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Daves Brain Talking (Part 2)

Hi there, my poem (whatever it is) is below this piece of text explaining where this poem came from.

Im not a poetry writer, I just joined here to share my 2 pieces of unusual writing & thoughts that I experienced whilst recovering from a heavy session on MDMA.

This is PART 2 of 2, of my weird experiences. (Please read PART 1 first):

HOW IT HAPPENED (Not the Poem):
OK, so I'll take it that you read PART 1 and continue from here. The morning after the night before. The following night I had the best sleep ever. I went to bed relatively early around 9pm and felt myself drifting off to sleep within seconds of my head hitting the pillow. I don't know wether this is relevant or not but I'll add it anyway: I remember waking up minutes later jumping out of my skin as I thought a mosquito or fly had buzzed around my ear. I mumbled something like "fucking fly buzzing! just landed on me!" to which my girlfriend comforted me and said "its ok, just go to sleep". I woke up the next morning remembering these vivid thoughts, it wasn't exactly a dream, but a single image burnt into my memory just before waking up. I was in a room with a single open window, the room was grey, run down and falling apart. The view point was as if I was sitting on the floor in the corner looking up towards the window. It was very similar to a derelict building you'd see in a war zone in a video game like call of duty. All I could see out of the window was the night sky littered with many stars and a single daffodil just in front of the window, gently swaying, back and forth, its neck peaking over the windowsill. There seems to be a water bottle on top of what seems to be a stool made of wicker basket, I can not focus on it in my memory, it is to the left of me and is blurred out but is still in my peripheral vision. I cant turn to look at it because in my dream my viewpoint is locked looking forwards, towards the window. For some reason as I write this I want to say that the whole picture im trying to paint has a certain feel to it. It feels like one of those old UK rave flyers like "Dreamscape" or "Helter Skelter" (just google Dreamscape rave flyer). I woke up I kept my eyes closed and these words kept talking in my head and was telling a story. It was all told using long words and complex theatrical language as if it was being performed as some kind of Shakespearean play . As the story was being narrated to me by my own mind I grabbed my phone, opened a blank message and started to type:

THE POEM:
A caterpillar has found it's way inside and made a home on top of my water bottle. I don't know why it's here. I don't remember the last time I even saw a caterpillar..... Please god just lay your atlas of life upon my brow and let me absorb your city's and towns into my dusty desert flesh, allow them to change shape and morph into future memories and mile stones that only will be once ground trodden. Press your ink stained surface down onto my skin. Transfer it down and leave me scarred. Like a dog shit covered boot tread down into the carpet! The caterpillar has bloomed it's wings, and zig zags to the window and lands upon a dying flower, dry like a desert and crisp to the touch, a shell of its former beauty, what are you looking at? Why did you land? It has no pollen. It is almost dust. It has no chance.

My body feels dry but my feet are wet. Where have you taken me? Where am I now? Where am I going? Toenails varnished in a unusual liquid, that constantly drips into a puddle that no longer swells. Across the water that divides the land your colours transfer upon my surface. I can spy a new land in the horizon. But why wet toes and everything dry. Oceans filled with misfortune and bad luck filled trenches. An underwater casino packed to capacity. Every night full. Forever a bustle. But infinite in size. The house never loses. A popular quote spoken. But I know a secret. The odds here of winning are not very good. I don't want to swim here. The water smells putrid. I don't want to gamble. The dealer is evil, I can see behind your neutral expression, your eyes have a big mouth and reveal your dirty secret, greedy hands rubbing together, on loop this forever. Fuck this I'm going home. There I have a towel. I will rub my toes dry. Before the moisture spreads fast like a field of burning crops. I will extinguish you now. You may not saturate me further like a disease of the flesh. Dip my toe I regret. I promise never to swim your oceans again. The butterfly's wings retract back like coiled springs.

SUMMERY:
I was feeling pretty rough ever since leaving the house where the drugs were consumed. I was incredibly exhausted for the days that followed but couldn't sleep because my brain was so awake with stimulants. I just remember thinking that I may have bit off more than I could chew this time and almost persuaded myself I have probably fried my brain for good this time. I am no neurologist and I don't know for sure why I thought those thoughts and had that image in my head, but it feels to me that the dream was about the fact I was scared that I have given myself some kind of brain damage and that I made a mistake and that I promise never to do drugs again as long as I go back to normal and recover from it.

Anyway, the comedown I experienced was the strangest and longest I had ever had before. After having this dream that was rich in long fancy profound words I found myself replying to texts using similar over the top language that was really unnecessary. I was conscious I was doing it when I was typing it, but instead of thinking this is madness just stop and type normally, something inside my brain pushed me to carry on and to embrace this new talent for talking absolute bollox. It was like I would stop half way through to weigh up should I start this text again and be normal, but immediately carry on, convinced that this is defiantly the right decision. It wasn't like I was out of control or anything, it was a more subtle feeling, like the inner me leaning on me to carry on, like a chemical feeling, a warm feeing inside, very subtle though, barely noticeable but always enough to make me type it. It was like a chemical version of these words washing over my brain: "its fine, carry on, its funny, keep going, look this sentence here is sounding like a passage from Shakespeare, excellent, finish it, send it". I mean it wasn't just about thinking in a theatrical over the top "old english" kind of way either, I would find myself being over descriptive and replying to texts in strange unusual ways for example my friend replied to a previous message with "that sounds exciting" to which I replied with: "No, exciting has no sound, it is merely a descriptive means to paint a picture of emotion portraying the inner feeling of happiness and joy in a way where physical sensation of pleasure is induced often within the tummy". I will try and add some screenshots of the texts if I can. This went on for about 3 days after, just typing nonsense replies to friends and being quite difficult to hold normal conversation with via messages. However, In real life, on top of the usual come down symptoms such as impending doom and depression the most scary thing happened to me and that was every now and then I would start stuttering and getting confused when trying to speak, this was probably the most frightening thing I have ever experienced and happened about 5 times a day at first but then gradually got better as the days went by. I have just about recovered fully now, its been about 3 weeks and I'm happy to say I am feeling better. The only thing I notice now is I do get the slightest tendency to type a lot..

So, what are you thinking right now? Please post a comment. Whatever you are thinking now just share your thoughts, good or bad.

Cheers
Dave C
Written by DaveyBoyC
Published
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