from "SEX AND PSYCHEDELICS"

THEN RESURRECTED *

“The Internet stands as the final perversion, inversion, of God, of the Sacred. It is now the invisible all pervading Presence (...). Heaven is Cyberspace, the Creator is the Scientist, the Altar is the Screen, the theology is computer technology, the monks are the nerds and hackers, Holy Writ is the Program, the Priests are the Consultants, Salvation is Being On-Line, and Paradise is the Information Age.”
Yuga An Anatomy of our fate, Marty Glass

I couldn't sleep and after reading about Burroughs’ influence over Terrence McKenna I started thinking of Stewart composing in my head my next facebook update that I would post on his page at noon Dominican time which would be 1pm New York time which would be 7pm his time in London which would be pretty likely for him to be sucked into his SEND CA$H series. I was high simply by reading how wickedly Burroughs hide the origins of inspiration behind the cut up technique from the rest of the literary world.

I was also getting hungry. I kind of new there was nothing left but still run a thorough inspection around the house. The only food I found were mushrooms, almond milk and chai powder, so I made myself mushrooms almond milk chai powder smoothie and opened the door to the balcony to check up on the palms and mango trees. The cups were crushing inside my mouth like kites inside the warm ocean before the hurricane season...I loved the taste and could chew on them endlessly watching trees turning into million of little dragons in their synchronised routine of raising upward and drifting inward while transmitting the message: "Why cannot you see us all the time, it's so hard to get your attention and we are here for your enlightenment." They seemed to be slightly grumpy and needy on occasions, but I didn't really mind, they were exquisitely beautiful, menacing and more trippy than any other trees around.

While conversing with the dragons I was sketching my update inside the waved up grey matter, it read along the lines "I wrote a sex story for you Stewart, my future husband of the future, would you like to read it? It's inside me under "Sex and psychedelics"...as real as the milky way of your come... Baby!" But then I started wondering why we would get married...I already had a green card and an EU passport so I didn't really need to get married unless he would like to move to the US and work in the solar business on the West Coast to pay off our mortgage on the house in Luisina that we could rb&b to the local crocks. Or perhaps he would want to marry for love? But love does not need marriage...Or perhaps he would want to marry for sex as sex before marriage would largely diminished his chances of immortality in the catholic heaven - I made a note that we never discussed religion, at least not directly, from all the indirect conversations I knew that he believed in our love and astral sex more than anything else. But why the marriage...the question popped out when the outer section of the mango tree dragons was spitting frilled lizards. Perhaps, perhaps he was after my money as much as I am after his, or maybe it's to make all the other women want him even more and all the other men admire his genius nursing skills. "Oh you turn me on my talented, only one future of the future of husbands!" I drew again between the waves - "So I wonder, but you must know that as well...All the times I didn't get married when in the final moment I was overwhelmed by the declaration of foreverness, but with you it's different...could you please add me to your wiki page? With you all the things I always wanted seem possible..oh don't stop! Stewart I truly hope you won't be offended by some of my writing...but then if you are you must forgive me for the sake of our love, expanding, regardless, all the imperfections, of our humanity, and the Atlantic between us whether it's your birthday, my most fertile days or St Valentine’s. Please forgive me for all the "but"s as if I learnt English but studying one of the Lichtenstein's paintings which I did. And I know you would not hold it against me but I also know you would want me to read more Shakespeare but you don't even think Shakespeare is that good, it's a bit dated but the drama is decent, but it's exaggerated but it's better than flat. 

My Stewart “Sex and psychedelics” story was not going in the right direction, over-intellectualised, playing with conventions instead of genitals. I was capable of much better and he would agree even though he wouldn't mind it either way. I got naked in front of the mirror, covered myself in coconut oil and this time was trying to silence the references. I took the last sip of the mushroom almond milk chai smoothie and imagined it was his saliva dripping on me - but I couldn't...Again, I started thinking of Jean-Luc Godard, and the reasons why “Le mepris” is so relevant vis-a-vis the national tensions inside the European Union, and also whether people find it pretentious that I talked about films, books or even paintings using their original titles regardless of the language we spoke, and that the language was a virus that attacked Burroughs each time he would overdose on the moment when he shot Joan Vollmer, poor woman married to a wrong guy….I took a cold shower. Water but sperm, shower but cock, Dominican Republic but a giant vagina, sunrise but orgasm...I called it double disassociations technique which would usually help me to focus so it did, and another sexydelicious story juiced out from the vague memories of my life on pychodyliacs.

Burning my feet on the afternoon sand, head safely nested in the Che Guevara cap, skin shining from the coconut pulp, following my daily hypnosis practice I let myself into the trance juggling interchangeable notions of quantum theory, quantum vacuum, zero point field, cosmic plenum....Men of science made me laugh, each one would pursue ambitious project of introducing its own linguistic nomenclature for the same theory, like the kids in school screaming for attention, me, I, me the smartest of the smart ones. I was picturing Bohm and Einstein sitting in the first row by Planck, Born and Jordan, then Heisenberg, Casimir, Lamb and Retherford followed by Dirac, my favourite little French boy next to Pauli, Weisskopf, Yukawa, Wheeler and Heim, and at the back Yang, Mills, Higgs, Goldstone, Sinha, Sudarshan, and Vigier, all sitting in the same classroom as 7 year olds. I found them adorable but instantly realized it was an all boy school and I was a hard on feminist on the mission of revolutionizing the modern politics with the raise of my militant movement International Party for Proportional Representation where the gender and races would be equally represented throughout the inter-governmental organisations, boards of directors, national governments (while at the same time I was against national borders but that could wait another decade) and especially bastions of patriarchal knowledge breeding male geniuses through a wicked socialization that turned a half of the society into Barbied wasteland. What happened to all the girls? I simply decided to plunk them in since it was a day of the annual classroom photograph and I didn’t want to look like an old lady hanging out only with underaged boys, although in the Dominican Republic it was fully acceptable sexual predatory behaviour but I was not going to play by the rules. Once a rebel forever a rebel! First I added 9 year old Maria Sklodowska (before Curie, and slightly older than the boys so she could easily defend herself when it came to daily fights over the lab equipment), dressed in national folkloric Polish outfit with a scorpio in her pocket and a poisonous snake following her everywhere, then I multiplied her 10 times each time changing her folk costume to represent a different Polish region, and also altering the colour and the pattern of the snake. Boom! Explosion of the photographic flash nearly caused a fire but the moment became history with me standing in the middle of my smart ass class of future nobel prizes laureates with Maria getting hers multiple times as designed by the string theory and the nature of the multiverses. An annoying thought dragged through me that the contributions of my little boys to our lives would eventually lead to the collapse of the human civilisation led by the men who in their thirst for power subdued the women and the Earth fucking up all of us in the final orgy of methane balls flying from their throbbing cocks, in the last blast of the patriarchal suppremacy, but then I really tired not to focus on anything negative so I dismissed the impertinent vision of demise of our world and went to the local bar by the kite beach. Passing by the table of six fit guys in their late 30s, casually talking about the wind conditions in their exquisite French...I already anticipated our first conversation, but it was not meant to happen yet. I headed straight into the bathroom pulled out a vial of potion from a compartment of my bikini top where instead of push ups I kept a top quality LDS dissolved in the water so I could apply them straight to my eyes. I dropped a hit to the left iris but when I tried to do the same with the right one someone pushed the door trying to enter. Since I forgot to turn the lock the wooden frame hit the back of my head so instead of getting one hit of acid I lost control over the bottle and poured most of the content into my eyeball. Screaming like a wounded tigress in anticipation of my long long trip I rubbed the right eye. A tiny black local girl with a silver pendant around her neck saying “Maria” who didn’t seem strong enough to cause such torment apologetically looked back at me then run away. Most likely one of the many child prostitutes that filled the beaches and the local bars leading a low vibrational existence possessed by entities who in turn tried to possessed their customers (more about it in the next chapter). I was clearly in the wrong loo with a wrong 6 year old child whore. I had 30 minutes to organise an effective survival plan.

(...)

EMAIL ME TO PREORDER YOUR COPY - jana.astanov@gmail.com 

(...)

When I woke up on the shore of the Caribbean paradise in a spotlight of the moon my body was still translucent slowly detaching itself from the crystalline form of the plenum. It was the full moon of 2nd of June with the Sun in Gemini and Moon in Aquarius. My masculinity announced itself with the Martian energies of twins taking forms of multiple male phantoms, the taste of Uranus was the closed to the liquid acid. My summer of love has just began but I was really hoping for a revolution and the ultimate victory of my International Party for Proportional Representation with its #SENDLOVE quantum agenda!

*Reference to the catholic prayer residing amongst my first memories of the first language, not heard in English therefore it must be studied so the rhythm could be sensed and the convention played / convention / I mean religion / I mean the language / I mean God / God is a Woman / I mean / the language of the God/ the Goddess/ who is myself / who does not need the language to call the divine into existence / the referentiality of divine throughout my existence / I mean.

** If you did not appreciate seeing your name in this story please get in touch with my council witoldgombrowicz@gmail.com, he will respond with quotations from “Pornography”.

Nosotros

Translating from one to another, translumination
Rozswitlenie...term that can be comprehended only in Polish but Peter Brook was persistent enough to bring it into the English language, ave theater!

The language as a fork that serves you when you are hungry unless you forget yourself and use your fingers, the language as collaborations of sounds

Tools of the mind, ways of seeing, there is a melody that fits into the whisper of the Caribbean sea, expressed through the transient verbs of one of the ancient languages of the earth, the human earth

If the people of the land you occupy speak Spanish why not to write the poetry of palabras nativas
del país de coco y cacao de la mar y de la mar

If the people you meet speak French why not to disintegrate a la Foucault soit Derrida
raising on the back of the kite surfing champion that is willing to give a ride because you are a woman,
ave women!

Drink from the land, their strong spirits, their religion of the Bible that is afraid of your hypnotic trance but not afraid enough to stop you

Dance baila merengue, bachata, reggaeton y salsa,
ave la baila!

I’m my beach palace squatted only a few days ago
I live through all the revolutions of the cosmic plenum
tale the tale of connection
between the people of the earth
ocean raising waves the night sky sand washed by the wishful of good
like me
the solitary priestess walking towards the new moon

 

From "SEX AND PSYCHEDELICS"

Bells Of Desire 

Remembering how it happened, simple and pure....Crystalline form amplified by tryptamine, or perhaps tryptamine enhanced by desire....No longer in control of my body, led by the instinct....I wasn’t ready to admit it as if it meant sudden death....Recurring thought of being betrayed by my own body cocooned inside...Sudden silence with the first touch....I didn't need to fantasize.... I was turned on by him taking off my clothes and taking off his clothes.... I asked how he would like to have me.... I lied on my back with breasts raising, with lips raising, eyes asking for him... I was the true wanting...In his gentle confident way he moved above me, held my head then pushed my legs high up giving me the third orgasm… I kept diving into his mouth deeper and wider, tip of my tongue touching the radiance, stone figurines of Mayan birds and lizards forming lines of extended patterns resonating in waves, waves of hued sounds...My tongue swirled inside the rocky landscape, linked to the edges by lacy web of colour...pulsating radiance, enhanced, transcending in multiples of  single boat like eyes...descending from beyond... crawling in between the lip layers... blinking in ecstasy....Slowly inside the female form drowned in him... inside myself that will never have enough...Geometry of infinite, with legs pushed to the sides, raising the hips, beginning for more, my boy, my man, my blind bold wanting for his sperm shaped like the Psilocybin bell caps...

Once I arched underneath him he pushed through the throat of vagina stroking every nerve inside...raising the moans until I screamed grasping for the last breath, again and again... I felt his penis pulsating with a milliard of molecular semilanceatas turned into a juicy foam: "Please give me some" I whispered into his ear licking the edges, my mouth wide open letting the deepest darkest sounds out. Carnal pleasure, destiny of the human race: "Fuck me baby, come inside" I didn't dare to say but whispered into the catcher that spread through me each time I closed my eyes. Hallucinating with kaleidoscopic droplets waves particles bouncing inside my head, turned towards eternity, observed by Ganesha's single eye levitating between our bodies. I will be his for the rest of the time. As he is mine in the final blast, promise of immortality through the ultimate vision of love beyond fear. I laughed playfully when he finally rested in my arms, then disappeared. I was left cascading through the wet heat.

Drifting...I was a woman without the boundaries...I was...Without the boundaries...A woman. I said. 

“Yes” - his but myself. Delightfully pleased. He took my hand and led me to bed with my eyes closed I could sense his skin. I could smell him, the smell of his, the seductive potion that drew me towards, I was curious enough, aroused, enchanted, relaxed, at home, when he was in me. Simple as desire, love that does not need to be justified. Getting higher I fall on the cushions as if I was resting on a cloud, heavenly, he wrapped his arms around me, dipped the teeth in my neck and whispered "Kocham Cie". By the bedside I noticed a couple of stems with a small nipple-like protrusion on the top, I licked them and pulled inside me, chewed and passed one of them into his mouth whispering “Me too.”

Antidivine

Anti-divine self-love

Projecting confusion into another 
With boundaries
Without the boundaries
With love
With confusion

Because I'm not you
Because I don't understand
Why I cannot be

Temple of self
Temple of another

I need to hide you in your imperfection
Hide you from myself
From the world

Even though you could exist
I don't want you
Until you dissolve in me
Without resistance
Trepidation

Agony of yours
That does not want to follow
You must
Stay silent
While I project
To explain
My falls my treasons my anti divines

Unexpected undefined
metaphors
Extracts of experiences
Flashes from

To touch the source the meaning 
through dance repetitive movement
free movement
Free and repetitive

From the soul that comes from the spirit
in flesh in flashes of material
Lifting the dualism
in a gesture of antidive godlike female human

ontological happenings of me
Mirrored in perception
By the list of personal pronouns

Me as long as you
You through her
Her inside of me
You with her

I gather pieces of being
inside the body vastness
extending
like a fabric of THIS

Sudden understanding
that my personal matters
that the words I let through
are whispers
heard by the divine in me
by the universe

Connection

In the Now
in this moment

you are
in
ever present
evolving stillness
connection creativity

inside the quantum logic
where you are
simply eternally
in the Now

I invite you to be present
I invite you to the eternal
I invite all the particles of your body
your mind
your creation
to join, to become, to transform, to belong,
to follow
the highest intention of the universal force
that brought you into this moment
into the presence

connected
from peacefulness within
in trans

follow
on a journey of creation with every sound, every vibration,
the particles of the cosmic play
in flights of intense visions, fragrances of the paradise
whatever is happening is for your good, do not be afraid, do not worry,
the presence brings the realisation
float
whatever is happening let it run its course
you are being purified from the past
in the present moment
in the now

surrender
to the unconscious
that holds all within

experience the silence
and the peace of your own being
transforming your life
connected

Dreams Make Time

The soundless creation bell announces. The truth, smooth realisation, the spirits of unknown, reemerging chorus in each crescent of nowness. The demiurge in me awaken through an act of rebirth above what was and furthering. Boiling quantum, god particles entering my mind like a giant throbbing cock ready to penetrate.

The church of wow, mother fuckers, addicts of dreams not yet synthesised!

My one of a kind experience, just one of it all is enough to never look back to the futress. Everything, everywhere in evernow moulds to become like waves. In creation, life, its purest crystal connecting the perfection of cycles in divinity, ontological, synchronised, the true potential of the goddess matter.

If I die

If I die of love...
cover my grave
in lunatic confessions
of gods and goddesses
lovers.

If I cry for love...
tell me the most exalting
hasn't been in town yet
that art survives any heartache
that trance takes further
into shamanic
unknown
to human yearning for pleasure
just pleasure.

If I somber from love...
purr the rainbow bubbles over the veil
take me for a jaunt
to reenact the acid scene from Easy Rider
shower me in paper planes
in butterflies of erotica
from across the centuries
of love writing
of lovemaking
of petites morts
from our incarnations
praised by the poets!

 

The Slow Disappearance of a Vagabond

the slow disappearance of our love
started when we met

I didn't have any other expectations
than to be yours
just for you
in the desert dust
cold uranian liquid

in chapter two
I rented a hotel room
across the fashion street
lit New York set

you took me over in through
together with
teenage wannabe actress ex
a rat
and a local gangster

I thought it was just a joke
temporary tedious

you wanted me to stay
you wanted us
more than me

locked

in expectations
in wanting
in dreams we dreamed separately
in each other

erased from

Chelsea hotel
Bowery
Lower East Side
the theatre billboard
announcing
the sadness
of me as a vagabond
clown socialite  
trophy wife
eastern european
slut candy

suck on my shining
cat like shark jaws

your hate letters serve me well
I am the black queen
the femme fatale
of the Upper East Side
where I moved to wear expensive words
published by letterists international

one by one
A for B in self
B for C in others
C for D in mankind
D for everything else

Traces

Covered in paint
traces
I woke up inside Paris
my silhouette made a stencil
In fresh snow
puffed up
with large droplets of
rain

He just needed to hold me

I woke up late
after night of drinking light acrylic
watered with white wine
with lips
painted oil gold tripping

I did
I reached the heights
inside the city lit night
infinity deconstructed

in action
I went deeper
in rage
of blue and red
the childish self
experiencing
stained
by all the beliefs for nothing
in coloured memoir

Heavenly hellish
in cold bloody pattern
in violent strokes
in slaps
obsessive

With large droplets of black dissolving the skin
I made myself hungry

Pushing
through
to never satisfy

When he holds me
I want nothing more than to posses
the only eternity I didn't enslave in my paintings

 

Become

I wake up dreaming
in a dream I made of you

free
as declaration of independence

another little star on the sheets
accidentally made through the night
from pink paint
I couldn’t wash out

I try to take it backwards
make a print from the sheets onto my finger
carry it inside so it grows

the spiky arms make their way out
turning the female shape into the female star

would you want me then

or rather
take from politely arranged
mandalas
in what life should be
swirls of fifty dancing

in bed patched from otherness
national flags of mine

I wake up dreaming
of sugary sticky star shaped
kissing

you plant inside

a hungry doll I become
in a dream I make of you

 

Free

I wake up dreaming. In a dream I made of you. Free as declaration of independence. Free from you in a dream I wake up from. Made of you. Free as declaration in a dream I’m dreaming, I wake up made of you. Free from you. In a dream of independence that dreams. Free. From.

Dirty

I am sorry I cannot stay
I am too afraid of being attached

I am too afraid of your friends
family town nationality occupation ambitions

I am afraid of your complexes
the ways you deal with them
I am afraid of your declarations
your hopes
the way you trap me

promising
luring
like any man

I am afraid to believe you
to love you
to give you another page

I am afraid of myself being with you
bored jealous rejected
set aside for art
set aside for free women
once you enslave me

I wasn’t afraid of your touch
we were lovers for three days

I wasn’t afraid of your voice

until you called me
a dirty slut
of a man
who
was my husband
is
swearing at me
in public

extroverted bitchy whore

 

Home

he showed her home
burning

inside there were three kids
looking like their charcoaled halfs

and a dog
howling

in agony over words

Hypnosis

what to become
knowing she is not  

slowly
poisoned

she has
she must

enough to hypnotise
become her own lover
gentle

one two three
deeper deeper into

just her

 

Hopeful

I can suspend the past
find access

in the multiverse
that reasserts my being
absolute and eternal

the sound of your voice
your presence
the warmth of other human
you with a name

even as a mere promise

what if
there is only a mere promise
nothing to hold on to
even when
I desperately look for it
even more

which I do
illusion of love and belonging
as a saviour from the illusion of pain
and solitude

too fearful to accept
that the cosmos is perfect

clumsily
gravitating towards unconditioned presence
of trepidation

Said

you said
you would love me for another
week
he said

waking up
excited for my camera
naked
ready to capture
flowers in hands of a man easily taken
for the young Baudelaire

I was in love with a painter
I was in trans with
I was looking for a poet

I was in bed with

I used to know
as children
him
more angelic
me
as playful as naive
he remembered I kissed him
I remembered his face
nothing else

I was possessed by a man
nothing more
I was I was made to be
made of
I he was
in love with a painter
when
I was looking
for
a poet

in myself we were
in the middle of Atlantic
following large flagship model
on a little boat

reconstructed
from XVII century

by the Spanish coast
we swam

entering
Mediterranean through Gibraltar

he said
you were hard to find
everywhere

you said
you would love me

you said
you would love me for another
week
he said

 

Rainbow

I travel in the dark
where you don't know about the rainbow

music carries me
cocoon wrap of his body

he doesn't let me sleep
inside the kissing tunnel
I forgot your name

dark firm on the edges his lips
not yours I don't remember your name
I tried but there was the darkness of the kissing tunnel
like tornado through the letters sounds of you

I stopped thinking dying for you
hurting myself with the memories
explaining us
when I'm in that tunnel of his lips not yours

I have many lovers
called men
I don't need to remember their names
there are men lovers
made from flesh
in endlessness
of my love

for being
blissfully  

 

Veins

sometimes just the sky
then the heartbreak

sometimes full moon painting
then the loss of my favourite
pink pale dress

sharp beauty
episodes tracks
my calling
hints of suffering
hard to skip

I write poetry
that maybe a few people read

curious wicked

hungry to know if I am still alive
and how much heroine is in my vain

 

Snowless Poland

It's too cold to type
I dictate to my iPhone
Soon dead

It's cold but not clear
My speech is frosty
Scabby mix of many years
Piled in unnameable feelings

Towards the country I was born in

Yesterday I was defeated
Today I'm uncomfortable

Dmt kicked in this morning
Taking me through the portal
Marked on the cover
of Chinese tennis racket
The letters radiated of meaning
I no longer understand
Leaving me in remorse
I didn't learn Cantonese
When I lived in Hong Kong

I was always from somewhere else
But I was from here
Neglecting whispers of my language
Now seeking simple words to describe
Take away cup
Electric socket
Lifting

The shame my fluency is murky
Like an effort to understand
Snowless winter

I'm a refugee
From the land
Occupied by the foreigners

I'm a refugee
In the remix of neons
In German French English
Offsprings of eurotrans
From the last economic battle of the XX century

We lost

Clouds

I decided to stay
the size of your cock
grounds me

one more day
between heavens and new york

you take me to the beach
to race with clouds of amagansett
I feed you
dark chocolate ginger coated in the sand

you ask to retell
everything
you are more patient than my lawyers
more human than my shrinks

but
I don't want to talk
I can cry
I can fuck
so you keep the lights on
pouring dreams
into my eyes

male savage nature

as if pleasure wasn't enough
as if giving me your hopes
could save you from the solitude

could save me