Tempting the Dark Psychedelic Read online

Tempting the Dark Psychedelic

  Published by Ryan Paich

  Copyright 2016 Ryan Paich

  Special thanks to Chase, Jeremy, Aaron, Sarah, Dan, and Gary for their participation!

  Updated ebook cover art by Nick McDaniel.

  Table of Contents:

  1) City of God: Speech, Angels & (thoughts)

  2) Giants

  3) The Apology

  4) Nightwords (hers & his)

  5) Gravity (by Ryan & Chase)

  6) Smoking Duel (by Ryan & Jeremy)

  7) Leaver 5

  8) Real or Dream

  9) Slam 2 (cross)

  10) Slam 1

  11) Slam Vows

  12) Shout

  13) Gravity 2 (by Aaron & Ryan)

  14) (when) Khaos Turns

  15) Slam 3 (mania flares)

  16) Anti-Gravity (by Sarah & Ryan)

  17) Amidst the Fall

  18) Demon Spotting (by Chase & Ryan)

  19) Leaver 6

  20) Eyes

  21) Slam 4: Hybrid (Rabbit Hole)

  22) Moves

  23) Tribute to “Arena” (memories)

  24) My Angel Has

  City of God:

  Speech, Angels & (thoughts)

  Certain memories

  are uncomfortable like

  the man in the psych ward

  who claimed to be a demon crusher.

  (What did he do to me?)

  Like an entire conversation

  that never happened...

  ...and a fantasy

  that got the upper hand.

  Focus, you, bright dreamer,

  don’t you remember?

  The murmuring canals that night as you ran, desperately -

  the city a beautiful blur of excitement.

  Yes... I remember.

  Holy is the wrong word

  to describe the feeling of it...

  The madness surrendered as

  (seeking a lost love)

  my friends finally understood

  and forgave me,

  silently urging me forward through the mysterious,

  new place;

  the knowing eyes of the angels

  looked on in anticipation yet still,

  I dared to hope

  for more than a memory.

  Giants

  Looking across the stunning depths

  I endure an agonizing lure,

  and I won’t resist

  the relief of a soothing word.

  What was I called again?

  Ah, yes...

  An offbeat prophet or

  a modern shaman -

  though I prefer the name Giant.

  How could anyone know?

  I am

  a dancing shadow -

  the nights’ quiet effect;

  a tall figure of the shifting dark.

  Remembering this,

  I settle my thoughts

  fully prepared to speak

  a gentle word.

  The Apology

  I know the most about you -

  like how you once felt

  the blessed collision of worlds

  skimming your fingertips.

  ...and how the years passing between us now

  are a small comfort

  after what I did.

  I am so sorry.

  I am your apocalypse,

  the highest attempt to

  make you give up.

  Nightwords (hers & his)

  I whisper harshly in the night

  asking you to quit this fixation,

  this path...

  ...I know you won’t.

  As time drifts dreamily by without you,

  heaven shatters my delusions

  of seeing you again,

  but the love...

  The love rises -

  still a lively flicker;

  a bright presence flowing through my every action;

  an invincible intent.

  I whisper because

  even at this unknown distance

  in years or miles

  I feel you.

  Your nightwords,

  familiar and haunting,

  incite a fatal surge of affection;

  a feeling I cannot alter...

  I know you hear me.

  And I will not know

  if you hear me shouting back.

  Gravity (by Ryan & Chase)

  I sit slouched at the table,

  alert and contemplative,

  after a third cup of coffee.

  I see

  his figure

  walk through the door

  with a confidence I thought he lost.

  My hand shakes as

  the pull between us,

  the gravity,

  sweeps the room.

  Conversations halt as people stare

  for reasons they cannot say.

  I quiet my mind, remembering:

  No intimate conversation

  comes without invitation.

  No force -

  no intimidation.

  Gravity is not a force...

  It is an essence -

  a presence.

  Smoking Duel (by Ryan & Jeremy)

  Instinctively lighting a cigarette,

  I must, because

  I recognize a familiar courage -

  one that destroys

  before taking root.

  What you reveal

  builds me into a weapon.

  I see you now

  at your worst and

  the image is perfect

  in its desperate beauty.

  The dark thoughts

  resting behind those gloomy eyes

  are yours alone -

  I cannot see them.

  Just like the people

  surrounding you in life...

  They mustn’t know.

  You are one

  I will remember

  forever...

  -----

  Another greedy drag from a cigarette

  to catch my nerve -

  my breath.

  Your cold eyes embrace me;

  mine refuse to bow.

  I am not fooled.

  Your dancing thoughts betray you,

  tripping the light fantastic.

  Entwined lovers, yours and mine

  I hold you close yet still hate

  your mocking guise.

  I know not who you are,

  but what:

  Something I cannot define.

  Nature I cannot defy.

  Leaver 5

  “I know all about you

  and that brilliant, unstable love you hold at bay...”

  Falling away I won’t accept

  the time we spent together

  as enough;

  I will do my best to be

  the man you would want

  if we still knew each other.

  Murmuring quietly beneath my breath

  my half-prayers build momentum -

  habitually

  trance-like

  I whisper, “...anybody else but a fool...”

  And the words spring upward, heaven bound,

  much louder than I intend.

  That’s when I understand.

  The depth of the want

  is a manic kiss;

  your lightest touch -

  a different view of things...

  I catch myself a moment later,

  feeling the memory;

  I know you won’t.

  Real or Dream

  Tonight, I’m unconvinced the world is still there.

  The dream...

  It seems permanent this time…

/>   (Dance-like drums

  thrum faintly in the distance)

  The night air is intoxicating and familiar

  just like the view from this bell tower,

  where I sit,

  alone,

  waiting.

  (Couples walk together around the well-lit lake;

  crowds of people below buzz with conversation.)

  Focused, eyes closed,

  my senses stretch outward,

  searching for her,

  my lost love.

  I find her beneath a distant tree,

  the brightest smile on her face.

  The urge to leap from my perch, but

  no.

  (the crash would scare her away)

  Instead, speaking gently:

  Dear girl,

  I will remember you,

  but I will embrace

  what the dream suggests.

  You are not the one.

  The wisdom of a true friend:

  real love is easy, not obsessive;

  balanced, not mad.

  I love you wildly,

  tempting the dark psychedelic -

  …I remember dead rats inside the bottom dresser drawer, bursting with sin absorbed…

  …the horrified looks as

  they discovered eight wishes scribbled on the bathroom wall,

  blessed by insane hands.

  …So this distance I will keep,

  ashamed of any outcome less than perfect.

  Rising to my feet, I break the connection -

  now certain it won’t be long

  before the dream collapses around me.

  Slam 2 (cross)

  The method becomes

  blank-title-blank-go

  as the scratches begin to fight the pages

  for their chosen existence.

  And should you let the verse survive,

  there’s still another step left before you speak

  the WORD.

  Landing with a CRASH:

  the forceful air gusts downward

  in your wake

  reminding you how

  the impact a poet makes

  is better left unnoticed.

  Don’t worry,

  the chaos will pass...

  Once a delusion kicks in so hard

  that you begin to hate the ones you love -

  Once you see intentions leaping around

  like nimble ghosts inside someone’s personal thoughts -

  Once you see the divine reveal itself

  in whatever way

  you are supposed to know -

  that’s when you are ready...

  Rising to the APPLAUSE:

  an unseen audience becomes

  ecstatic now because

  they did not believe for a moment

  you might survive the fall.

  Don’t worry,

  the love you felt

  cannot fade because

  it’s built into your condition and

  is your greatest strength next to the DYNAMIC FAITH

  you carry now that the MUSE you chase is only

  FRAGMENTED MEMORIES…

  ...The only option is obedience,

  a silent direction,

  keeping certain good advice hidden since

  TRUTH is well known for driving poets MAD.

  But remember -

  these are just the thoughts of a man

  scratching wildly into his notebook.

  Slam 1

  I’m sorry,

  but I don’t want to be a poet.

  That’s not my intention.

  I don’t want to upset or inspire anyone.

  I would be invisible if I could,

  permanently erased from view.

  Sometimes poets are like that...

  We write because we have to,

  not just because we want to.

  It is uncomfortable being disrupted by ideas -

  fragments that beg to be thrown onto a page.

  In writing, choices are infinite,

  and everyone generates creative thoughts;

  too often we fail to capture them.

  Neglect has stifled man’s brilliance;

  has silenced the masses with apathy,

  has enabled us into convenience and comfort.

  We are super-connected, but we do not share.

  Technology that should fuel genius

  has left us flat.

  Our ability has made us lazy.

  Our talent, arrogant and close minded.

  We talk too much and do too little.

  More than technology we need creativity.

  More than talent we need understanding and grace.

  Without these qualities, we are all trapped inside our own mundane prisons.

  Yet ideas will keep screaming at us to create!

  Sometimes dangerous thoughts -

  words that can devour us,

  tempt us,

  crash us into manic chaos!