July 2006



Green flesh, some say ‘Flesh OF The Gods’.  I like to think of open cellular structure that bursts with growth under the hot summer sun soaking into their clump of think hardy roots a tasty treat of some stinky fish emulsion.  Traveling up into the wooden core the organic lunch diffuse into the green columnar growth soaking into the pores of natures beauty.  The Keeper of the Keys to Heaven, succulent-sucka-tasha.  Their frosty blue tones of their buddies P. Torches. light the path of darkness with a diffused glow make me dream of cacti-on-the-cob [cannabutter please, hold the salt].  A midsummers evening with a purple fading to dark blue sunset as behind the clouds sun beams [God Rays] stream thru the bulbous, rolling clouds shimmering into the atmosphere in one of those ‘God, it cant get much better than this’ moments. Laying on the side of a grassy knoll Jimmy’s sight takes on the likes of wearing stain glass contacts, the rich breathing glass in brilliant shades spark thoughts of the art projects as one after another fly thru his enlightened cerebral cortex, images of crystal wands framing together a wide range of colored and textured glass, sealed together with pure copper wire.

Jimmy did once create in his youthful spiritual focused early teenage years as strange contraption he saw when awakening from a dream.  He had three bowling ball size quartz crystal that he laid them out in a equilateral triangle fashion close to 300 yards between each vertice of the angle.  Than he dug a foot or two in the ground attaching a 3/8 inch copper wire wound around each clump of quartz, and continued to lay the copperwire under ground about a spade shovel’s length [8 inch or so].  Taking much time to perfect absolute correct angles as best as possible the dream contraption laid underground with the center point being Jimmy’s bedroom.  Those were the days when Jimmy was MUCH more in touch with the Way of the Light and experienced some mind blowing deep meditations while leaving his body but still connected to his body by the golden umbilical cord.  The land of the mind, traversing or even believing in that world is quite the problem with the world today.  It was a time of strange lights in the sky. [think Jimmy’s crazy yet, ha?]

This quote is from someone who had been injected with .2 gm of the sulfate of
mescaline under the care of physicians:
[kinda crazy eh’ – those damn clear-the-cob-webs-out day for that guy]

A steel veil the meshes of which are constantly changing in size and form…beads in different colors…red, brownish, and violet threads running together in center…gold rain falling vertically… regular and irregular forms in iridescent colors resembling shells and sea urchins… transparent oriental rugs, but infinitely small…wallpaper designs…countless rugs with such magnificent hues and such singular brilliancy that I cannot even imagine them now…cobweb like figures or concentric circles and squares…the pyramid of the tower of a Gothic dome… architectural forms, buttresses, rosettes, leafwork, fretwork, and circular patterns…modern cubistic patterns…gammadia forms from the points of which radiate innumerable lines in the forms of screws and spirals, in flashes and calm curves, a kaleidoscopic play of ornaments, patterns, crystals and prisms which creates the impression of a never-ending uniformity…hexagonal small honeycombs hung down from the ceiling…incessant play of filigreed colors… in the face of ‘Dr. B’ I saw a lattice of yellow-greenish horizontal stripes changing into a lattice work which soon took the place of his own being than the doctors than the room, all was one and all is one. 

A sliver in the theory of a universal conscious, yet a sliver that shines as bright as a large piece of Mica in the noon days sun.  The dreams that have not awoken to some will hopefully do so in do time as Jimmy is a firm believer in Fate and the blueprint of his life is laid out in a optical illusion with so many different roads that will eventually led him to the same place.  Eternal Life of the soul, yeah he might have some training to do in the classrooms of Heaven but thats all part of life dude.  Close your mind to it if you wish but missing out on eternal self knowledge for champaign wishes and caviar dreams is your choice and yours alone.  So let those mind forceps of natural plants, herbs, cacti, roots, barks, and earth elements who’s use can be dated back to 2200 B.C. to bring on altered states.  Care for a magic carpet ride on the mind induced visuals of ancient oriental rug designs prismatic rainbow lighting bugs swirling thru your mind like a picture taken with a camera taken with the shutter left open for an extended period of time.  Words are just lines formed into symbols that have definitions, what if that alphabet was three dimensional and were orbiting with liquified air, ripple’n thru…

There is a road, no simple highway,
Between the dawn and the dark of night,
And if you go no one may follow,
That path is for your steps alone…

[Lame I know, rip me up with your comments concerning I have nothing better to do, kinda makes me laugh]

Seedless 🙂


If you don’t like what you are doing you can always pick up your needle and move to a different groove.  /*%@/  There are three side effects of acid: enhanced long-term memory, decreased short-term memory, and I forget the third.
-Timothy Leary


The squawk of the Mocking Bird…
The scream of the dopefiend…

Echo off the shadowed 4-story alleyway, ricocheting of the irregular brick walls like beads of sweat playing pinball on a dope-sick persons goosebumps.  Freezing cold in the mid-summers heat, his puke is nothing but dry heaves.

The scream of the Cocaine base as it is acidified by the simple squeeze of a lemon slice.  The lemon screams as its cellular walls get shushed and pulverized.  It’s tears drip into the container of pulverized crack.  The slight fizz of the left over baking soda quickly disappears as the yellow rock slivers are smashed with the back of a 4 day old plunger, its needle tip dull as a butter knife.  It doesn’t matter, it doesnt’t matter, it doesn’t matter.  The point of the needle pops thru the skin with a little force.  The heart-fluttering rush hits fast and hard, deaf for a handfull of seconds as the audio hallucinations rip thru his amped up body.  Quit looking out the back window there is NOT a cop three cars back in the left lane.  The warmth of the heroin starts to spread in his lungs easing his tweakiness.

A rocks throw away the screams of a teenage junkie in baby withdrawal.  Her 3 bag a day habit she prays to god she will never touch the stuff if he will just make her feel better.  Her reddened face and eyes with large pupils stream with moisture as she repeatedly hits her legs with a close fist.  Begging for relief, yet swearing off ‘THE DRUG’. 

Sorry baby, no valium, xanax or benzodiazapines are going to help you much now.  You can smell it on the breeze…her dopesick stench sniffing out the smell of vinegary white flakes.  No snow in the atmosphere tonight, its summer time.  Summer dopesick blues, the tale long and old.  Older than the 1940 yr. old bottle of morphine sulphate with its yellowing label I have ontop of my desk.  Just $10 fucking dollars is that to much to ask, jesus f’n christ.  She screams at her perplexed Mother, begging god to take the pain away.  Decisionless? Hopeless? or just a junky robot?

7am the next morning she is puking out the passenger seat door as she waits at the dope spot for the dealer to hurry the fuck up and grab his jab of dope which is wrapped up in an old piece of newspaper and thrown on the ground to blend into the rundown neighborhood’s surroundings.  She cant wait to fix a shot she sniffs a bag straight out of the foil, no tube, her nose is slightly powdered with an offwhite heroin.  She leans back in the seat and thanks God…   ?

The screams of the juvenile junky gets lost on the sounds of the city streets.  The silent sounds of a dying breed gets tapped out of the wax paper fold stamped ‘Doesn’t No Better’.  The sound of the sea, is poured out of the brown bag “Thunderbird’ wetting the parched lips of the alcoholic who has been pacing infront of the liquor store waiting for it to open at 8am.  As the millionaire is wasted off cheap wine by noon.  Wash away her thoughts with each guzzle just as the waves wash/erode the beautiful beach as the tide goes out.  Out to sea with no life-vest, living for death.  Addicted to the thrill of living each day on the edge of a razor blade.  One slip ahh shit jail, fuck it.  Two slips ahh just another OD. The third slip you might be found as blue as the blues of the deep ocean.

Screams of the depleted ones, voices of the inner mind, ‘Why ME?’ What did I do to deserve THIS?  Nothing says the 6 or 7 yr old black baby boy.  My moma was a basehead, my father got into a gunfight and has been in jail since I dont remember.  My Ma was passed out on the couch with a cigarette smoldering in between her fingers one day when I stubbed the cig but out in the ash tray there it was a blackened glass tube.  I knew what to do, as I watched her light that pipe every 15 minutes and than be digging in the carpet.  I picked up that pipe myself, I am a product of my environment.  I could say, or I am a product of the disease.

Decay – goes the teeth of the longterm junky.  The gritty tiny pieces of enamel crunching between his rotting teeth.  Rotten to the core.  Lowlife screams loud.  Gimme all your fucking money or I’ll slice every last one of ya.  The twenty-something child watches the robbery scene getting played out from behind his tinted windows as he prepares a speedball that would make and rollercoaster ride scream.  Insanity screams louder.  As the ‘Unknowns’ zip the suitcases, packed tight with wads of money.

Dirty money, the powder that lies money, dirty mind, dirty mind, dirty hands, and dirty cottonballs laying on some dopefiends table in a film canister, scattered pilllz, ill bitten nails trying to claw thru unthinkable old stash spots, wishing on a dream.  A rush of contentment, dream on as your fingers feel nothing but pocket fuzz.

Dopefiend squawks the mocking bird as it watches perched on the telephone wire.  A flap of his wings and he is soon to land on a fire-escape outstretch, a child with no breakfast is eating crayons he stole from school.  His mother has been gone for 2 days now.  The smell of soured milk fills the room.  The Mocking Birds eye rotates and evaluates the scene procuring a metaphysical happening for later that day for that child.  The wise old Mocking Bird flaps its wings monitoring behind him, underneath him, and preciously infront of him.  The power to see ahead, the knowledge not to repeat an ill decision.

Whiskey and colored pills
Life time vacations and 9-5’ers.
Riding the HORSE bareback, no reigns to hold on.
Time will tell the story, the story of the broken record,
Was it this for this my life I sought?
Maybee so… Maybee Not…

The smoke hangs low, the brady sifters sway. The fingers are tapping, the hips are swaying.  The lights are dim as the bartender watches the act and wipes down his bar…

‘Sweet dreams till sunbeams find you
Sweet dreams that leave all worries behind you
But in your dreams whatever they be
Dream a little dream of me’

…The raspy, resounding voice filling the room.  A night many wish would never end.  Louey bows and walks off stage, cases his guitar and heads for the washroom.  Tapping his inner arm a vein bulges.  Out back the bus boy lights a joint on his break at the end of the night as the crowd still mills around the lounge, sloppily guzzling their liquor and imaging the sex they will be having shortly. 

The sunlight starting to round the edge of the globe of earth [Starfleet to scoutship, please give your position, Over. I’m in orbit around the third planet from the star called the sun. Over. You mean its the earth? Over. Positive. It is known to have some form of intelligent species. Over. I think we should take a look]. This is the Return of the Space Cowboy, Inter-planetary, good vibe zone, At the speed of cheebah, We`ll go deeper, Maybe I’m gonna have to get high just to get by?  A man with psychedelic picture frames, Of happiness to shade.

Just a large stone in the galaxy, such a short time to live this live.  Why let the blackened side of the ying fill your soul, yang that back to the ‘fallen ones’ the soul smooth as glass uncluttered with trash.  Young naked ass cheeks begging to be slapped.  I wish I understood those I cant understand, their thinking so benign to me.  Lay in your bed this evening and relax, try to clear your head of it’s endless chatter.  Forget what you forgot and remember what you will find out.  Down the rabbit hole and thru the keyhole, come join me soul smooth as glass.  A milky, swirly, baby-blue glass we can take a trip.  A magical trip, thru the cable wires and meet me at the train station, You can absorb me/it into your bodily tissue.  Forsure you will smile, an innocent smile.  My milky, swirly, baby-blue glass is starting to breathe.  Joo feeling ok?  Ahh trust me joo will be feeling much better if you let go.  My spaceship is around the corner, filled with stupid mistakes I wish I didnt make.  Call me a buckethead, but organic mescaline crystals will surely make your eyes widen, just as it would make your thought process widen also.  I miss you and how little I even know of you, let alone you even knowing I think of you.  Wishing you sunbeam feelings and rainbow dreams.  I wish I could be more civil at times.  I wish some people wouldn’t harm themselves.  I wish these 3 tabs of valium 10’s, two bars of xanax, one and a half k-pins [2’s], and 20 mg of a GABA manipulator [am-be-in] would dissolve a bit more quickly.  I wish alot of things I wish to be happy, so I am happy ALOT these days but its time to wish for something else [Besides others happiness, world peace, for people to open their minds, for others in general] its time to wish something for myself.  I can be so selfish in my physical state [pretty much only when I was using, but we all have our days] but yet so selfless in my tiered mental state [Hows that for being a braggart, prep school hippy or hip school preppy?] ;).  I wish this isn’t who it would be if it wasn’t who it is.  Do you know who it is? Or rather than calling a physical living soul an ‘it’, do you know who you are?  ^

Fate, I can sometimes hate the turns in the road it causes for me, but just goes to show you never know.  I didn’t let that Deal go down. Why? First line of the second stanza on the Grateful Dead’s song, Deal.  I wished I still talked to you, as I rarely feel that comfortable around someone.  I guess I’ll have to let the force, principle, or power that predetermines events.  The inevitable events predestined by this force.  Is it inevitable?  I will just have to see.  As the streets are crowded and you usually only get one chance but perhaps that chance will one day led to you slip-and-sliding on my milky, swirly, baby-blue glass of a soul as it starts to breath is that real or make believe am I seeing things or is that just the way the light is hitting the glass jar.

I am rambling and getting out their a bit to far, but its matters not as I can write what I wanna write and spell how I want to spell.  I dont have to be told that their is two C’s than an ‘E’ or there is a hyphen that comes inbetween the C and the B, before the greek roman numeral II, or that what I have is what ever you would need.  Because I am different than before that milky, swirly, baby-blue glass of a soul rotated on its pivot point I am completely level because moving warm liquid, flowing blowing glass.  I can be shattered in to a million little pieces and melted back into a flat piece of art glass.  Who knows a part of me might be in that hippy’d out pipe your smoking outta.  Or that fragment of an old Coca~Cola bottle sitting on the bed of Lake Michigan from 3 decades ago, or a piece of that light reflected off skyscraper window that catches your eye, or a glass tube in some chemistry apparatus venting all built up fumes, or a piece of glass in a single flower [bloom’s] vase that might be in your hands somewhere down the space time continuum but as we all know Science is just a metaphor, Right?



Fear not the seedless cat is still creeping, spray painted, matted hair, he slides from behind his perch above a garbage dumpster, the air slick with grease.  The intoxication can be felt in the air.  I am reminded of fruit-stripe gum and and the colorful wrappers that end up a green blob that gets stuck on the bottom of a two tone [blue on white], Friday afternoon yacht, slip on casual shoe.

“Stay away from brown, which is just not versatile,” adds Solomon, echoing Frank Zappa’s classic admonishment: brown shoes don’t make it. “Otherwise, if you have great belts to go with your shoes in all these colors, you’ve increased your wardrobe multifold.” As others have said dont eat the yellow snow.

The sun angled around the corner shining the light into the cartoon-like cat named, Seedless’s eye.  The glimer is just a design of the the 3 dimenison encription that floats in the air a dream of a fetus in tropical colors that you would blend in like a grain of sand in the ‘old’ Area 51.

All is well, I am doing g-g-g-great.  Clean and sober for 6’ish months!!!  More coming soon had some computer problems.  Damn punks get a life let some random kid type his spark of a imagination on illusionary onion paper. 

Out here we are stoned immaculate.

Peace [of mind]


Bored, sitting around, summertime at a friends house thinking about going computer shopping.  Hada low-key4th of July, relaxing just rode my bike down to the fireworks, Kaboom, KaBloom.  Had somecool new fireworks I havent seen in before, the crowds sucked as usual.  Life has been nothing but good lately, sober off all illicit drugs and ALCOHOL for 6 month’ish now and it feels great.  I think this time I might stay sober for good, the mental aspect has NEVER been this strong, using, drink, etc. almost makes me sick to my stomach.  Albeit I have to get off my prescribed meds but thats a Whole different ballgame, I can rationalize it and say that I actually need them but they are just a bandaid and I am only fooling myself.  Being completely honest with yourself is a hard thing to do.  Things are slowly falling into place, and who knows where this wild world will lead me next.  I will tell you that it wont lead me to another boring post about my life.  I am WAY overdue on going back to my wack out the moon jumped over the blue moon and landed on the yellow grass typa-posts.  I doubt I’ll get a new computer today as I havent decided on which laptop I want or if I want to build my own from scratch or rather my friend build it for me.  But I think I will pick up some kinda computer gizmo so if the fucking hackers aren’t attacking my computer I will post some decent posts.  As I am sure you are all sick of hearing about yadda, yadda, yadda, I am semi-clean and VERY happy shit.  So something off-the-wall is well past due.

Well off to Best-Buy or some other computer shop that reminds me I wanted to pick up a new book and a magazine.  Whats with that Pedro’s being sold out from www.phytoextractum…?  I wonder if they are selling any of there rooted ones or what.  I have been slacking and the season is getting late but I have 4-5 nice good 24 inch pedros a couple tourches and 20 or so other random cacti.  Such a rewarding cacti to grow, now if my ‘Jules Giant’ variety will get here soon, argh…

Later gators time to take my friends hotrod [37 ford model T, with chevy 350 V8 engine]  the back tires have to be 2 feet wide, the car is a definete head turner, hopefully we can tie a couple blonde, shit even some brunettes on to the luggage rack and get down.  Wishfull think eh, seedless? 

Goes to show you don’t ever know
Watch each card you play
and play it slow
Wait until your deal come round…

or is it…

Waiting for a girl who’s got curlers in her hair
Waiting for a girl she has no money anywhere
We get buses everywhere
Waiting for a factory girl

Waiting for a girl and her knees are much too fat
Waiting for a girl who wears scarves instead of hats
Her zipper’s broken down the back
Waiting for a factory girl

Waiting for a girl and she gets me into fights
Waiting for a girl we get drunk on Friday night
She’s a sight for sore eyes
Waiting for a factory girl

Waiting for a girl and she’s got stains all down her dress
Waiting for a girl and my feet are getting wet
She ain’t come out yet
Waiting for a factory girl
Peace [of mind],


I am back form camping sore and worn out, I need to get posting some good stuff up I have been slacking lately MAJORLY, but that happens when you come off house arrest after 4 months and its summer, fuck its the 4th of July tommorrow or today I should day as I type this at 4:49am. Sleeping pull slowing making my eye lids droop.

Its so strange how in the last 4-5 months I have changed. I dont drink dont use illicit drugs, I am happy for a change. Had an unfortunate incident with a good friend OD and dying which could have been prevented but I wont even get into that. Hope you all have a good 4th of july and I will get posting a bit more tales of an opiated landscape soon as I have been typing far to much concerning my personal life. I prefer abstract writing and tales of times forgotten, literally.

Well the suns just about to crest the horizon and if I want to be up by 2p, pr so I best be hitting the hay. Life is good, Wishing you all the best. Anybody know how Poppy red is doing havent heard much from here lately or maybee I am outta the loop. Anyway happy Independence Day, be thankful we live in such a wild world 😉

Peace [of mind]


If anybody is computer savy and can help me try to decode this email that I caught in my bulk folder that “people” have been using under my nose to do god knows what I would appreciate it. Its way over my head and the encoding base64 on the last bit just reading up on it makes my head spin. I want to get this info out here published to so it doesnt dissapear from my computer. And who ever piley@sbcglobal.net is FUCK JOO ya prick