Aliens in my Dreams

For reference, M is my exgirlfriend and L is my present girlfriend. I'm away from home for the summer, hence the emotional turmoil.

While I was away, L had drifted farther and farther away from me emotionally. M moved in with her, and lived on the bunk above her. My former roommate lived in a bed next to theirs, and I didn't know him at all anymore. M got into keeping aquarium fish as L got over fish-keeping. The two of them became friends. M's boyfriend moved in with her and shared her bunk, but the bed was only a couple of feet above L so when both M and her boyfriend were in bed together, there was hardly room for L, let alone me. I wanted to be upset about that, but I had no power. M would dismiss me with that knowingness that indicated she was bored of me. Meanwhile, L would listen to her. M had gotten into jewelry. She was protesting some famous jewlery designer who she thought was a hack. She'd bought a few of his pieces for one eighth of the retail price, because she'd bargained him down, and she thought that was proof that he was a hack subsisting on hype. She'd berated somebody for buying his jewlery. I said, "It's a free country, shouldn't people be allowed to buy whatever they want?" M said no. I argued with her about it for awhile. Really, she was the only person who was willing to talk to me, but she wanted to talk just to show her disdain for me and for that phase of her life. L had some new life plan that did not include me, and I couldnt convince her to run away with me. I realized that L was just as flawed as M had been and our relationship had been just as doomed. M's hostility proved how flawed that really was and would be.

I woke up feeling like the world was coming down around my ears.

After a few minutes, I calmed down, but I won't forget how doomed I felt.

A Tenuous Compromise

I'm dredging the vaults and this turned up. It's something I wrote about a year and a half ago. It was one of those moments where after nursing a horrifically bad mood for a while, I got up and the words just kind of flowed.

sometimes i feel i am falling through life
i am falling through life with the ease of a doll.

a moment of bright
tarnished by imperfection
but still beautiful.
then goodbyes
then spiral sucking swirl into blackness, screaming
blackness colored with shades of brown and flecks of white
but blackness all the same, so heavy i cant cry
blackness so heavy my head can't fit in my shoulders,
my shoulders cant fit into my knees, my knees cant fit in my shoes.
swirls of evil thoughts, pernicious, impossible thoughts
they shouldnt be allowed to exist,
much less have this free reign over me

there is a dim light on the horizon,
if it werent, my head would fit in the floor,
in negative space
the dim light keeps me here in the inky wind,
keeps me suffering,
keeps that tenuous compromise afloat, under strain.
but assuring that winds wont rip me to shreds
does nothing to assuage that they feel as bad as if they were about to
i turn to the only friend left to me,
and believe me that never have you seen him so tainted, thin and cold as he is now before me,
a cruel joke of what he once was,
but i curl up and close my eyes and try to think of nothing
as i'm buffeted by blackness,
and eventually nothing comes.

Puke Time

I've been writing quite a bit of poetry. To use the word of my friend H, I have been on a poetry writing "tear". I've decided it's time to share, even if it's nowhere near time to call any of the following poems finished or even, in most cases, "roughly complete".

I said from the start, this blog would be subject to lower quality standards than anything else I do. Part of that includes an inconsistent post rate, but it's been awhile and I'm feeling impulsive. Also, I'm becoming less apologetic about my poetry's quality or lack thereof. These were all written within the last few months and I've only revisited about half of them since puking them out.

Theoretically these will be improved upon and I will write music for them and then I'll record them and when the demo gets picked up by a label I'll be forced to start a band and become a rock star. Ha.

Anyways, I hope you enjoy.


This one is the only one hammered into verse-chorus, so far. Gold star if you correctly guess the subject (and haven't talked with me about it already).

(intro)
moving slowly, so slowly
dipping my toe
lapping at my heels
love how the breeze feels

sweet dawn
take me to the ocean

(chorus)
you go down, i get high
i'm so glad, you are mine
sweet dawn
take me to the ocean

(verse 1)
licking under my chin
licking at my ears
i'm out to far, i'm out to deep
horizon looms like death

(chorus)

caught on the inside
going for a spin
in the washing machine
but it feels alright

(chorus)

waves throwing me around
thrashed by sea
in the most loving way
and it feels alright

(chorus)

(closout)
i am adored
i am adored

Now for a couple of short ones.

face draws early lines
questions like razors
harsh laugh at odd times
he's mr. sharp


she stings like honey
she burns like electricity
there are a lot of flowers in this world
she is a honey bee

Now for a wistful one. By the way, don't read anything into the lack of capitalization. That's just my laziness.

had a dream that i'd found my place
eucalyptus in my nose and salt in my mouth
but i cant go back to the sunkissed days

did i ever tell you
you're so beautiful it makes me ache

i don't ever want to be alone
please hold me to your breast

i don't ever want to be alone
tears trickle down your chest

I'm no good at secrets
and I'm sick of playing tough
I'm so bored of the knowing wink
I'll hide everywhere that's pink
I'll go everywhere that's pink.

Now for one about new love.

it's a beautiful morning
even if the sky's still dark
walking home from her house
yeah, walking home from her house

seems a time since i have felt like this
kisses drying on my face
gliding home on clouds
the future seems so clear

the universe impelling me along my misted way
the universe is pulling me along my blissed out day
the universe is sucking me along the path of grace
and i hold within myself the beauty of the world

Now one for February.

fluffy cloud sunshine sky
damp sidewalk

yesterday i saw a mushroom standing
like he'd always owned the world

jewels hang from trees
with gilded leaves

wind smells earth and flowers
everything is green and yellow

Now one about longing.

there's dirt beneath my fingernails
there's dust coating my teeth

and i want to go home
and i know it will be soon
and i can't wait to be home

the girl who sleeps in my bed
in my home so far away
my girl keeps my bed warm while i'm away

and she is my ocean
and she's my shining sea

And lest this get too sweet.

squishing roaches underneath my feet
popping bubble wrap
ripping tendons with my teeth
i don' wanna be a veg-e-tar-i-an
i get satisfaction
it's not the best but
if you're not doing anything otherwise
its really kind of nice

And in case somebody still thought that was strangely precious.

don't call my name
don't call my name
don't touch my face
you're not welcomed
you're uninvited
you stupid bitch
you nasty witch
don't call my name

And now a celebration of blind rage!

You thought I'd take this sitting down
but i'm gonna stomp your face
and i won't be satisfied
till i've ground you to a paste

i liked you because you
held my friend's affection
but i was never blind

you liked me because
i held your friend's affection
but after you screwed her

you thought you'd do me for good measure
you don't know who you messed with
you barked up the bitter-bark tree
you cornered a mean old cat

and i won't be satisfied
till i've ground you to a paste

The Face That Glows

I'll preface this by saying I'm not sure if my poetry holds up to my prose. I hardly ever write poetry. Thank you to the person (people) who made this possible. Love deserves thanks, I think.


In a crowded room, there is a face that glows
gilded by the night
a beacon that calls to only me.
Oh for that night
Oh for that night

Her every motion in rhythm
etched, like from a tapestry
of a childhood home.
In a single smile I know her thoughts

When I hug her
the tremor of a small bird
burning hot
held in strong hands
speaks of such beauty furled

Looking makes the world rush,
Looking away makes it close in
like a pack of wolves.

Please don't smile that sad smile.
it will burst my heart

Sleeping with People

A certain friend of mine once told me that she put out as a means towards sharing a bed. At the time I thought that was absurd. Sex is way better than spooning, right?

I'm still in withdrawal from the comforts of a relationship. Funnily enough, I've come to the same conclusion about sharing a bed. I miss that more than sex.

I understand that sharing a bed can often be an inconvenience rather than a luxury. A certain mother and daughter I know only shared a bed out of fiscal necessity. Apparently the daughter was a wiggleworm, especially when she was younger. I can't really speak to that. In contrast to even the previously-mentioned friend, I've never had a moment when the inconvenience of sharing a bed outweighed the pleasure.

The problem with being such a fan of sharing a bed (as possibly illustrated by the certain friend), is that classically it requires a relationship. There are other options, though.

It would be a little too awkward to share a bed with my platonic female friends. Like it or not, there will always be some sexual tension there. The good news about being oriented more-or-less completely one direction, sexually, is that I don't have to worry about sexual tension with guys. I still have to worry about morning wood and spooning is kind of out, but I'm comfortable enough with my sexuality that it can work at least theoretically.

My friend "C" visited me for a few days last month and I lured him into sleeping with me. Partly there were some circumstances that encouraged it, like not having a couch and being unwilling to give up my bed during the workweek. Ultimately though, it was an unselfconscious, premeditated attempt to fill that hole in my life.

Of all my friends, C is easily the most okay with that sort of thing. We've both actively looked for homosexual tendencies in ourselves and come up empty, so we both have that magical combination of a complete lack of homophobia and a rather complete heterosexuality.

Sharing a bed again felt fantastic. Even without any real physical contact, his presence in my bed felt incredibly comforting. Not in a "close my eyes and pretend it's her" kind of way either, but in the same real way that I remember first enjoying. I had some intensely heterosexual dreams, though. Ones that were a tad awkward to wake up to, if you catch my drift.

So I can theoretically have most of what I miss about sleeping with someone without the uncertainty of a relationship. In practice, of course, romance is usually easier for guys. I asked a close friend who lives nearby if he'd sleep with me (he just went through a breakup too) and he politely declined. Ah well, so it goes.

For you girls out there, however, sharing each-others' beds is societally acceptable. With your anatomy, it's even cool to spoon each other to sleep. I hope you're grateful and I hope you take advantage of that fact to the extent that you are able, because I am thoroughly envious.

The other option I've heard is getting a dog. I've always thought sleeping with dogs was more trouble than it was worth. Something about physical presence meaning more from sentient life. It's still a great halfway solution, but I won't be getting a dog quite yet.

Both Eyes Open

I did it to myself. I know that sex triggers imprinting. I thought about it while I was sitting there, flush with afterglow and basking in oxytocin, staring at her, willing myself to drink every bit up, to imprint as hard as I was capable of. I was similarly cognizant of my own willful stupidity when I held her casually, excessively, even possessively. I thought about it when initiating more sex than I really needed and then while we had that sex. Overkill turned out to be fun in and of itself. This will add to my pyre. When we stared into each other's eyes, I felt like she was thinking the same thing, like she was making the same silly choice. That endeared her to me even more, though her consent was likely imagined.

I knew it would end. I knew this would come. I knew it would hurt like a bitch. Hell, I wanted it to hurt like a bitch. Did I anticipate the damage to be so perverse? Did I realize the grief would seek not to make me pay in pain, but to etch its toll upon my soul? I knew it wouldn't be so straightforward as simple, immense suffering. I knew it was likely to leave a mark, and an ugly one at that. In a way, I knew. I'd at least reconciled myself to that nature of cost. I didn't anticipate the terror it would inspire, but what's terror? Poor man's pain, that's what.

I also knew halfway wouldn't have been worth it. Halfway would have been disingenuous, not to the perfection of our pairing (though I've perpetrated plenty of self-delusion, I never deluded myself into believing in perfection), but to the moment of opportunity. Opportunity to both of us. The cost of the decision was similarly equal.

Should I feel guilty? What I engendered on myself went both ways, knowing participant or not. I'd like to think she knew. I know her values and ideology were different enough for her to disagree with the principle, but did she agree with the instance? I guess I felt like it was a good decision for me so it must be a good decision for her, even if I was making it for her. That's at least morally questionable, but I try for questionability not to give me pause. You only get so many chances to dive into experience like that. I've had far fewer chances than I have hoped. Fewer than many I idolize and envy. Damned if I won't make the most of what comes my way.

My First Mushroom Trip

I've long had an interest in psychedelic drugs. The idea of a substance that doesn't make you happy or sad, but just temporarily rearranges your thoughts and potentially gives you insight into yourself has long attracted me. It doesn't hurt that so much great music has been made on psychedelic drugs, acid being particularly prominent in that respect. Somehow, it doesn't even hurt that a couple of my favorite artists had mental breakdowns precipitated by taking (a lot of) acid.

Experienced people I've talked to have recommended climbing through the various psychedelic drugs according to strength. Start with pot, then mushrooms, then acid or more exotic psychedelics. I've smoked pot. I've ingested pot. I've ingested quite a bit of pot in one sitting, such that I was aware of how thin the line between vivid imagination and hallucination can be. It was somewhat later that I found a way to buy mushrooms. Access has always been the limiting factor in my aspirations to exploring the world of drugs. I suppose the advantage of having more brains than access is that by the time I've tried anything, I've researched it pretty thoroughly.

I planned on taking mushrooms with a friend. This friend was allergic to smoke and had yet to do anything psychedelic, so I planned on giving him a half dose. The eighth I had procured was supposed to be two doses, so I figured I could try half a dose while I was waiting for an opportunity to trip with him. I measured out roughly a quarter of the bag into a bowl and poured a can of chili over the mushrooms. I microwaved it warm, stirred, microwaved it until it was pretty hot, and ate.

I've heard that psilocybe mushrooms don't taste very good. I thought they were delicious. The chili may have helped. Considering that the psychoactive ingredient can be slowly cooked out and that raw, dry mushrooms probably never taste good, I thought the chili solution was at least as good as anything I'd heard of. The smaller bits were fully hydrated, though some of the bigger stems still had a certain cardboard texture.

I went to my room, plugged in my headphones and tried watching some porn. Nothing spectacular happened, but after ten or twenty minutes the video began to seethe with it's own life and hint at a colorfulness that I was pretty sure wasn't there. I got mentally sidetracked a lot. So while I won't rule out recreational mushroom use as a sex enhancer, it certainly won't be the first place I look, either.

After that, I got caught up looking at my computer's background picture. It was one taken by a friend that was dominated by coastal sage scrub and ocean, with a few people hiking down a trail. I began to pick out faces in the relative noise of the shrubs and sea. It was just like picking out faces from random patterns normally is, with their enigmatic features and static bizarreness, except that I kept seeing more and more faces. Pretty soon I could see faces over the entirety of my desktop background with the exception of the actual figures in the photo. After trying a couple more photos to similar but less spectacular results, I started making music up in my head.

The music was sparse, but it was as clever as I was and as real-sounding as actual sound. I rocked out to myself for awhile. I eventually decided I might as well listen to real music.

You might think that turning on music would be immediately gratifying, but the first few bands I played just grated on me. I ended up settling on The Holy Modal Rounders, part of a 60's genre known as "acid folk". Like you'd expect, the band sounds like an otherwise faithful old timey folk band on acid. This indeed sounded amazing. It had immediacy and dimension on the periphery of the realm of the imaginable. I laughed at the clever or bizarre twists the music took. I saw the music in colors, soft but vibrant. Oranges, fuchsias, peaches and acid greens shimmered across my mind's eye along with the music. I'd long ago buried my head into my pillow, the better to focus.

At some point (roughly after an hour, according to itunes) I decided to take off the headphones and just think about everything in my head. Geometry, patterns within nature and other mostly mathematical ideas passed through my head, still illustrated or wreathed in that soft-but-vibrant color palette. I must have spent a couple hours completely lost in thought, face down on my pillow and sprawled across the bed.

Eventually I got hungry. One thing I noticed quickly about mushrooms is that while they don't favor any particular emotion, they intensify everything. My hunger was a slightly terrifying looming thing that I realized I needed to appease if I wanted things to be ok. So I wandered to the kitchen and rummaged around the fridge. I pulled out some old hummus and stale corn tortillas. The hummus had sourness from active culture, but not much complexity of flavor. I made a game of eating it savagely and deliberately. Each rip of the tortilla and swoop into the hummus was a wild gesture of fearlessness and wantonness. That proceeded until I ran out of food. My hunger sated, I resumed puzzling thoughts into my pillow.

An hour or two later dusk was falling and I got up to walk around. I walked into the back yard and reveled at the warmth of the air and the beauty of everything around me. I could tell the effects were beginning to wear off. My roommate Greg came around from the side yard, bike in hand from whatever errands he'd been running since I'd finished the chili. I decided it was the perfect time to go for a bike ride as I was feeling more normal with each passing minute and the sky was beautiful. I rode out without much thought as to where I'd go. I caught sight of a distant thunderhead over the trees, lit up in brilliant colors by the setting sun. As I progressed I looked the other direction over a field at the mountains in silhouette. The clear sky had color stretched across it like a sheet.

I turned into a golf course and began to skate along the cart path around the holes. With its surreal grassy contours, the twilight and the random patches of reeds, bushes and trees sprinkled throughout it looked kind of like a moonscape. The sensation of speed is so much stronger when you're winding around a twisty path amidst things than on the shoulder of a linear highway. I spotted a bunch of burrowing owls, just perking up for the evening's hunt. I remembered then that there was a designated preserve for them along the edge of this golf course. I flushed a few from their burrows as I swished by. I rode around that twilit landscape for a long while, passing expansive, nestled ponds and looked into the houses that opened onto the course as people began to turn on their lights and cook dinner.

By the time I got home it was fully dark and I was fully sober, still giddy from the fantastic nature of my trip and bike ride. My respect for mushrooms had kicked up quite a few notches. Pot will forever be the most available and mild of psychedelic drugs, but I've long disliked the constant hilarity and false sense of comprehension associated with the drug. Furthermore, there is a positive correlation between how much pot you've taken and your level of paranoia and forgetfulness. Mushrooms didn't seem to favor any emotion, inspire false self-confidence or impair my memory. There were a few times during my trip where a sense of discomfort or paranoia popped up and seemed like it might overtake me, but with some firm self-direction they passed within a moment of their appearance.

I should note that this half-dose of mushrooms was of a similar intensity to the most intense experiences I've had on pot. Though the social and emotional peace that I enjoyed at the time I took mushrooms has passed and with it my desire to do mushrooms, I eagerly await the time when I return to a peaceful mental place so that I can finish off the eighth with my aforementioned friend.