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A psychedelic minute...

Check out this poem by someone in our community: 

A psychedelic minute...

reverberates in my ears.. 
Like the fabled White Rabbit, 
a slave to my watch,
a devise to measure a man made idea. 
In one minute I,
the purveyor of the psychedelic rabbit hole, 
in true shamanistic style, 
will blast off 
by way of L.S.D.
Ever on the quest 
of who's more "gangster" 
(wifey having done 10 hits the previous night) 
this "Red eyed rider of the astral planes" 
knows knows
that I fucked up.
"20 hits,
Might've been too much." 
Thinks I... 
Totally unprepared for the journey
upon which I am about to embark.. 

"TICK TICK TICK!!!", obnoxiously the clock screams.. 
Ten minutes prior to me dosing... 
As I look to the wall clock, 
of which, 
I am now enslaved 
-for I am a time watcher-
I come to a gross realization 
that this 
-strong enough mind for mind expansion-
stoner son of a hippie, 
might've taken too much... 
Palms sweat, 
to make damp, 
that which is normally dry.. 
Ears ringing, 
My stomach developed the, 
wrenching of anxiety induced, 
"OH SHIT!!!"
"Surely the clock isn't melting already"
I think 
through confused fog.. 
Ten minutes after dosing, 
the overwhelming .
"I fucked up" washes over me... 

"TICK TICK TICK!!!" the clock's metronome annoyance... 
focused tunnel vision. 
Glued to the 
(drug induced, 'not-so-normal') 
shackles of clock.. 
(for surely we are all slaves of time) 
Hour hand, 
minute hand, 
and second hand.. 
Swirled and melted, 
a mending with kaleidoscopic graphics, 
in intense visual orgasm, 
barely able to make out 
that it is midnight.. 
on the dot.. 

The timepiece's song sings.. 
"SHUT THE FUCK UP!!" my mind screams.. 
As the second hand revolves 
around the rim 
of this now melting...
This "White Rabbit" incarnate 
peers on... 
in a curious 
Riddled with 
an ever increasing, 
candid apprehension as, 
the psychedelics 
run her course...
the second hand 
(now longer, 
than the clock is wide) 
traverses the rough terrain 
of perpetual travel 
and lands on the half way point, 
the VI... 
The depictions illustrated 
by the L.S.D. 
paint a picture in which, 
the melting clock is the focal point..

"Seconds of my life melted away, in wonton fashion", 
I think as I'm overcome.. 
As a story 
of epic proportions manifests, 
behind this 
melting metronome, 
my eyes remain glued, 
as though skin 
to our circulatory system.. 
The second hand swirling, 
With colors... 
And liquid emotion, 
as behind it, 
A picture appears deep, 
within it's wake.. 
Hovered precariously 
atop the IX... 
thoughts race.. 
"That's definitely not natural." 
"This isn't right." 
"Something is wrong." 
scroll across the wall 
like the earnings across wall street. 
"In nasdaq today, gold futures are up, and YOU'RE FUCKED UP!!!" 

As the seconds melt away, 
in an absolutely, 
literal manner, 
the clock blends, 
fluidly into the 
Psychedelic Oddyssey 
portrayed upon the wall and.. 
I'm overcome by insanity.. 

"What's happening to me?" 
Fear induced thought fragments, 
Right as the sweep hand of this 
"timepiece instrument of bondage" 
renders it's first 
full revolution since gazing, 
transfixed on it, 
This White Rabbit 
receives to his ass, 
with the force of a freight train, 
A boot.. 
(the boot worn by the secrets of the universe) 
which launched this hare, 
down the rabbit hole 
of equilibrium,
into my life altering
astral projection... 
The very last thing this 
Connoisseur of Questions Un-known, 
before receiving ego death, 
(the instrument of my reform) 
is the second hand, 
devoid of motion 
above the XII... 
Time stops... 
I was flung into the void.. 
Starting my first... 
and last astral projection... 
ever incurred..

- Intricate B

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