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And let us sing the hymn from page 165. 
03:32pm 11/05/2006
What was it? . . . it was like . . . well, yes! group therapy,
like a marathon encounter in group therapy, in which every-
body is together for days, probing everybody's weaknesses, bring-
ing everything out front. Only this was group therapy not for
the middle-aged and fucked-up but for the Young! and
Immune!-as if they were not patching up wrecks but tooling
up the living for some incredible breakthrough, beyond catas-
trophe. Since time was, the serious concerns of man have always
been fights against catastrophe, against sickness, war, poverty,
enslavement, always the horsemen of the Apocalypse riding.
But what to do in that scary void beyond catastrophe, where all,
supposedly, will be possible-and Norman happens upon an-
other of those strange, prophetic books on Kesey's shelf, Arthur
Clarke's Childhood's End, in which . . . the Total Break-
through generation is born on Earth and as mere infants they
show powers of mind far beyond their parent's and they go off
into a colony by themselves, not as individuals, however, but as
one great colonial being, in the same biological sense of the colonial
animal, until, at last, the Earth, its mission complete, convulses,
starts coming apart, and they, the children: "Something's start-
ing to happen. The stars are becoming dimmer. It's as if a great
cloud is coming up, very swiftly, all over over all the sky. But it
isn't really a cloud. It seems to have some sort of structure-I
can glimpse a hazy network of lines and bands that keep
changing their positions. It's almost as if the stars are tangled in
a ghostly spider's web. The whole network is beginning to glow,
to pulse with light, exactly as if it were alive . . There's a
great burning column, like a tree of fire, reaching above the
western horizon. It's a long way off, right around the world. I
know where it springs from: they're on their way at last, to
become part of the Overmind. Their probation is ended:
they're leaving the last remnants of matter behind. . . . The
whole landscape is lit up-it's brighter than day-reds and
golds and greens are chasing each other across the sky-oh, it's
beyond words, it doesn't seem fair that I'm the only one to see
it-I never thought such colors-"
In short, zonked out of their ever-loving gourds, man, and
heading out towards . . . Edge City, absolutely, and we're truly
synched tonight.

Hear ye Chief Bromden,
go in peace.

(pack me a bowl)

Would the congregation open their mandarin tomes to page 46? 
03:13pm 11/05/2006
But these are words, man! And you couldn't put it into words.
The White Smocks liked to put it into words, like hallucination
and dissociative phenomena. They could understand the visual
skyrockets. Give them a good case of an ashtray turning into a
Venus flytrap or eyelid movies of crystal cathedrals, and they
could groove on that, Kluver, op cit., p. 43n. That was swell.
But don't you see?-the visual stuff was just the décor with
LSD. In fact, you might go through the whole experience with-
out any true hallucination. The whole thing was . . . the ex-
. . . this certain indescribable feeling . . . Indescrib-
able, because words can only jog the memory, and if there is no
memory of . . . The experience of the barrier between the
subjective and the objective, the personal and the impersonal,
the I and the not-I dissapearing . . . that feeling! . . . Or can
you remember when you were a child watching someone put a
pencil to a sheet of paper for the first time, to draw a picture
. . . and the line begins to grow-into a nose! and it is not just
a pattern of graphite line on a sheet of paper but the very mira-
cle of creation itself and your own dreams flowed into that
magical . . . growing . . . line, and it was not a picture but a
miracle . . . an experience . . . and now that you're soaring on
LSD that feeling is coming on again-only now the creation is
of the entire universe-

I can feel it coming on...

(pack me a bowl)

Lost in a haze 
06:48pm 23/04/2006
  Come with me
take my hand
and as we fly away
to the unreal land
with marmalade faces
and red cherry eyes,
my pueblo villa
will bake in the sun
bake your mind
and bake your bun
so your mind may melt
into peanut butter bliss

phalanx lines of medieval tools
long rows unending
here lies the tangerine tome of present and past
quite never reaching
the future
but this is where you all begin,
here lie the scriptures yet unwritten
your thing your ideas your setting your deal
tablets of invisible cuneiform
try to make sense of my thoughts appeal,
and here lies the fuel
the drive
missing it
you stay alive
a green crystalline sea
ready for combustion and inhalation

will you
would you
wont you
partake of this stew
of brown and white
stems of glory,
a change of mind
might be for the best
to get lost on the ride
for omniscient rest
the black and white adventure
invites him openly

the tour guide tosses a spoon
what will it be
your free will
or your insanity
after all is it ever the same
i wield my spork with pride,
crisp munchy bunches
of reproducing spores
flowing along the tongues
of metallic radioactive evil pink utensils
on the beginning of the clementine works

concoctive caps colliding
with cream of legume
splitting fungus candy
in a rhythmic tune
swallow it down
so it wont come up,
the deed is done
placed aside
all consumed
for this one time
they wait for the overtake
of the jungle overmind

the camel hide is open
its entrails are packed
into the blue barrys
kaleidoscopic steam routed
music engine
fffft ffft fft,
mortar engulfs the resinated
green salad eclipse
flowing along highways of burning
microscopic realities that only exist
inside the thoughts of my guides
electric cerebral intake,
thc people and thc cieties
burnt away why
only so the bearded sage
just could get high
higher than his past ancestors
he wants to go back

feeling good
without a care
on an afghan rug
that does not stare
its eyes look for a universe
an open portal to the cosmos,
music of culture
a connection of prepast tense
associative conceptual minds
sending signals along the chain link fence
will it roll ashore
i feel it coming on

washing waves cascading
from the epicenter of the mind
giggle gaggling foam
bringing memories from a time
not so long ago
learning the concept of ohm,
something that tickles
the smoke that mingles
it hangs in zero gravity
only moving from the deserts rotation

and it starts getting loooooonger
your variable three times lag
calculated by gods medicine
ingested from the bag
i remember and i awake
to the bold lines of guitar,
do you feel it too
i know i sure can
my mind laughs
and wanders again
comical minature creatures
living in the crevices of eternity

yellow cornbread pulp
handed across the beams
take thanks
and devour your manic dreams
express them through windows
of separate worlds,
i understand all from within your
red clay shack
i can see through you
what do you lack
scribble along seen fill in lines
your idea becomes envisioned,
what can i think
where can i draw from
the energies of all
seep into one
that being me i begin to see
what that other reality is like

omnipotential mind processes
i seek my surroundings
your sixth finger runs
along confines of things
seen within your mind
you draw out your life so it wont escape you,
this is merely a window
for others to see
what you see yourself
to relapse to me
how we can connect
challenging alex trebek to final jeopardy

rentangular universes converging
into neurons and synapse
my mind clicks
and i notice it collapse
i see what is not written
it is what is there,
diagnol lines matching
though it is hidden
it lies in front of him
two minds in this den
curves and stillness running along
the backdrop of a one sided mirror

simple and complex
connected lines of reality
i look down to see
what has become of me
where has my mind gone
far far away,
are you ready
are you clear
your mind has wandered
but ive brought you here
to compare barriers
of distant worlds

a self portrait
but not within my mind
from behind the third eye
seen from behind
my leg protrudes behind goldenrod graphite
the lines sigh and glide,
you list your sporificating thought
a far more busy bee
with bizarre allusions
endless possibility
your encryptions puzzle me
as i decipher,
we group and congregate
among the crowd of thought
networking to understand
what we were here for and what were we taught
to not understand
now i understand

an understanding
to the world of your present,
i guess
is simply the removal of wordly thought and a dip into the cosmos
you seek higher understanding but come back to ignorance is bliss

slow motion
stop animation scenes
sliding aside
the druids greens
you dart back and forth
from your skull to the flies,
they crisscross one by one
patterns becoming bold
some becoming none
the blur of your unforgotten old
what you want to stay behind
your bad trip

try your best
you cant fool me
oh not so
my mind knows best not to think of the rest,
the internetwork of my mind
caught in a web trap
full of dust and lies
from the corner i see you nap
among the addresses and electronic
connections oscillating through wire brain cable

come join me once again
see where it begins
find out where it comes from
notice where it ends
two mind auras shifting
away from a cogent bond,
have you gone away
did you get lost on the trip
your back turns away
into a black slip
your thoughts are somewhere else
but want to come together again,
where do you exist
on that other plane
i can barely see you now
this fog becomes my bane
you want shamanic spore dreams
to fill your mind again,
seeking comfort in your bed
i run along and forget my name
among long stranding lines
contorting fibers of insanitys mane
i struggle to find consolence
in the ciclicular amnesia of

must get out
must get up
must see something
must not fuck up
my mind bursts
it overflows,
making my way downstairs
somehow finding a sink
the light flips on
my mind loses link
the radiative red glowing ressonance
palpitating dancing and waving
along what i think
are the cool niagra falls of water
extending from a faucets sink
i wonder of nothing
and i think
of how to walk back upstairs
and it all grows black

hours later woken in a daze
the guides leg grazes
my haze
and i stumble in stupor
all the while trying to relearn identity
and reality,
the camel bursts forth once more
the flint
does its work
and lights the green mint
combusting tiny thc peoples
and it all comes back to here.

(pack me a bowl)

Speed Reader 
03:35pm 13/04/2006
              Once upon a time in a castle made out of envelopes and used pinatas, there was a short prince named Allen and his robot dog Dogbot.  The two loved to creep and hide in the huge castle hallways, ducking in and out of rooms, running, laughing, and sliding down staircases in burlap bags like those huge slides at amusement parks.  Occasionally, Dogbot would fall over in the middle of running when his batteries would Suddenly die.
            "Dam these steam powered batteries to hell!" Prince Allen would cry.  He would carefully pick up Dogbot and carry it up the wizard's private laboratory on the 7th floor of the castle.
            "Did the batteries die AGAIN?!" the wizard would say, looking over his spectacles.
            "Yeah, they suck man...I love playing with dogbot so much...I want him to always be on, but these steam powered batteries last such a short time... please help me.
            The wizard ran his fingers through his long beard and sat and thought for a while.  "There may be a way" he said slowly, "Only it could be extremely dangerous and may cost you your life."
            Allen's eyes grew wide.  "Dude, I like Dogbot a lot but I'm not gonna risk my damn life for him...Geeze...it's a toy...what the hell?..."
            The wizard looked shocked, He picked up Dogbot and layed him in a solid gold box.  "I made Dogbot as a companion for you," said the wizard, "and since you are son to the King, it is my job to please you and make sure that Dogbot is the best robot dog companion since the one in the tv show Battlestar Galactica."  Alenn shrugged his shoulders and left.  Later that night in the wizard's library, the tall magical man sat pondering on how to improve the dogbot, or at least create a battery with longer life.  "Perhaps I could fool the Prince", he thought, "and simply put a real dog inside a robot suit.  The prince would never know until the dog maybe ate something or went to the bathroom...it might work."  He went out into the night looking for a dog that would fit inside the pre-existing robot.  None could be found.  Thought, he did manage to find some some roots, fiberglass, onion skins, and doorknob polish.  The wizard took his findings up into the laboratory and began working.  The most incredible thing was that he actually invented the "double A" battery and the plastic salad fork tosser thing.  Incredible
            "This has been my speech for the 1999 inventors of America Reunion Tour.  I hope you have all enjoyed it and will enjoy the giant dogbot-shaped cake in lobby.  My wife Dr. Gingham made it herself in honor of this wonderful gathering.  Are there any questions?  Yes...you in the back of the room.
            "What ever happened to Prince Allen?"
            "Well, that's a funny story and a good question actually, in 1964, archeologists actually recovered Prince Allen's bones.  He died still a prince due to the fact that the King was immortal and never left the throne.  While examining the bones, researchers discovered that his rib cage was twice the normal size of people of his time.  They actually determined that this was due to his having a huge heart.  Apparently his love for dogbot made his life so wonderful that his heart grew and grew until eventually it killed him, oddly enough.  Next question please and folks, please not everyone at once, yes you there in the front row."
            "Are the batteries we use today still made the same way that the wizard invented?"
            "No. Next question please."
            "I was wondering, you mention that Prince Allen died a Prince and something about his father the King being a manhole...what did you mean?"
            "Ha HA, no...I said immortal.  He never died...manhole...boy, that was funny, I know I shouldn't laugh, the acoustics in this submarine are so poor, next question.

(1 pothead | pack me a bowl)

05:24pm 05/04/2006
Underneath the Canopy

    Blood runs cold and a sense of nauseating sickness settles in the core of my being.  Everything stills to a motionless and neutral gray silence as the surrounding environment blurs and darkens.  The weight of the ground beneath caves through and sends me plummeting downward into the endless pitch. Only a piece of my former self is left behind, a faint point in time growing dimmer beneath this suffocating darkness.

    Reality was shown before me in the raging eye of Ra.  Unrelenting rays cast off by a spiteful sun beat over my stinging skin with an almost rhythmic ferocity.  The dry rust capped plateau extended along the horizon, punctuated by climbing spires frantically clawing at the fiery sky. The sweltering hot currents kicked the sand beneath up into unending wisps of bone meal sent flying continually outward.  A looming silence prevailed over these Badlands.  Only dry heat filled my dusty lungs, drawing what moisture was left from within my crumbling soul. It soon became apparent that the encompassing wasteland would prove unbearable.  A quick glance to the left revealed the lush thickness of Jungle which extended parallel among the barren aridity of this unforgiving place. Conjoined almost mockingly by the infinitesimal border between the two worlds. Everything around me seemed too concrete.

    Exasperated, I struggled to crawl and seek sanctuary within the wet, shady haze of the jungle. Water vapor encapsulated me as I entered, immediately cooling the memory of the Badlands.  A low, aural hum could be heard emanating from within the Jungle.  It felt alive in a sense, reverberating and panning between the walls of my mind in an inconsistent pattern that could only be lucidly heard through my paranoia. My eyes dart from stem to creeper, desperately trying to find something to identify with amongst the chaotic tangle.  The humidity could be felt permeating through millions of porous openings, dilating and contracting to that same hell-beaten rhythm.  I got to my feet and looked out over the Jungle - boundless and vast,  the undergrowth parted on long, eternal, twisting lines originating from where I stood. The overwhelming possibility of choice consumed me.    

Which path should be taken?

    No matter, each seemed equally uncertain from that point in time.  I made my choice and began walking toward the heart of the Jungle. The dense brush swept against my body.  No, against my outline.  Each path split apart into a complex labyrinth: infinite serpentine passages extending, wavering through unfathomable depths of vine and verdant nothing. A shallow opalescent Fog accumulated around my legs as I trudged deeper within.  The further I progressed the more it engulfed me until I become lost in it.  Walking a long a path barely seen but touched, a cold shadow of uneasiness brushed my empty mind.    

Simply my imagination?

    Dead in my tracks, I tuned in to the frequency of the swelling behemoth and just listened.  The drone now branched into five new sounds, each more abrasive than the last. I can only describe it as a sharp twinge of steel piercing through the dark whispering electric undertones of the Jungle's moan.  As each sound transformed and took on new character so did my thoughts. The smog shifted.

    A dark figure rushed past the edge of my peripheral vision and just as quickly blurred from reality. Panic.  Encircling mists transform into a swirling crimson.  Blinding fear gripped me amidst the hissing vapor  - thorn and briar tore at my leg as I bolted onward.  The growth became alive with contempt, pulling and ensnaring me to keep me from the path.  One image splintered into seven.  Time slipped by in an instant, but seemed ageless and eternal.  Trying to fasten my eyes shut against the rapid onslaught of spiraling fear, they held nothing but abysmal empty void. But wait, a clearing up ahead - salvation, light, an exit to break free from the mist and all its unseen terror. Run for your life, man, run.

    Just when I thought I had escaped the rapid pulsation of the Jungle's terror I fell. Fell straight through and into quicksand, swallowed and swirling further and further downward as my entire world gave way to the fast rushing sound as if reality itself was being sucked through a wind tunnel. My mind's throbbing cadence screams and blares through the flight, correlating with the pulse of the drowning vibrations of the grove.  It called to me, wanting to snare me within its grasp.  I fought to keep myself.  Escape seemed elusive; my exit had left.  All had vanished and hysteria ebbed throughout.  Gray matter from within my skull shattered and refabricated in another actuality.

Is this the end?

    I opened my eyes. Jimi Hendrix wailed on his guitar over the radio singing something about sandcastles. I looked around for a moment trying to regain my equilibrium and make sense of where I was. My roommate walked in and asked, "Are you ok man? You don’t look so swell." I just stared at him for a moment and managed, "We're going to have to ask that guy down at the market what he's trying to pull." My friend just looked at me confused and said, "What do you mean?" I just shook my head and reminisced of those tasty stuffed portabella mushrooms I had for lunch.

(2 potheads | pack me a bowl)

08:34am 01/04/2006
  In the next 2-3 months I am going to be looking for a new apartment here in Albany. I have to move out. It's been about 2 weeks since I've gotten a nights sleep where I wasn't woken up by one of the following:

A. My brother being an asshole
B. My sister going to work
C. the light coming in from the window at 6am
D. garbage trucks, loud cars
E. The people upstairs playing Rap music at 7am so they can vacuum (this mornings treat)
F. The people upstairs fighting
G. The kid upstairs crying

My brother is also a disrespectful, disgusting pig and I can't take it anymore. My rent just went up and honestly, this isn't worth it. I'm tired all the time, I'm grumpy and I'm so fucking stressed.

If no one is interested I am going to get a place of my own even though I really don't want to do that. A Studio goes for about $500 up here including heat and what not. A 2 bedroom can be rented for around $550-$600 just not including utilities.

I have awesome credit so I have no problem signing on a lease and I also won an award for the most awesome person ever in Albany. I promise.

In other news: The new episode of Wonder Showzen was a bit of a disapointment. Hopefully the season will improve cause I mean "BEAT KIDS! BEAT KIDS!"

(4 potheads | pack me a bowl)

10:56pm 13/03/2006

This weekend, three GravelMyMommers made history by meeting up for the first time ever in Albany, NY

Kathryn and Kyle,

I had a hella good time this weekend! How awesome was reading out loud entries from this LJ to Kena and Rob?! Good times...great oldies!

-The one of many nicknames-

Dear Andrew,

You are so coming next time


Dear Weekend,

You kicked so much ass I just might have to devote the next 25 years of my life to building a time machine so I can go back and live it again. And then I will be like...45 when I am 19 and it will be gross and weird.

too stoned to make sense,

(pack me a bowl)

11:11pm 14/02/2006
  Is chocolate good for toothaches?


(pack me a bowl)

11:29pm 29/01/2006
  To everyone,

I am going to take this time to express my condolences to the families of Tony The Tiger and the Jolly Green Giant who died during the year 2005. You will be missed.


(4 potheads | pack me a bowl)

12:53pm 16/01/2006
  Dear Huricane Katrina,

My computer is just about ready to explode. I was trying to send something over to Laura's computer via aim and it just wasn't having it. I despise computers.

-Banana Hammock

Dear An of the drew,

Alas, I will miss the opportunity to see you rock out. I shall still venture to the island of Long sometime in the morrow.

-Lady Lisa of Albany

Dear bands,

A concert must be scheduled sometime in February that even remotely interests me. Please. I'm begging and you know how I hate to beg.

-a concert addict in withdrawl-

Dear Awesome Kat,

The time I visit depends on when you can have at least 2 consecutive days to chill out and do nothing but smoke, drink and watch awesome movies/tv shows. The House drinking game must happen. I stress this. So, let me know when you can get off of work and I will venture downward for some good old fashioned mom graveling fun.

-The chosen one

(2 potheads | pack me a bowl)

12:28pm 16/01/2006
  Dear Publishers Clearing House,

What exactly do you publish?

Write the check out to -
andrew r martin

Yo group,

No battle, missed sign up. However one unrelenting time will be had by all regardless.
Lisa when are you coming down?

It feels great to be out of this coma,
the clay man

Conozcooo you dont know,

I still hate you.
jk jk

Bitter till the end,
i am sparticus

(pack me a bowl)

12:30am 15/12/2005
  Dear House,

This weeks episode wasn't very good but watching the dvd is something I can never get sick of.

obsessed fan,

Dear Robert Sean Leonard,

I WILL see you on broadway bitch. Dead Poet's Society owns my soul,
left with no soul left because of her various fandoms,

Dear Andrew and Kathryn,

Dude, I am beyond excited about visiting! Hooray for drugs and liquor!
Wishing she wasn't sober,

Dear Laura and Dianna,

You are horrible sisters for your lack of compassion and Christmas spirit. But I love you anyway,
wishing I was an only child,

(pack me a bowl)

02:50am 08/11/2005
  Dear Community,

As your owner, I had put you down so you didn't linger in misery, though I left the community up so we can all remember how awesome and witty we are.

Apparently, you are stronger than you appear, as you have lured people into posting again.

Reviving you slightly,

Dear everyone,

Since this community was started in 2004, we have had many posts, inside jokes, etc. But times have changed since then. I don't speak to a great many of the community members and most of us don't even look at this thing anymore.

So, I am putting a call out. Reply to this if you still want to be part of the community.

Seriously, I sat here tonight and I read every entry since the beginning and laughed like crazy. It made me miss a lot of things...especially the good old times when we were all talking and none of the crazy shit that happened this year went down. I think from when I moved to Queens (June of 2004) that first time to halfway through living with Allie (November 2004) were the golden years of this community.

Awesome times. I miss them.


Dear Kathryn and Andrew,

You guys win gold stars for being the most devoted members!!!

good on you,


(8 potheads | pack me a bowl)

09:22pm 07/11/2005
  Oh beloved gravelmymom community,

I have quested far to obtain this elixer of regeneration. And now, with its application, you abstain from your ailing and disjointedness and live once again supreme.

-Will Ganshaw.

PS. roll a d20 for dexterity.

(3 potheads | pack me a bowl)

05:54pm 21/10/2005
  Hey Joe,

Where you going with that gun in your hand?

A friend.

Dearest friend,

I'm going down to shoot my old lady, you know I caught her messing around with another man.
And that aint too cool.


Hey Joe,

I heard you shot your old lady down. Shot her down to the ground.



Yes I did I shot her, you know I caught her messing around, messing around town.
So I gave her the gun.

I shot her.

(pack me a bowl)

05:48pm 21/10/2005
  Dear all drug addled and highly impressionable youth,

I'm writing an album, it will be done by christmas.
It is the love child of hendrix, hetfield, and floyd.
Inquire. I need people to offer criticism.

Jimi Hendrix reincarnate,
Andrew "James Marshall Hendrix TM" Martin.

(pack me a bowl)

12:54am 12/07/2005
mood: chapstickish
Dear places I applied,

You should hire me because I am the best even though Kathryn has a way better resume than me,

woefully unemployed,


Dear mom,

You're a raging bitch. Stop that.
Your failure of a daughter,
Bob Barker

Dear Kyle,

Friday is going to be the best day ever. learn it, know it, love it. WEED!!!
A bigger pot head than you though you are catching up,

Dear money,
be mine,
Lisa Seidel
6021 maspeth avenue ny 11378

Dear Kathryn,

Ding Ding
gooder at speaking theyn jesus,

(pack me a bowl)

03:38pm 11/05/2005
mood: blah

(pack me a bowl)

07:51pm 07/05/2005
  dear life,

bite me


dear murphy,


mildly insane,

dear kat,

why do you do that???


dear feeling fucking amaing,


happy footly,

dear spaghetti and sausgae,

you make my life yay!!!

happily slurping,

dear lisa & kat & diananananaer,

<3 major


(pack me a bowl)

02:39pm 05/05/2005
  Dear friends,

Why me?


(pack me a bowl)