justice Roberts Opens 2005-06 Term]
12. Hannah Bouma (1996) Ayahuasca Plant of the Gods; Amsterdam Drug Magazine
13. http://www.erowid.org
14. http://www.maps.org
AEQEA
Plants containing DMT are frequently found Latin America where indigenous tribes have been experiencing the amazing effects of this drug for thousands of years. The substance DMT is endogenous to human beings, meaning it is produced from within. DMT is created in small amounts within the human brain during normal metabolism2 and can be found in the blood and urine of human beings, though its origins and functions are unknown.3
Psychedelic alchemist Alexander Shulgin declares in his book TIHKAL: Tryptamines I Have Known and Loved that “[DMT] is, most simply, almost everywhere you choose to look.” Indeed, it is getting to the point where one should report where DMT is not found, rather than where it is.” 4
DMT can be actively administered intravenously, nasally or though inhalation when heated to a vapor. DMT is not orally active when ingested unless combined with a monoamine oxidase inhibitor or MAOI such as harmaline or Banisteropsis caapi. DMT taken orally with an MAOI turns off the digestive enzyme which would otherwise metabolize and quickly destroy the DMT in the stomach and therefore render no hallucinogenic effect.5
The effects of DMT are short lasting. Unlike LSD which effects can last 6-12 hours, the effects of DMT last around 5-10 minutes. Commons experiences reported from DMT use include space time distortion and complete loss of ego and awareness of the human self with an emergence into an alien world. Unlike LSD and other hallucinogenic drugs such as mescaline, the effects of DMT do not seem to development a tolerance with repeated use.
Some researchers believe that DMT plays a major role in the visual activity of dreams, near-death experiences and other mystical altered states of consciousness achieved by certain yogic practices and hermetic traditions of Gnosticism. Medical researcher JC Callaway, suggested in 1988 that DMT might be connected with visual dream phenomena, where levels of DMT in the brain are elevated.6
Dr. Rick Strassman has proposed that DMT is produced within the pineal gland of the human brain. Strassman also holds a theory that massive amounts of DMT are released from the pineal gland prior to death or near death explaining the near death experience phenomenon.
In September 1989 Dr. Rick Strassman was awarded a grant to study DMT through a Schizophrenia Research program funded by the Scottish Rite Foundation branch of Freemasonry. In late 1990 Strassman obtained approval for the DMT research at the University of New Mexico.7
The study concluded that approximately 20% of volunteers injected with high doses of DMT had experiences alien-like entities. One of the subjects reported sexual contact with such a being, and others reported erotic type experiences. Several subjects reported contact with ‘other beings’, alien-like insectoid and reptillian in nature, in technological environments.8
Andean Shamans in South America use a concoction of a DMT containing plant and another plant acting as an MAOI to produce a drink called Yage which means “the vine of souls”. Yage is ingested to allow the shaman to travel outside of his body to the places of the dead. Shamans typically report that they are guided on their journey by spirits.9
The Beat Generation’s avant-garde novelist William S Burroughs described the sensation of long-distance flying when he took ayahuasca during an expedition to South America in 1953. “Yage is space time travel,” he wrote in a letter to Allen Ginsberg. “The blood and substance of many races, Negro, Polynesian, Mountain Mongol, Desert Nomad, Polyglot Near East, Indian—new races as yet unconceived and unborn, combinations not yet realized pass through your body. Migrations, incredible journeys through deserts and jungles and mountains… A place where the unknown past and the emergent future meet in a vibrating soundless hum.” 10
Since DMT is illegal in the United States and yet occurs naturally within the human body, in the eyes of the law we are all guilty of possessing a Schedule I drug.
In December of 2004, the Supreme Court lifted a stay allowing the Brazil-based União do Vegetal (UDV) church to use DMT containing brew in their Christmas services. The “tea” is made from boiling the leaves and vines from plants, one containing DMT and the other an MAOI. The brew is known as ‘hoasca’ to the UDV. The Supreme Court unanimously ruled in February 2006 that the U.S. federal government must allow the UDV to import and consume the tea for religious ceremonies under the 1993 Religious Freedom Restoration Act.11
Another Brazilian Catholic based religious movement called the Santo Daime partakes in the consumption of Ayuascha tea as part of their religious ceremonies and rituals. Daime meaning “give me”, or “give me love, give me light, give me strength”, described as “a sacrament, a vehicle for the Divine Power that is present in the whole creation”. Disciples of Santo Daime live communally within their own piece of land which they work and live together. There are religious ceremonies, during which people dance and sing after drinking the holy Daime.12
Compared with the late 60s and early 70s, in recent years there seems a resurgence of underground religious psychedelic cults popping up throughout the internet, rave and nomadic subcultures with neo-shamanic techno-pagans contacting aliens and talking to god through their ritual sacraments.13,14
It seems that all sources of reference and research regarding DMT are not only extremely fascinating but indeed screaming for more freedom from the current restricting drugs laws that prohibit mankind to not only gain insight into this amazing compound but perhaps our own human experience. Much of the information available regarding DMT is separated in two distinguishable streams of reference. One of which coming from the academic field of scientific research and the other sect of those seekers of secrets brave enough to travel within hyperspace and experience DMT firsthand.
To understand something so phenomenal, the effectiveness of reading about DMT can only go so far as to perpetuate interest. One can read for days on end with only ignorance to the profound effects of such an amazing substance.
REFERENCES:
1. Rick Strassman, DMT Spirit Molecule (2001) p.42
2. Barker SA, Monti JA and Christian ST (1981). N,N-Dimethyltryptamine: An endogenous hallucinogen. In International Review of Neurobiology, vol 22; Academic Press, Inc.
3. Alexander Shulgin, Profiles of Psychedelic Drugs (1977)
4. Alexander Shulgin and Ann Shulgin, TIHKAL (Berkeley, CA: Transform Press, 1997), 247-84.
5. Callaway JC and Grob CS (1998). Ayahuasca preparations and serotonin reuptake inhibitors: a potential combination for adverse interaction. Journal of Psychoactive Drugs 30(4): 367-369.
6. Callaway JC (1988). A proposed mechanism for the visions of dream sleep. Medical Hypotheses 26: 119-124.
7. Rick Strassman, DMT Spirit Molecule (2001) chapter 6
8. Rick Strassman, DMT Spirit Molecule (2001) chapter 13
9. Lamadrid, Enrique R., Treasures of the Mama Huaca: oral tradition and ecological consciousness in Chinchaysuyu, Latin American Institute, Albequerque (1993)
10. Martin A. Lee (2001) Shamanism vs. Capitalism: The Politics of Ayahuasca
11. Gonzales v. O Centro Espirita Beneficente Uniao Do Vegetal. [Supreme Court: Chief Justice Roberts Opens 2005-06 Term]
12. Hannah Bouma (1996) Ayahuasca Plant of the Gods; Amsterdam Drug Magazine
13. http://www.erowid.org
14. http://www.maps.org
AEQEA
Whitmanic Poem
Even though your feet
Smell like cheese,
I prefer to think
They smell
Like good cheese.
Smell like cheese,
I prefer to think
They smell
Like good cheese.
La parade (1)
Dans la rue où les enfants jouent, regardent la parade passer où la pluie tombe doucement, là où les habitants étranges des collines ne viennent pas, au dessus des caves secrètes et honteuses, l'air chaud et doux des hauteurs passe le long des murs des vieilles maisons silencieuses, sur les visages juvéniles, le long des jambes gracieuses et dénudées des jeunes filles, sur le silence rugueux des antiques pierres, déformant le miroir froid de la fontaine. Les moteur explosent dans le silence lourd et serein qui reprend paresseusement sa place une fois les voitures grondantes passées. Les filles heureuses d'exhiber leurs corps désirables se pavanent. Les parents suent et économisent pour que leurs filles puissent se pavaner. Ne parle pas, ne regarde pas les autres. La parade a commencé. On s'est décidé à faire la course pour s'amuser. A de nombreux égards, par la suite on a fait que courir. Les ombres des branches pesantes témoignent gaiement du passage du vent, cours ! Cours avec moi ! Les enfants courent en rigolant mais la fin de la chanson est plus triste. Les affamés courent sur leurs membres aiguisés par la faim, courent et finissent par tomber les os brisés sous l'effort, cours avec moi ! Les enfants sous-alimentés courent les bras rougis de sang en rigolant. A l'intérieur du cadavre du président les problèmes de communications commencent à se développer et à se répandre à travers le monde comme une gangrène noire et puante. Les nouveaux projets de sociétés idylliques sont écris sur du papier toilette usagé et s'envolent au moindre coup de vent. La fille du ministre est sincèrement amoureuse d'un gauchiste looser crado qui a pour principales activités de cultiver son acné purulente, sa barbe de trois jours à la Che Gevara, et son goût pour les idéologies totalitaires périmées depuis la chute du rideau de fer. On est presque arrivés à la maison. La parade chante en français une mélodie trompeuse sur la joie de vivre et le soleil brûle, brûle, brûle; bientôt il réduira tout en poussière. Le carnaval grotesque s'ébroue, s'agite mollement, le serpent passe au loin, ses anneaux visibles entre les arbres des collines comme un fleuve d'écailles cherche à mordre sa queue, le phénix embrase le ciel, ses plumes tombent sur le sol, la forêt s'enflamme. J'ai attrapé au vol une poignée de silence. Je l'ai collée à mon oreille gauche. Mais la cacophonie hurlait ses notes violentes à mon oreille droite : un message que la prudence invite à ignorer. Pour courir plus vite j'ai arrêté la terre dans son mouvement pour atteindre le grand palais d'exil au pays de la fête foraine et des enfants de la nuit. Ne vous retirez pas encore dans vos appartements ce n'est pas encore tout à fait la fin, mes amis. Les docteurs impressionnés par son Q.I. de 250, n'ont pas su résister au désir de débattre avec lui des lois qui régissent ce monde et de ce qui arrive à la fin. Il était seulement possible de mesurer son immense culture générale qui contenait pratiquement toute les bibliothèques du monde qu'à la démesure de son arrogance juvénile. Il prétendait qu'à la table des matières du grand livre du destin tous les chapitres essentiels comportaient son nom, là où la masse anonyme des hommes n'est même pas évoquée. Cours, cours sans toucher le sol, sans voir le soleil ! Le docteur lui a tendu un stylo et lui a demandé de faire un dessin. Il a reproduit le jardin d'Eden, le Paradis, l'Enfer et la terre des hommes au milieu. Il a dessiné les seigneurs et les créatures, la chute et la vérité avant dernière. Tout ce qu'il y avait à dire sur les choses de ce monde et leur finalité. L'homme simple et honnête, quoiqu'un peu bête et borné dans ses certitudes, à la vue du dessin ouvrit la fenêtre et fit le saut de l'ange, les bras bien écartés, du haut du 83e étage du building pour aller s'écraser sept secondes plus tard, en éclaboussant les passants, sur le macadam luisant de crasse.
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