Sometimes we should all soar from the privacy of our own minds.
Adrift, wheels spun across the sky upon gentle cloud, floating thereby I've left the twaddle well behind arriving at new states of mind. Life, repetitive onerous tedium, requires elevation, a new medium on which to place the paints, releasing the mind's restraints. Liberated from hobbled sensibilities, rinsed with synthetic sensitivities, consciousness open, staring, awake enlivened grey matter, set to bake. Entheogen shimmer at edge of eye, that indistinct hum, then fireflies, a few of my favorites, a sentiment which fails to leave me penitent.
Poem by Harakhte
To earn tokens and access the decentralized web, select an option below
(It's easier than you think)