The Big & Dandy Psychedelic Art/Poetry Thread

[nearjat]

Hey guys, I posted some poems in words http://www.bluelight.ru/vb/showthread.php?p=7111086#post7111086

Lemme know what ye think, if think ye do....

:D

win

 

[Rozza]

a work me and 3 friends did.

-edit
sorry for shocking quality, i took it on my camera phone.
the work is ment to be viewed from different angles, so you rotate it 90 degress and see something differrent

 

[Xorkoth]

Nice, I like it Rozza.

 

[Rozza]

thanks! ive got some more, ill take them with my camera/scan them in and upload them soon

 

[Propyl Power]

mmmyes the 2c-i bear with a nitrous mask preforming surgery on himself in the woods

IGNVS, this is really beautiful and delicate work. I want to see more!

Here are some details of my older work. Unfortunately the pictures drain all the color and crispness, but you can get an idea. I'm trying to find a digicam to upload my newer stuff, it's waaay better The complete images and more can be found at www.syddartha.deviantart.com

 

[Xorkoth]

Wow, PP... I love those!

 

[Recept]

^ Second that, VERY nice!

 

[hamonz]

i wish i could draw like that
these are all mind blowing pictures

 

[coelophysis]

Propyl Power, holy shit, I'm in love.

 

[BiG StroOnZ]

It's called Fact vs. Fiction

If anyone wants to finish coloring it in, please be my guest.

 

[ControlDenied]

thats look prety cool , more up my alley , i love stylized cartooning as my old HS art teacher called it.... :Dd

 

[kaib0rg]

Propyl Power: good god that is amazing. kudos.

summertime is almost upon us. that means acid + outdoors + music = dancing. quite a strange equation, i know, but it works for me. there will be more trip-influenced dance footage here soon.

 

[feelgoodhit]

acid + outdoors + music = dancing. Quite a strange equation...

wat?

 

[JumpinJackFlash]

Those pictures are ace Propyl, ok I have a few poems on the matter, born of acid mainly, here's one for you...

A grain of truth

“Who put those up?”
said the barman
as the fountains ebb and drain.

“Devil knows!”
said Groundskeep,
whose memoirs would later explain
his misgivings
about this barman
and the truth that he por-tains!

A sound-bite later said
“sorrow be the barman
whose only friends are grains
of sand! These mortal woes
the Earth has seen before, it’s true
but this leaves us with the fountain
Groundskeep, what are we to do?”

You see Groundskeep and the Barman
are but two tiny grains
of sand falling through an hourglass
of them there fountains.

The fountain is a beach,
human experience is its terrain,
every anatomical atom
of man it would explain

at great length
at dinner parties or on request
for the fountain is within us all,
and the fountain doth not jest!

It just documents man;
count them grain by grain
irregardless of any man
or truth that he por-tains.

This doesn’t stop man’s
headstrong onward quest
but the fountain shall outlast them all
and the fountain doth not jest.

Today I am but one such grain,
one barman, or groundskeep.
Today I am the cruel master
for I cannot put this dog to sleep.

You see, I quest the water
that separates man from fountain
even the kindest amongst you might ask
of the truth that it por-tains.

The fountain doesn’t stand for time
it is much more than this
for the fountain contains every man
who has or has yet to exist.

The fountain therefore has a soul,
like a 1951 Dom Perignon
whose finer notes sure sing a song
compared to yesterday’s, more timely, weak piss.

Though this grain approaches truth
ponder this as it is lain
grains of sand can never be
the water. Truth doth there por-tain!

“Who put those up?”
said the barman.
his questioning goes much to explain
the reasons why the fountains and time differ;
oh how those fountains ebb and drain.

It is the sands very questioning of the water
about which it is lain
which separates one from t’other
a grain of truth might there por-tain?

From my inner child that one, this one's about sleeping pills and such

A land called Never again

You cannot buy sleep’s affections
with chat-up lines and half-priced drinks.
A bitter taste, her rejection
how I lust for her forty winks.
Silver dust streams from my eye lids
but sandmen pimps do not take bids;
trips to Slumberland must be earned
this simple fact I never learned
now I hop on the express train
to a resort of no return.
To a land called Never Again.

On the river see reflections
as Corneal boats row in-sync
the Ne’er-Ne’er looks like perfection,
canopies glow florescent pink.
Natives known as the Dilaudids
fend off optic-nerve inland squid,
for the tourist they show concern
they understand, you’ll never learn.
The pipe’s smoke is high, sustained
as you trip on Ay’wasca ferns
to a land called Never Again.

Ferns spiral in one direction
downward. We fall as the world shrinks,
sheltered from the wind’s advection
we see cool patterns and make links
between ant armies and El Cid
between spiders and Billy the Kid
but our shallow meaning is spurned
we are stung, but we never learn.
Our knowledge is small and inane
that’s why we will always return
to a land called Never Again.

Awake we feel sleep’s affliction
tattooing its name with black ink
El Cid’s ants have brought infection
we do battle with swords of zinc.
Shields of bottles and plastic lids
move with the instinct of our ids
we’re guarded as we thrash and turn
but sleep’s defeat is what we yearn.
We have never been fighter planes
just victims. Let the napalm bomb burn
to a land called Never Again.

The bomb drops without detection
our radar minds don’t even blink
all they seek is disconnection
and comfort in the pelts of mink.
CNS systems fall off grid
victory for the Dilaudids
reality is now adjourned
as the Ne’er-Ne’er begins to churn.
Stomach currents and acid rain
cause Corneal boats to upturn
to a land called Never Again.

Hypocrites say like they have learned
“never again, real sleep is earned!”
But as the Ne’er-Ne’er delta drains
I cannot say from Corneal stern
that I’ll ne’er see Never Again.


That's enough for now I think.

 

[cosmic charlie]

mmmyes the 2c-i bear with a nitrous mask preforming surgery on himself in the woods

That is so good Ignus , your a very talented artist

 

[IGNVS]

thanks man!

 

[adrian89987]

NSFW:

Those pictures are ace Propyl, ok I have a few poems on the matter, born of acid mainly, here's one for you...

A grain of truth

“Who put those up?”
said the barman
as the fountains ebb and drain.

“Devil knows!”
said Groundskeep,
whose memoirs would later explain
his misgivings
about this barman
and the truth that he por-tains!

A sound-bite later said
“sorrow be the barman
whose only friends are grains
of sand! These mortal woes
the Earth has seen before, it’s true
but this leaves us with the fountain
Groundskeep, what are we to do?”

You see Groundskeep and the Barman
are but two tiny grains
of sand falling through an hourglass
of them there fountains.

The fountain is a beach,
human experience is its terrain,
every anatomical atom
of man it would explain

at great length
at dinner parties or on request
for the fountain is within us all,
and the fountain doth not jest!

It just documents man;
count them grain by grain
irregardless of any man
or truth that he por-tains.

This doesn’t stop man’s
headstrong onward quest
but the fountain shall outlast them all
and the fountain doth not jest.

Today I am but one such grain,
one barman, or groundskeep.
Today I am the cruel master
for I cannot put this dog to sleep.

You see, I quest the water
that separates man from fountain
even the kindest amongst you might ask
of the truth that it por-tains.

The fountain doesn’t stand for time
it is much more than this
for the fountain contains every man
who has or has yet to exist.

The fountain therefore has a soul,
like a 1951 Dom Perignon
whose finer notes sure sing a song
compared to yesterday’s, more timely, weak piss.

Though this grain approaches truth
ponder this as it is lain
grains of sand can never be
the water. Truth doth there por-tain!

“Who put those up?”
said the barman.
his questioning goes much to explain
the reasons why the fountains and time differ;
oh how those fountains ebb and drain.

It is the sands very questioning of the water
about which it is lain
which separates one from t’other
a grain of truth might there por-tain?

From my inner child that one, this one's about sleeping pills and such

A land called Never again

You cannot buy sleep’s affections
with chat-up lines and half-priced drinks.
A bitter taste, her rejection
how I lust for her forty winks.
Silver dust streams from my eye lids
but sandmen pimps do not take bids;
trips to Slumberland must be earned
this simple fact I never learned
now I hop on the express train
to a resort of no return.
To a land called Never Again.

On the river see reflections
as Corneal boats row in-sync
the Ne’er-Ne’er looks like perfection,
canopies glow florescent pink.
Natives known as the Dilaudids
fend off optic-nerve inland squid,
for the tourist they show concern
they understand, you’ll never learn.
The pipe’s smoke is high, sustained
as you trip on Ay’wasca ferns
to a land called Never Again.

Ferns spiral in one direction
downward. We fall as the world shrinks,
sheltered from the wind’s advection
we see cool patterns and make links
between ant armies and El Cid
between spiders and Billy the Kid
but our shallow meaning is spurned
we are stung, but we never learn.
Our knowledge is small and inane
that’s why we will always return
to a land called Never Again.

Awake we feel sleep’s affliction
tattooing its name with black ink
El Cid’s ants have brought infection
we do battle with swords of zinc.
Shields of bottles and plastic lids
move with the instinct of our ids
we’re guarded as we thrash and turn
but sleep’s defeat is what we yearn.
We have never been fighter planes
just victims. Let the napalm bomb burn
to a land called Never Again.

The bomb drops without detection
our radar minds don’t even blink
all they seek is disconnection
and comfort in the pelts of mink.
CNS systems fall off grid
victory for the Dilaudids
reality is now adjourned
as the Ne’er-Ne’er begins to churn.
Stomach currents and acid rain
cause Corneal boats to upturn
to a land called Never Again.

Hypocrites say like they have learned
“never again, real sleep is earned!”
But as the Ne’er-Ne’er delta drains
I cannot say from Corneal stern
that I’ll ne’er see Never Again.


That's enough for now I think.

You wrote these? I liked them a lot, thanks for posting.

 

[Rozza]

So I tried a little photoshop to try and replicate the effects of lsd.

what do you think? Im not good enough at photo shop to do a good job.

 

[Propyl Power]

^Nice work, gentle, luminescent, subtle organic - not the trypical fractal cheez.

 

[Rozza]

thanks! :D Yeah, my goal was to try and show what its really like. Its hard, when you talk about tripping to people who havent, they have all these thoughts of what its like, with ideas from tv and movies. Penguins talking to you on the moon. Perhaps on other things I have not tried, but acid...no. Well, at least not on the dosages Ive had