HISTORY OF MADNESS FINAL
They whispered in my ears and I listened. They kept me awake and sometimes it would sound exactly as if dogs were barking by my ear, and my name hissed over and over to me as I began to doubt. Never acquiesced never ever gave in and began to believe in the hardness of breathy hallucination only that I was worth nothing a fever of trickery swimming through think stinking mud holding pain like it…
HISTORY RANT 4 - MANIAAAAAAA
“WHATEVER THY HAND FINDETH TO DO, DO IT WITH THY MIGHT. FOR THERE IS NO WISDOM, NOR WORK, NOR DEVICE, IN THE GRAVE; WITHER THOUGH GOEST.”
bible, ecclesiastes.
the text is one of the two quotes that i live by. the other, from the more respectable source of mr emerson, is about my work… yes. and my life also i guess. yes.
“TRUST THYSELF. EVERY HEART VIBRATES TO THAT IRON STRING.”
i went thr…
HISTORY OF MADNESS
PART THREE. I should add before i paste MORE of my history rant, that my life is NOT like this any more. on december the 20th it will be the anniversary of 10 years without a drop of alcohol; though the bipolar got WORSE after i was straight. which i thought was just fucking UNFAIR.
Since then… well in the last year i have gone on dexamphetamine sulphate (known as dexadeine in the US;) and …
SKETCHING MADNESS.
THE NEXT BIT. please write back if you can. it is hard to… do. to post this.
I started drinking one afternoon was sure I didn’t go out or see anyone but woke up in a pair of dirty women’s underwear.
I was at a palatial house with a goddess and threw up in her spa. Don’t know her name I don’t think I did even then.
Winters were the worst always lost and drunk and cold always wet and so fu…
IF YOU WANT TO UNDERSTAND MADNESS...
I have a huge swelling feeling growing in the back of my head, reaching forward in grasping fibrillated and soggy claws. I know this feeling, frenetic as it is, coiled and sprung and filled up with sand. It is MANIA jumpstarting my head and collapsing into itself like a singularity or a sandcastle or a limestone blow hole. I love it and cherish it at the same time as despising it and feeding it…
scream rant
If you die first and there’s life after death, could you write about it in pink lipstick on my mirror so I will see it in the morning when I am shaving? I want to know, and I think that would be a nice way to find out… Could a ghost spell out a sentence for me in liqueur chocolates? Or would a dead lover of mine appear before me in my sleep and write to me with wet kisses on the skin of my che…
Sarcasm is its own reward
Allusions and illusions
Sarcasm is its own reward.
With a feel for illusions and allusions there’s only one bone picker on the farm.
Give me a chance and I’ll tell you how to lose,
how to become whatever it happens you mostly revile when you’re alone
and trying quietude for an experiment.
Bones on the outside, like insects, sure.
There is no way out of this, this is stuck-dom, stuck-vil…
the ductile moments full of the scent of sex.
Well certainly it affects us all in velvet lines and nails dug into palms and heights drawing us to their creeping, gorgeous edges. That final appointment trembling inside our fragile masques. This is where you are. This is what you have left.
Courage as plagued and futile as fear, dignity an un-credible, absurd end point.
The words as pale and as oxymoronic as a just war or a healthy wound…