Ian McKenzie's Blog

A healthy mix of sober and psychotic ramblings.


The past was such a blur
Forgetting things that were
There's pieces here
There's pieces there
Of me throwing knives everywhere
Throwing at neighborhood kids
At such a young age
Unknowing of life or consequence
Only pure, volcanic rage


We are your breath
We keep you alive
We keep you cool
We steal your warmth
We will give
We will take
You will give
You create warmth
You sweat
You bleed
Your breath is our kin.

Draped Clocks

A dry, barren land
Everything is dead
Everywhere is sand
And a solumn, disfigured head

There's bugs
There's sticks
And oddly shaped bricks

There's gold and silver clocks
Draped over like socks

When psychadelics meet art
It's a wonderful start

To embracing our minds
To releasing our binds

To discovering new thoughts
Salvador Dali, the first of many psychonauts
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