Memoirs of a God

Discussion in 'LSD - Acid Trips' started by klondike_bar, Mar 22, 2009.

  1. klondike_bar

    klondike_bar Senior Member

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    What is it that I try to create, to display, to be proud of, but cannot?
    Is it big, is it lavish? Should it have a ribbon?

    Why, there’s no need of these, what silly things. Why think words or draw pictures of what must be sung?
    Is it my voice, this thing I seek, this unspoken thing?
    Surely it must not be keep quiet, kept calm.
    But how to create such a thing, to expose my tenders to the stage, to become what was impossible?

    Why, hark, what is this? It cannot be, is that my own voice?
    Oh what a sound, a lovely noise.
    But could such a voice truly be my own?
    What is a voice, but a vice of thought? Needlessly squandered, a simple shame that shall be no more.
    But what is a voice, as unimportant as the space of time to which it belongs, a thing simply of recollection

    No, as a memoire, a voice will not do.
    A turn of phrase, caught in the archives of time, a thing not becoming of my own.
    But surely, if it is not a voice that I seek, what else must lie beyond my grasp?

    Is it another sense that I lack, could it be a desire for touch?
    Yes, it must be touch. Tangible. Memorable. Solid.
    But what must one do to achieve this elation?
    Is it truly a goal fitting of men, or merely a desire, a glimmering stone on the rocky shores?

    So, touch has turned itself against, an unappreciated foe.
    Do I desire sight, to see what does not belong? Or do I merely desire to not see at all?
    Yes, how could it be, these wretched thoughts are all of the visual mind.
    Is it a drug that I seek, a remedy for all my pains?
    Why, surely it is a drug that could fix my mind.
    Such was not so, merely a waking dream. A departure from sanity, if you will.

    Rather, an empty understanding.
    The answers for questions that cannot be asked, and the questions for which answers are beyond.

    Aha! It must be a god the mind craves. A spirit. A deity. A martyr of sorts?
    Surely this God will ask what could not, and emanate knowledge?
    Such a god would require devotion, spirit, a thing that I cannot provide.

    Is that it? Do my insides ache and turn for this? A mere question of spirit?
    Such a thing DOES exist, right here within me.
    All these questions, these fears, these inhibitions?

    Why, all gone, why not?
    Such foolish things shouldn’t, and will not blemish a spirit.
    The spirit is free, divine, and always correct.
    It is within this sense of being that all feelings are without meaning, a place of simplistic glory.

    Within my spirit, there is no voice, no touch, no sight, drugs, or God.



    Within my spirit, all is right.
     
  2. Mr.Writer

    Mr.Writer Senior Member

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  3. klondike_bar

    klondike_bar Senior Member

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    whas written during a "brainstorming" period of a 2-hit lsd trip on saturday. between the above and the original, there are only about 5 grammatical alterations.
     
  4. moosemoose

    moosemoose Member

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    awesome
     

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