deepundergroundpoetry.com

The Trip


Konx Om Pax

I

It is inadvisable to take psychedelics in prison.
Everyone knows this.

But at the same time,
based upon the idea of set, setting, and drug:

This presents the unique ingredients
of a most rarified portal.

And LSD is an interesting thing to smuggle.

Little packets of consciousness into the dungeon,
or the monastery, depending on how you saw things.

To me, it was a monastery.

To me, it was my Tibet.

Early on, I had been implicated in the drug trade in there.
And my crazy like a fox demeanor

Somehow survived.

You see, you can go to prison with 18 months
and end up doing 180 years.

That is a very real possibility,
and one that was constantly in the back of my mind.

 II

So I decided to just go strait.

There were too many rats and people of weak characters,
much like in the quote, world.

I couldn’t let those assholes beat me.

After a whole lot of wars, in different forms:
some with the guards, some with the inmates,
I found some semblance of harmony,
a very difficult thing to achieve in a place like that.

I watched people fall to my left and to my right.

I had a garden and I ran mostly everyday.

I read many books and magazines.

I wrote a thousand words a day and more.

I relentlessly kept to my self
but somehow gravitated to people of depth and substance.

III

One day, one of my cool hippie friends
informed me that a batch of acid had touched down.

It was summertime,
and I was a few months from being released.

I am a believer in the vision quest.

Sometimes you just know you must do something.

I read an article in Playboy Magazine
about Whitey Bulger
and how he participated in LSD experiments
at Alcatraz Island.

The article proposed the idea
that Bulger had gained a sort of clarity of vision
during these experiences.

He saw himself on a beach at the end of things,
and how he might go about making that happen.

That inspired me.

I mean, most people give up on their imagination
in such circumstances, perhaps.

IV

“We have Macho Man Randy Savage & Cheshire Cat.”

“You have two different varieties?”

We looked at each other and smiled.

“How much do they want for them?”

“Twenty dollars per dose.”

“Will they do three for fifty?”

“For you they will.”

And we shook hands and went about our business.


V

“I got you the ones with the Cheshire Cat eyes.”

I gave him my hunter green, over sized fleece to conceal
the thirteen bags of coffee,
that he would have to tote across the yard.

I had the merch in my Bible.

A good friend of mine once said:
“The more Bibles a person has the worse their crime was.”

I only had one Bible.

I had to coordinate the process,
like a really intricate sky diving operation.

(Based upon my knowledge of the substance.)

VI

I could not risk keeping the merch
in a discoverable state.

I had fasted for the twenty four hours,
since my friend told me about it.

I was in a cube with four, two person bunks.

I don’t care who they are;
You can never tell people how you move.

They turned off the power at ten O clock,
on weekdays,
and people are sleeping or start to sleep,
by this time.

Just before this,
I followed the procession to the bathroom.

Clad in the secret knowledge
that I was about to open a portal.

I returned to my bunk, turned on my side
and ingested the merch.

I moved as swift as an agent,
caught by a foreign government,
taking a cyanide capsule.

This is it. No turning back.

VII

I placed a my make shift sleeping mask
over my eyes.

I turned on the classical music station
on the radio.

As the trip commenced
I found myself applying scientific concepts
to the experience.

I thought about (5-hydroxytryptamine; 5-HT2 receptors)
and serotonin receptor agonists,

Which I knew did not tell the whole story
but told at least part of the story,

I wondered if this was an artificial part of the story
based on the notion
that perception is reality.

I wondered if such knowledge,
in the thick of things,
transformed the experience in any way:

Like the subatomic particle that reacts to being seen.

VIII

And then suddenly,
that old familiar feeling:

The trip.

It had been so long.

I had never tried the sensory deprivation form.

I began to go in and out of frames
of the vision,

Oscillating between full immersion in visual episodes,
to awareness of the music,
and listening to the calm,
rather characteristic/idiosyncratic voice of the radio guy.

IIX

I saw a sort of monolith, with an eagle on top,
like the Roman Eagle,

Only it was agnostic in its form.

Suddenly I was up close to the monolith,
so much so
that I could see the pores of the grey surface,
vibrating and emanating,
pulsating
even.

And then, suddenly, rivers of dark, scarlet hued
blood,
poured upon the surface,
somehow from both:

the exterior to the interior
&
the interior to the exterior

I realized that the blood was
the energy of belief.

No symbol, in and of itself, is one thing or another.

It is made that way by perception,
and in the interaction with perception.

I saw and felt the marches on Nuremberg
and the totalitarian movements,
across the time line of history:

The sound/feel of the marching.

The monsters of human energy that extend
across interdimensional veils.

I knew.

There is something very profound
that we can learn from this,
aside from the obvious.

IX

I switched over to the sound of the music…

I was able to enter into the thought process
and cognition of the vision
that I had just beheld,

Vibing into the smooth sound of violins,
masterfully
executing the sounds
and shapes
of the cosmos.

X

I then instantly entered a channel
of the vision

Where my grandmother stood

A medicine woman,
hair blowing in the breeze,

Standing by a technicolor cactus,

Having the composure
and composition
of the components of the Earth.

She understood me.

She had always understood me.

She knew
I was

There.

XI

She ushered me into a different channel
of the vision,

This being a sort of magical forest.

In this magical forest,
I was both
a tree and a dweller of a tree.

I lived amongst the roots,
in a secret room,
with a typewriter.

I had an instantaneous understanding
of how art
is to the artist

What crytocurrency is to the computer.

And there is a spiritual blockchain
that exists.

XII

I then felt the calling of the dawn,
compelling
me
to venture up, above the surface.

My tree had a marvelous window,
which I opened.

Rays of light came from my window
and merged into
the oscillating light of the dawn,
captivated in red gold.

But then…

Windows opened in every other tree.

Each tree was structured like mine.

And I saw very
beautiful people
coming to their windows,

Letting out light,
all of the light contributing to the dawn.

I knew they were educated
and sophisticated people.

Good people.

And I was somehow one of them?

It made me think of what might be possible.

XIII

I entered the music again,
riding the wavelengths
and processing the information.

The channel, with my grandma
reappeared;
I felt waveforms of information:

You must be a psychonaut.

Keep yourself strong and healthy.

Be smart and wise, always.

Maintain your honor, always.

The words, from the frequency,
glimmered in
the interior of my
heart and mind.

XIV

I listened to the music.

I could feel the notes and chords
of the universe,

I could see and understand -

Everything.

There was nothing anyone
could ever do to me
ever
again.

My eyes
became labyrinths
of
my
experience.

My mind
became crystals
of
my
process.

My heart
became solidified
in
it’s
fluidity.

When all they wanted
to do
was
kill me.

Those foolish people of the world.

You see.

We have our own way
and it is a righteous way,
a way,
that is beyond
their understanding.

Foreverthus.

XV

Suddenly
I
saw

A mantis like humanoid figure
on
a
disc shaped UFO,

Operating the craft,

both manually
&
telepathically,

&

I somehow
knew
this
was

Me,

From the future,

but

Time did not exist,
in
the conventional
sense,

but

Relative to
this
string
or
parallel universe,

This was
me,
from the
future.

The emotional/intellectual structure
of
the being
was completely refined.

This ship
was capable
of
going

Anywhere.

XVI

I then listened to the music.

I realized that
I had been listening to the same song.

All of the songs were one.

All of the visions were one.

All of the people in the trees were one.

Everything is the composition of the agnostic monolith.

Each of us is perhaps a whole lot of strange things,
each equal
and
no different from one another

Into

The most strangest of things.

That which you fear is that which you are.

That which you love is that which you are.

And all those stars…

That
is
what
you
are.

























Cipher_O
Written by Cipher_O (Zero_Stillness)
Published
Author's Note
... My account of a trip I took.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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