by Shawn Misener
My body is nothing but a soul tentacle,
a molecule factory/receptacle
a squishy love sponge,
an organic thought antennae
a congealed sea of emotion
the blood highway
the blood information superhighway
always with something to say
something to do
something to be done to
moving through space
flickering
OFF/ ON
OFF,
ON:
from inside the skull
through the smoke
through the screen
through the smokescreen of experience/ media
through the baby monitor,
the sound of a plug-in rocker
through ringing ears,
the crash of distant heavy machinery
Mr. Pineal would like to say hello
from the HEAD DMT OFFICE
the note:
congratulations man
you made it up 'till now
where to next?
Ah, Mr. Pineal
the smiling butler of consciousness
the holder of the raunchy raw truth,
the Death Teardrop
where to next?
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I knew those dreams weren't natural
ReplyDeleteHey, I'm talking about the DMT that our bodies naturally produce here. In the head office, dig?
ReplyDeleteglad you cleared that up for me.
ReplyDelete