We're excited to announce we're starting off the first new moon of June with the launch of the Visionary Poetry tab on ZOOMDOUT.COM! We're expanding our digital tripper bibliothèque with more inspiring, mystical material for you and the rest of "the others" to read and enjoy. Below is a short description of what Visionary Poetry represents. It is yet another means of evolving language and describing what is actually happening--for the cartographical benefit of similar-minded explorers around the globe.
Visionary Poetry is the art of pushing language past its ordinary expressional limits. It is the archaic poetic form of linguistically expressing and conveying transcendental states of consciousness. Since time immemorial Visionary Poetry has persistently served in linguistically linking together the common with the divine—the ordinary with the non-ordinary. Limitless examples of Visionary Poetry can be found in the poetic pages of theRig Veda, the Mahābhārata, the Bible, the Quran; or more recently in the western mystic works of Emerson, Whitman, Blake and Ginsberg.
This ZOOMDOUT page is dedicated to publishing modern Visionary Poetry. If you'd like to contribute to our ever-expanding digital tripper bibliothèque, please consider contacting us with your super-conscious syllables.
Here is the first poem to officially launch this boundary-expanding ZOOMDOUT Visionary Poetry project. This poem was inspired by a peculiar vision I had during a Mazatecan mushroom ceremony in Huatla, Oaxaca, Mexico. Enjoy!
Psilocybin Clowns
Red-nosed, make-up plastered clowns abound
In this carnivally comical dimensional crevice.
Sad clowns, large clowns,
Laughing clowns, crying clowns--
But in a gloomy hidden way,
In a desolate playground by himself,
Sat alone one particular droopy-faced clown.
In a rusting, rustling creakingly decrepit swing set
This clown grabbed my distracted awareness by the hair.
His impossibly droopy, clownishly-colored red, white and black circus face
Stirred up a deep Buddha belly laugh in me.
And I was pushed to wonder--
Why was there a droopingly long amount of clown face on this classically comical clown?
Why was a giant clown frown taking up more than the entirety of this damned clown's face?
So, quite naturally,
I couldn't resist asking him,
While sincerely holding back my multi-colored polka-dotted bag of laughs,
What was the reason behind his psilocybinally-painted melancholic face?
Trying to empathetically interpret his abysmally black tunneling eyes proved to be a complicated task,
As his evasive painted pallid pallor tactically contorted, turned, squirmed, wiggled and wriggled away
From my inquisitive, smiling analytical eyes.
I was abandoned to wonderment and crummy speculation.
Apparently, and probably undoubtedly,
The mopey crying clown was unprecedentedly doomed.
Judging by his buffoonishly depressive expressions,
The dismal crying clown couldn't be experiencing anything less than a full-blown amount of doom.
The damned-apparent clown appeared to be
Dooming with doom;
Booming with doom;
Zooming with doom.
Welcoming doom in a colorful clown suit.
Not just passively and casually walking through doom,
But almost masochistically drowning himself in doom.
Hopelessly losing himself in doom.
Being, beating and breathing with nothing but doom.
—Doom in-and-of-itself--
Perhaps, even, experiencing a picture perfect amount of doom.
What a curious way of accepting your doom,
By comically relishing in doom.
Although the clown's outer countenance
Expressed utter melancholy,
The possibility exists that he was experiencing an emotion less abstract
Than absolutely drastic.
Maybe he was recently outcasted by his cold and cool carnivorous carnival friends.
Maybe his clan of clowns replaced him with a more talented clown
Maybe the crisis-crossed clown was criss-crossing through complicated existential complexes
Maybe he came from a long family line of chronically crying clowns.
Maybe his fellow circus-circuit cronies wronged him in an embarrassing and humiliating way.
Although, if you could get a glimpse of his circus-perfect sad clown face,
You'd probably say, and most likely conclude,
That he was nothing less than abominably doomed.
In this carnivally comical dimensional crevice.
Sad clowns, large clowns,
Laughing clowns, crying clowns--
But in a gloomy hidden way,
In a desolate playground by himself,
Sat alone one particular droopy-faced clown.
In a rusting, rustling creakingly decrepit swing set
This clown grabbed my distracted awareness by the hair.
His impossibly droopy, clownishly-colored red, white and black circus face
Stirred up a deep Buddha belly laugh in me.
And I was pushed to wonder--
Why was there a droopingly long amount of clown face on this classically comical clown?
Why was a giant clown frown taking up more than the entirety of this damned clown's face?
So, quite naturally,
I couldn't resist asking him,
While sincerely holding back my multi-colored polka-dotted bag of laughs,
What was the reason behind his psilocybinally-painted melancholic face?
Trying to empathetically interpret his abysmally black tunneling eyes proved to be a complicated task,
As his evasive painted pallid pallor tactically contorted, turned, squirmed, wiggled and wriggled away
From my inquisitive, smiling analytical eyes.
I was abandoned to wonderment and crummy speculation.
Apparently, and probably undoubtedly,
The mopey crying clown was unprecedentedly doomed.
Judging by his buffoonishly depressive expressions,
The dismal crying clown couldn't be experiencing anything less than a full-blown amount of doom.
The damned-apparent clown appeared to be
Dooming with doom;
Booming with doom;
Zooming with doom.
Welcoming doom in a colorful clown suit.
Not just passively and casually walking through doom,
But almost masochistically drowning himself in doom.
Hopelessly losing himself in doom.
Being, beating and breathing with nothing but doom.
—Doom in-and-of-itself--
Perhaps, even, experiencing a picture perfect amount of doom.
What a curious way of accepting your doom,
By comically relishing in doom.
Although the clown's outer countenance
Expressed utter melancholy,
The possibility exists that he was experiencing an emotion less abstract
Than absolutely drastic.
Maybe he was recently outcasted by his cold and cool carnivorous carnival friends.
Maybe his clan of clowns replaced him with a more talented clown
Maybe the crisis-crossed clown was criss-crossing through complicated existential complexes
Maybe he came from a long family line of chronically crying clowns.
Maybe his fellow circus-circuit cronies wronged him in an embarrassing and humiliating way.
Although, if you could get a glimpse of his circus-perfect sad clown face,
You'd probably say, and most likely conclude,
That he was nothing less than abominably doomed.
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