Read on Lycaeum today (italics mine)

"I think you need to get to know this plant first before you go exploring so deeply. Again, the mind is very powerful in its effects and control of the body. Psychic issues can manifest as physical discomfort and other physical problems." - gorfehttimrek

note to self

I'm sick of the patterns I continually fall into. Behavioral patterns yes, but mostly mental patterns. There's got to be a better way to interrupt them. I don't think over-analysis or chemical tinkering is going to get me out of the mess those things got me INTO in the first place, but that's not to say consciousness can't play a role.

I can barely be bothered to philosophize.

I've psyched myself into thinking I'm shackled to moods and mindstates, although I can also see psychosomatic tension for what it is. That doesn't really abate the discomfort of FEELING it, but I can be meta about it, mentally, semanticize it, keep it in the realm of metaphor while clenching my teeth and my soul and obsessing about puke and panic and how is death going to come and how will I deal and what does that say about me as a man, as a human being, as a piece of God, in increasingly tight feedback loops and having "sickness" resonate on every level, with every traitor cell. Maybe this is how cancer starts. Maybe it's how William Burroughs starts. One thing I know, I need to keep dreaming.

Read on Erowid tonight

New Experiences:

"I've also stopped paying any attention to the future, because it only makes one worry needlessly. Peace can be found in the present moment through acceptance of what is and by recognizing the amazing beauty that is constantly flowing through everyone and everything in the universe. "

The itch

The urge to solve the mysteries - to sort it all out - has always been with me. It's an itch that needs to be scratched. But now I'm weary and sick of the itch, and scratching it is just a response to the maddening persistence of what I see as problems and paradoxes on this level. My attempts at philosophy are so the itch doesn't drive me insane. It used to be that I liked the itch itself, as well as the scratch. Now I'd rather be numb, but no anesthetic really works for me.

Cradle Happy Face Holocaust Grave

Why do I bite my lip, when I get that sweet tension? Maybe I think I'll eventually get to some candy center, some omnikinetic salvia surprise with special sauce, served slightly chilled. A lack of relaxing paradox. There's no one I would really want to subject this mindstate to. Just my blog.

Ties in the woods, a webwork of dubious quantum guerilla ontoloshit for brains lattice of good hearted laughter at gotten-references on poetry night at that weird vibey restaurant.

Amplitude modulation. I'm listening to that long electrodelusional interlude in The Mars Volta's Cicatriz, and writing down random thoughts. Now it's heading back into the buildup to the recap - dueling guitars, but it's not squeedley versus meedley - it's omar vs frusciante. Totally different thing. From spacey delirium to this. Fucking genius. Makes me want to quit - everything. Too bad I can't extract much literary material.

Just debris, that's all I see. Just debris. Got no meta, out of meta, thank god. I don't see how tagged I really am though. That's okay. Blissful stupidity.

Entropy, yeah you know me

Trivialize, dramatize, ostensibly philosophize, because I can.