Shroomy baby
Take shrooms they said, it’ll be great for writing they said.
I have two short stories I can’t post yet.
I’m not a poet. I write fiction stories.
I only microdosed mushrooms but megadosed on feels - guess I’ll post my vibes here.
“Poems” below
(Painting by Michel Henricot)
Grief
Collective cry
Grief
Exasperated sigh
G r i e f — spear in the eye, bludgeoning your time, losing your mind, fucking tyrannical linguicide, misidentified, vilified, poison red dye, gaslight, gaslight, gaslight, deepfake takes spotlight, heavy like height, bitch brought a genocide to a knife fight, unpride, backslide, philosophers’ cry, hate, choked goodbye, hey — don’t let us die, hammering, hammering, hammering dark side
(Toni JJK art by 679sora)
Fate twists
In dark and light
Chewed, swallowed
Free fall or fly
Wings in black
Wings in white
Horns, halos
We choose, undo
choose again
Duality, love, brutality
All of it is you
(My journal 👀)
Time. speeding up
Time. observation’ary construct
Life is short,
Suffering
S u f f e r i n g is long
Existence, in chaotic patterns and cycles
Leaping away, returning
Turning over archetypal masks,
On the same frame
The mainframe isn’t down
It’s a glitch—
rights itself of its wrongs — prodigal,
Return home (we always do)
In time, in time, in time.
UPDATE:
Check out my poem about time being read by Josh ~ bitpunk.fm - its like being a cool ass slam poetry night, but there’s also aesthetic artistic visuals and synth music
(My acrylic painting)
I’m a fallen angel. Raised in purity, virtue shined bright enough to leave behind stinging scar-tattoos, like lightning do. Crawling out of my skin, didn’t know I could escape like this, unzipping and shaking off everything you built. The Demiurge, loud in silence. I hear it every night. Without my halo, I am finally human.
(Google image unknown origin)
The only holy truth —Jesus wept. Life is endlessly weeping. Every hard painful traumatic hurtful hateful isolated survivalist sad useless tragic moment stacks
Stacks
Stacks
Stacks
Against the blackest void
The universe is a dark nothing
Cold, empty
A death cycle, trap deja vu, shatter life into a million stars that die over and over and over
Fleeting
Shooting
A miracle? A million ways to end up alone
Every road leads to the void
The black air that wraps around, hugs, whispers I’m sorry
It’s not enough
It’s not anything
It just is
And its hollow
It’s a void you’ll never fill
It’s what you’re made of
The weeping void, the universe, and me
THE PLAYLIST:
For someone who claims to not be a poet, you certainly have some damn good poetry.
Very powerful, interesting, moving, relatable, and eccentric stuff :)
"I'm not a poet"--- this feels like gaslamping. This piece was brutal.