nightflower

Patriarchy only creates aggressive, warring societies. End the ancient system!

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(Whiteboard)

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Gangsters in movies: somewhat suave, adventurous life Gangsters here: look as though they go to parties in bowling clubs, have been bothered by a blog on Tumblr for an embarrassing length of time The way crime directors glamourise such a life is near enough a crime in itself. We're reminded of the way pornography fuels the objectification of women. And every second film poster - crime, action, thriller, drama, comedy, you name it - has a man, often handsome, holding a weapon looking "cool". The gun, formerly known as the sword, formerly known as the rock. Buying toy guns for little boys is sinister when we think about it. They're learning how to aim and shoot a killing device. My First Revolver™! Have an early start on male conditioning! (Emerges from a Fast & Furious binge wearing a tank top)

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"Where are the men?" I asked her. "In their proper places, where they ought to be." "Pray let me know what you mean by 'their proper places'." "O, I see my mistake, you cannot know our customs, as you were never here before. We shut our men indoors." "Just as we are kept in the zenana?" "Exactly so." "How funny," I burst into a laugh. Sister Sara laughed too. "But dear Sultana, how unfair is it to shut in the harmless women and let loose the men." "Why? It is not safe for us to come out of the zenana, as we are naturally weak." "Yes, it is not safe so long as there are men about the streets, nor is it so when a wild animal enters the marketplace." - Rokeya Sakhawat Hossain, Sultana's Dream (1905)

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Frontiers | Transient multidomain functional improvement in advanced Alzheimer’s disease following high-dose psilocybin-containing mushroom

BackgroundAdvanced Alzheimer’s disease (AD) is generally regarded as a stage of irreversible functional decline. Psilocybin is known to tran

'We report the case of an octogenarian Japanese-American woman with a 10-year history of Alzheimer’s disease, including 5 years of marked hypofunction and predominantly monosyllabic speech. Baseline features included chronic urinary incontinence, executive dysfunction, dysphagia, dependent mobility, flat affect, and severe reduction in spontaneous communication... Approximately 19 h post-administration, spontaneous autobiographical speech emerged. Over subsequent days and weeks, functional improvements included restoration of urinary continence, improved ambulation, autonomous dressing, increased emotional responsiveness, sustained social interaction, contextual memory retrieval, preserved working memory for social context, and spontaneous conversational engagement.'

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A newly published case report in Frontiers in Neuroscience describes a remarkable and unexpected response in an 80-year-old woman with advan

'The patient had lived with Alzheimer’s disease for approximately 10 years and experienced severe functional decline over the preceding five years... she had become largely monosyllabic, demonstrated profound cognitive impairment, chronic urinary incontinence, impaired mobility, dysphagia, executive dysfunction, and severe reduction in spontaneous communication and emotional engagement...'

'Over subsequent days and weeks (after ingesting 5g of mushrooms), she regained urinary continence, improved ambulation, dressed herself independently, showed increased emotional responsiveness, and engaged socially... A subsequent 3g dose of psilocybin was given to the patient one month later, and was followed by increased verbal expression, humor, and greater walking agility.'

Transient multidomain functional improvement in advanced Alzheimer’s disease following high-dose psilocybin-containing mushroom administration: a case report

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I think I've realised how they found my new home address. I had an email account which I later lost access to, that I chalked up to forgetting the password as I were changing it often. Since there were no way of regaining access without the recovery code (which I never wrote down), I abandoned it, as I did then with many other things to begin afresh. My home address was in an email there.

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A police car switches its siren on outside of the building at approximately 4:13am, heading west. I look outside, there were no cars in front of it. My curtains were closed and the lamp was on low, so it seemed I were asleep. That were the third or fourth emergency service vehicle to switch their siren on outside of the building in four days. I think the others were ambulances. One or two on Monday, one yesterday, and the cop car today. We've been through this a number of times. They always come in clusters. Often after we mention organised crime, and we did in a deleted post four days ago. It's been fairly quiet apart from this lot, aside from the aforementioned car that backfired.

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another atmosphere as fouled by men as fouled by their very presence the odour of man then the smell of his land of fumes & oil, of warfare

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Isolate, Inebriate, Intimidate, Repeat: High Rates of Sexual Force Against Women Are Reported When Young Men Given Anonymous Surveys 'Using anonymous surveys of 2,689 U.S. and Canadian men (18–34 years), we aimed to assess rates of self-reported sexual aggression, reports of strategy effectiveness at forcing known reluctant women into sex...' 'Men reported occasions where they tried to get a woman to engage in sex that they knew she did not want and to which she had not consented. The women were individuals with whom the men shared no prior romantic or sexual history. Overall, 95.1% reported having recently used at least one of the strategies to get a woman to have sex who they knew did not want sex and had not consented. Most of these occasions (65%) resulted in successfully forcing the woman into sex... Most of the men (70%) perceived no negative outcomes...'

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when do we abandon our Western heritage? when do we start afresh? all that war, our one-sided philosophy our subordination of women

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"To be a chef is like motherhood: you must volunteer, you must feel called. Myself, I have no gift and must help in the kitchen. But Bee is a chef and at the next feast, person will make the menu and direct - the feast of July nineteenth, date of Seneca Equal Rights Convention, beginning women's movement. Myself, I play Harriet Tubman. I say a great speech - Ain't I a woman?* - that I give just before I lead the slaves to revolt and sack the Pentagon, a large machine producing radiation on the Pontomac - A military industrial machine?" "Oh, is that how it happened?" she said. "In what century was that battle?" "Grasp, that's the essence of it. History gets telescoped a little. The kids get restless if the ritual runs too long. They like the best part where they sack the Pentagon. Everybody joins in and then at the bottom are little honey cakes with quotes from revolutionary women baked in them and stories of their lives, so you can have your cake and eat it too. Then we all go party." - Marge Piercy, Woman on the Edge of Time (1976)

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places rife with our enemy (or men who become so if you won't succumb to them) these are not home for anyone

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parking meters for some timeboxes to I one here malfunctions sends me awry, now on traffic island amid the grey sea with vehicles flying by on either side of me

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Study for a Target of Organised Harassment (Possible verse for the collection. Some have been improved and we're editing others as we speak. Many of them aren't very good, but are part of the narrative; though the real-life circumstances and climax should sell them. There are worse collections out there. Longer poems are mostly at the end. I'd really have liked to have written nicer ones yet these men and their harassment got in the way. In other words, what went in came out. The poems roughly go in reverse order, chronologically. It were just the way they ended up. A return of sorts.)

I remember their depression the industrial depression ebbing & flowing from those men; it were grey, metallic blue as cigarette smoke curling through the windows so we closed them

when do we abandon our Western heritage? when do we start afresh? all that war, the one-sided philosophy our subordination of women

The collector of sleep debt hangs around my home carrying a pouch of eye dust, a dust he seasons food with or inhales like certain drugs as sleep is very addictive as are dreams and waking up

layers blossom in all directions a passage carefully navigated the olive folds of labia minora coffee majora, auxiliar, infinitas brushing the arms, shoulders creating feedback in the immense being before me

I'll fling my arms madly in the chaos, a sadness neither free nor possessed by the music I'll die in your arms then become a skeleton, a bundle of bones in love

A figure hung there above the maelstrom with eyes greying arms threatening to give O, eye of the storm what have you for us? Is there a pearl in your centre? Then pray have me! Please devour my very being so I could know the inside! Lure me towards the abyss where I should lay broken, watching your light in silence!

we live within ivory shavings the ones who turn inward then men arrive riding machines and hoover everything up so then the cavern of dust a jungle of this and that here could be our home my flower the Chosen Land of us

we move through another graveyard where men are buried half-heartedly; we go through uniforms seeing odd things: archaic devices for knowing the time we're drawn by those with arms outstretched, laying with open mouths; dummies free of master all thrown in one heap, we go to them holding hands

our smoke became water lavender sea an ocean planet dissolving in the sun, hieroglyphic nebula motioning to others ice cold rings around the moon

another atmosphere as fouled by men as fouled by their very presence the odour of man then the smell of his land of fumes & oil, of warfare

(I am the angel of death hungry for Nazi paramedics arising from the flames then coming for Dr Mengele)

skin taught over excess muscle chairs, desk of solid flesh walls going rigid on the hour the perfect tense

hordes of men desensitised men all of them playing soldiers; deep within the rubble somewhere beneath them lies a family in silence (as voices rang out the rubble came alive carrying along with it rifles; a figure sailing through the open air fell short of heaven by far)

the immense swollen form of Hitler expressionless, hung above Europe losing fluid among the villages the towns, cities, poisoning the water limbs elongated, arcing above the ocean see the Pied Piper of Nazis and their march to River Styx crossing by boat initially then back by the bloated corpses

we shot their made men & they were just men much the others we throw back their potato mashers having seen them fall in dreams we emerge unharmed again as the alpha male goes mad, when our God revolves the eyeglass enlightening as with ants

(revving the cycle with all his might at the end of the road far from sight then reporting back to his master)

(revving as children beneath a window then heading home empty, depressed the flower goes on growing)

(the bravest of men watch how he hides atop the chassis of a yellow quadbike protected by leathers & helmet)

there are no men outside revving their vehicles in desperation only an automated process; marionettes swept along with a wave still convinced they're in control

winter's very beautiful in spite of all the death though these men are always ruining her as they do with everything else

behold the flowers opening their mouths hung wide announcing the end of winter the end of the Great Death; a songbird lifts the heart

all's fair in love and war: a mantra of the psychopaths

they flee from their horror toward evil: the horror of their present, of their surroundings, of their associates, of being hunted by other men. in the state of evil horror becomes pleasure though most of all bearable.

Rise of mechanised man! Rise of their regime: euphoric by night, though waking suicidal. Arms flailing for patriarchy rising for their slave drivers for men as fragile as they Falling through the system, sleeping in the bowels, or slung from a tooth high on fumes yelling of how good they are. A ballad for the fall of fascism! Hear them rev their vehicles in defence of paedophilia! Hear them reach the high note before crashing down again!

We can feel them nearby waiting in their vehicles eyes fixed on their devices, on our website; being slowly poisoned by electric lighting by the memory of having erection. A coalition of Nazis common fascists organised criminals & all of the above. You see them nearby recognising me, going quiet as I approach. They're following sometimes reporting my movements, a network of vermin obsessed. Many appear similar, easy to recognise or give themselves off with their wavelengths. You see their shadow from a block away or feel their vibration in half that. We're feeding each other soon to explode destroying our surroundings each other.

A coalition of Nazis common fascists organised criminals with plenty of money. An alliance of hidden machines then, converging around a centrepiece. Infrared, night-vision, thermal devices directional microphones, bugs. Telescope, binoculars, magnifying glass all glistening in darkness like scimitars. Forbidden, ancient, alien technology long-forgotten machine of God. They know where you live they're always nearby watching, waiting, dying inside.

A forgotten neighbourhood alive with Stockholm syndrome. Residents in love with their oppressor. With men who swing from lampposts holding knives with their teeth, who watch with insect eyes when young women go by, who radiate foul wavelengths wilting the grass & killing any flower within reach. Beautiful young girls degrade in these conditions. Become alienated, forgotten wandering around like their mothers their grandmothers, their ancestors like the ancient mummy; with every ounce of life-force having been drained & still being drained further by man. Still he demands more. With rotten eyes he demands more. Towering above bones breathing in vapour, still he demands more.

a tremendous arm passes overhead mountainous gooseflesh hairs like some alien the summit of another pimple emitting pain across the wavelengths of our country screaming for our fathers but no answer as always only a rush of vehicles carrying figures with them their mouths wide open yet nothing comes out forgotten even to those who know them a billion tombstones all lie nameless only figures, dates, hierglyphics no iota of moss no insects pass over a sterile wasteland a whole population in one swoop the invisible hand clutching the air afterward as if in anguish, as if to say Why? with people still falling between the fingers all without expression having seen this coming having brought it on themselves

our Holy Mother enslaved across aeons by men reduced in power though gradually freeing Herself & so they make a rush to enslave Her again these men who worship the sword arm yet shun the rest of Her, who have an angel under surveillance who darken the prophet with endless torture, will soon know the very thing they worship

mother of poetry always aware always watching always there the Hanged Man who came to life who died again a million times

a rotten grapevine tended by males who fled from their fear by desensitising only they would make the celestial violent would bring apocalypse in the name of God

carriers of false manhood push through a membrane emerge from their hive in the bowels of Edinburgh; screaming for their fathers in some machine-language, they amass at our gates relics from the iron race with haircuts for war, messengers from the realm of concrete; a hoard of vampires! a legion of parasites! protect the children! to arms!

some days men secrete when I pass or throw their bodies on the outer wall - waves of he devoid of deep sleep flight from the feminine side starring these God-forsaken men starring the working-class fascist while he insufflates the ashes of his own ancestor see the pornographers lie bleeding by the hand of their own daughter do I die like Pasolini or do we stop them all in time?

I know a spot far from the onslaught of subhumans, who are nothing more than chattle doing circles around themselves irreversibly hooked on orgasm (I remember the one he never recovered from) see the hair fall from their heads, gather in piles as I harvest their energy & use it to lure in more of them here I am in my industrial era watching the chains of men all setting each other off, o how the machine makes a cog of them! their attempt to replicate the adopted son of God fell short & gave rise to something else

wanted: dead or alive Ambrosius Wildflower having frightened the fascists with words, with writing reward: one thousand dollars (from the depths of my oppression I see a light)

she the dreamer, we subject see her nightmare: the figures maintaining patriarchy, a machine that runs on alcohol; the poor districts rife with monsters; a traumatised prophet who wets the bed (they plot his murder among themselves enlist their young as sentinels a great many men now marked for death our world a better place after them)

escape from Glasgow via motorcycle with a few parasites attached who then made ugly love on my mattress & so their offspring hatched

observe my frame poised above the expiring body of the kingdom of man emptying unto me with everything it has, observe the waves of semen die against the egg; I am the angel of death & they come of their own will I am the angel of death & I ache for human flesh

angels line the border of heaven awaiting the orders of God; drop your weapons at once & love each other! ignite the ocean of alcohol! set afire their tobacco fields! send waves of love across my theatre & have them scream with laughter! (daughter of light step over thine body, the kingdom of Man must fall)

male oppression: control by aggressive men conscious or not individual or groups organised or otherwise cogs in the almighty machine

on the spare day of a leap year of the strange doorway that led us nowhere men drunk on cider fled from the spider as I lay suspended watching shafts of black magick impale thine heart rend my craft asunder; sheets of flesh all press together free the emotions, beckon me

isosceles triangle, strange in the context of sausage & made from the flesh of dead soya bean, a bean that never forgets which in itself is frightening enough to keep the children up all night

I dream of the tigers who know everything the sentinel felines from hell, who drank deep from a draught of my water and then gave nothing back to me

our soya spoke all night without pause, yelped in the abyss & fled from its own echoes; stumbling on enchanted boots by accident the octogenarian dog outlives the master

lovers of Goddess & the rest of our pantheon empowered by flowers we fly over Zion as desperate men fly into violence the only refuge they know

Mother spoke from the Atlantic Ocean swallowing ships the whole time waves the height of Everest capsize my vessel a floating fight response a deranged white male

o child of Zion, kingdom of bees who makes marionettes of the arms & knees who demand new apparatus having crashed a laptop who fled to a red button screaming

fear of the bomb sets off the fight response in our toxic male terrorists in the agents of patriarchy in the city of red iron of oxidised iron, borne by rivers of fear floating on fields of horror chest inflation buoyant arms

in the heart of our city, a dreadful bazaar where shelves of flesh draw back from touch & racks of wings, human-height, skinned undulate over infinite laughter throbs from an old phonograph as do commands in Aramaic, Latin by men who impersonate God (we contemplate the ancient years the memory of touch the friends going to war for patriarchs & never coming home, still fighting they are to this day)

I demand the right to undergo psychosis in the privacy of my own mind, free from the grip of the industrial cathedral; from they who wrested Christ from Bethlehem; who force-fed & kept Him behind glass as He observed overhead! o how they wiped out the Hellenistic gods in a shameful assault in His name, sending immense rocks toward the horizon & crushing the bones of the holy! o how they slaughtered so much more! thou shall not kill for Goddess’ sake! love thy neighbour & enemies! accepting God is not enough! we must make amends for this horror!

cathode ray light floods the city illuminating Christ who wakes among the pagans before the temple of Jehova as men outside in oxidised armour harm themselves & others; over the homosexual over the post-war poetry onto something unspeakable something which frightens the life from them

engulfed in lilac fog we swallow filling lungs, stomach our shaven organs the one heart lobbied or nestled in darkness; an epoch spent wandering with thoughts of Earth, home, lovers & lives to come next God is sending me in God is sending me in

much of what man has made is nightmarish to me: iron grills, sharp contraptions things animals become trapped in the factories, the industry machines that swallow bugs

an ominous cloud towers above me conjouring up thoughts of death better among trees than buildings I think or at the hands of these dreadful men

zero emissions oblivious figure forsaken scripture novel simulation forbearing system era mix-up urban castaway concrete flux infinite ocean voyage home

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there's a layer of men at the base of our world engaged in control of our lives; oppressors of woman of the working man of nearly our entire society: the poor man's surveillance state

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A Dying Society Brought Back to Life A pressing issue we have in society right now is the huge number of people, in particular men, who have lost their way, and we include those engaged in violence and oppression. The main elements here are that (1) these people have problems giving and receiving love, and (2) they have no healthy and regular supply of incoming love. Such elements may be resolved in the following way: (1) One of the effects of proper entheogen use is an increased capacity for love and empathy. As mentioned before, introducing them* into our medical system may counter this, often within one session and with a small dose**. There may be some difficulty in encouraging people to enroll in such a program, which could be resolved in the following point. (2) The fostering of a nationwide culture which respects and loves those willing to engage in such therapy, providing the necessary incoming love that these people need. This should in turn produce an outgoing flow from those having had treatment, creating a feedback loop of benefit for the whole of society. * Beginning with a small dose and working upwards until the desired effect is gained would be of benefit, instead of with a larger one as many studies have done. A microdose may even be a good starting point, and something in between a micro and small dose may be enough to open the user up to love. ** Natural etheogens, being those that grow from the earth, as opposed to lab-synthesised. A lot of the panic around entheogens inherited from the sixties and seventies revolved around LSD, which is lab-synthesised. LSD, when compared for example to psilocybin, is of a different character and has roughly twice the duration (between 7-12 hours; while psilocybin is about 4-6).

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'The tradition of men as guardians and protectors had quite died out. These stalwart virgins had no men to fear and therefore no need of protection.' - Charlotte Perkins Gilman, Herland (1915)