[Ibogaine] a blast from the past

Preston Peet ptpeet at nyc.rr.com
Wed Aug 17 13:48:43 EDT 2005

Thanks for sharing this Tink.

I got an old notebook in the mail last week that I used to scribble in way 
back in 1991, in Tampa, from a friend who tracked me down on-line and mailed 
it to me.

I don't usually share this kind of thing, (I don't think they're very good 
actually, but they're pertinent anyway) but these were written before I had 
a dope habit (well, that's not exactly true- I had a habit, I only didn't 
know it yet, having been introduced to morphine a good 10 years earlier and 
having already experimented with heroin while living in Paris in 1984-86 but 
not having even gone through withdrawals except when the hospital sent me 
home without any morphine in 1984, with just a bottle of Darvocets to help 
with the "pain" and withdrawals they knew I was going to go through but 
didn't mention to anyone, like me or my parents- and let me tell you, there 
was a lot of that pain at that time too...geee, sounds too darned familiar, 
only at that point there was a lot of gore along with the pain).
Anyway, these were written after a heartbreaking break-up due to crack use:


Could you be so kind,
I mean,
I hope you won't mind,
could you please let go of my heart?
You're making a mess
on the newly clean floor.
There's blood all over the place.
My soul is out in space,
so, could you Please let go of my heart?
I know it's still beating,
but bugs started eating,
microscopically chewing,
so many hour ago.
Please, let go of my heart.
It's bruised enough.
It's tattered enough.
It's all ripped to fucking shreds.
The blood's just dripping,
almost all of it gone.
So Let Go Of My Fucking Heart!
I've died and am cold.
I'm six feet under ground.
I know how it sounds,
but that can't be helped.
Please. Don't let go of my heart.


Looking at the walls
while my skin crawls.
I have to look away
but hope you'll stay.
What do I say?
What can I say?
You look so fucking good.
Make sure that's understood.
I long to feel your touch.
What I offer isn't much.
What do I do?
What can I do?
Your smile's like a knife,
a promise of forbidden life.
Just thinking hurts so bad.
I get myself so sad.
What am I now?
What the hell am I now?
There's tension instead of love.
Can't take off the gloves.
I want to get close (you don't).
I want to be held (you don't).
Nothing I can do,
there's nothing I can do.
I want to hold on,
and sing another song,
happily in love with you,
dead in love with you.
So here I am now.
I know what I am now.
I am without you.

I bring forth the storms
that shatter lives.
I bring down the mountains
and push back the tides.
But I cannot be with you.
I embrace the fires
no one can touch.
I'm a living nightmare.
I can be too much.
But I can't put a dent in you.
I can take a life,
tear it and throw it away.
But when it comes to you
I don't know what to say.
I'd die to be with you.
How does it feel
to turn your back on love?
Is there some reward
you recieve from above?
Is there satisfaction
in being so vengful?
>From acting so
damned in control?
How do you do it?
I'm through with crying.
I'm through with trying.
I'm want you dying.
You hear me?
I'm lying.

The bright ideas,
come on one at a time.
Late, too late
to do me any good.
I've fucked up
once again.
Lots of money,
good, good friends,
job security,
the things I wish I had.
A summer home,
a private garden,
sunny days,
the things I wish I had.
My red guitar,
perfect pitch,
a place to play,
the things I wish I had.
Another chance,
a trip through time,
a bit more foresight,
the things I wish I had.
A sweet caress,
A gentle kiss,
God I miss
the things I wish I had.

I see the world
through a haze of pain
that I inflict upon myself.
I cut so deep cut cannot end
the life I give myself.
Back in 2005 now,
And wouldn't you know it, I'm once again feeling like crap, depressed, 
and just want done with opiates.
I want off the train.
I think at this point I'd almost (it's a tough choice- pain or panic, pain 
or no withdrawal fears ever, pain or spending money I don't have every three 
weeks for a new prescription, pain or freedom from the mess) rather live in 
utter agony at this point, forever more, than go through the "do I have 
enough drugs to get me through" and such and such and blahbidyblah. I'm so 
sick and tired (where have I heard that before?) of the ups and downs, the 
pain, the overdoing my drugs so I don't feel ANY pain, then the panic that 
sets in when I realize "oh shit, I've got another week and a half and really 
not enough drugs, so I'm gonna be sick" shit.
If someone writes back and gives me shit for not "taking my previous blessed 
chances seriously" or whatever they'd like to rail about at me, let me tell 
them now to kiss off. Thanks.

Peace and love,
Preston Peet

"Madness is not enlightenment, but the search for enlightenment is often 
mistaken for madness"
Richard Davenport-Hines

ptpeet at nyc.rr.com
Editor http://www.drugwar.com
Editor "Under the Influence- the Disinformation Guide to Drugs"
Editor "Underground- The Disinformation Guide to Ancient Civilizations, 
Astonishing Archeology and Hidden History" (due out Sept. 2005)
Cont. High Times mag/.com
Cont. Editor http://www.disinfo.com
Columnist New York Waste

----- Original Message ----- 
From: "tink" <tinkerbell.sarah at gmail.com>
To: <ibogaine at mindvox.com>
Sent: Wednesday, August 17, 2005 1:38 AM
Subject: [Ibogaine] a blast from the past

I found a little book of poetry that a friend wrote a million years
ago tonight, and found this amognst the pages.  Thought I'd share...


my dreams
have all overcome me
rule the pain
my final friend
all the smiles
from yesterdays gone
have broken
or gone away
i must've known it was no good
for me
I took it anyway
now i realize
it was no good
for you too
much too late
to change your fate
I'll die
for both our sins
and you can live again
bleeding forever
my blood
as you cry
for someone else

A.  Razor

Where ever you are, Razor, I love you bro...

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