“men are so necessarily mad, that not to be mad, would amount to another form of madness.” — pascal

insanity

a dissertation

sitting fragmented, your scribe resides, a depraved cynic with a tone informal, i, through a callous appraisal shall demonstrate the abnormal. such a prevalent dismay in these days today: a turn for worse but lets call it strange. with the screams of genetic decay,

madness takes its toll —
please have exact change…

— here documents the development of insanity —

mania

beneath the cortex, chaos births thought. a blotch in the sky, a what in the why. an emphatic folly esteemed on pedestal wisping in the void, integrity destroyed. in solemn ambience mania sits with vast reaches, smashed pieces and bits. reason with confusion, lunacy and delusion. outcasted, wrapped up in seclusion — a tyrant, on an unknown mission, the destination perdition, an offbeat disposition, professionally the most dangerous ambition.
 
relentlessly i pace and ponder, my heart’s beating dramatically. eventually i dwindle and falter, my brain’s ticking erratically. mindlessly traversing galaxies on cosmic voyage passing stars with an utmost intensity via the moon and mars.

spend! spend! — i deplete my wares being forever drastic.
cash and credit — i delete my shares swiping plastic fantastic.

“i met a woman amongst other things between all the frenzy and fondness. she never said oyster, she said this world is your lobster”

hysteria

antisocial victim dwelling in shame with rampant feet devastating towns. hysteric remarks of curse and blame, hot to handle the ups and downs. life caught in torment trapped in disarray. i tear my face off literally everyday. psychosis, a beautiful machine with notions very fictitious, breaking all rules of reality with the ends forever vicious.
 
primal instinct taunts control, i madly stop and shatter — a thousand voices scream in vain: “liberate me from this matter”. doctors revel as they try to quench such unbridled lightning and thunders, a pharmaceutical paradise awaits — psychiatry’s gift to treat such wonders. “contain the bastard, seize his conscience, throw him in the junkie junction”

i persist to elaborately prevent a systematic shutdown of executive function.

“gracefully i hit the earth, i punch it with my face. for unmanageable emotional excesses: life will contrast the extremes”

melancholia

what happened to all the colours? melancholia happily sets. defeated by dark depression, all to trade are my regrets. in grief i vacantly lie awake, i medicate though i turn in terror. senses broken as i stir and shake — internal dilemma, a paradox of error. such unpleasant frequencies about, transmitting an imminent death around… i tie a tie around my neck and deliberate in silent sound.

beyond the threshold is where i dream, there i send my aspiration. though lost is where i seem to be entertaining isolation. agoraphobia, hello my old friend 
i think its better to stay inside. “we regret to say your brave excursion has been uncourteously self-denied”. exiled to my quarters i expire, within four walls i am ensnared. forlorn a scavenger tending his wits — indefinite anxiety, tranquillity spared.

“smile, something is breathing. all is the absence of nothing. no imagination would not last long! no, say creatures. no!”

hypochondria

paranoia is an awful teacher and a tenant who breeds insomnia, the volatile mind is so dysfunctional filled to the brim with hypochondria. schizophrenic hallucinogenic visions of religious splendour — taking hold of your mind and soul, strike you first that violent contender! twitching eyes running scared, compulsive nerves outside the margin… doing well to be vigilant as the outlook begins to darken.

they wanted pride to match my hair, i wanted bubble-gum plum… and in the aftershades of phobia a dysmorphic horror has come. this mirror’s edge is staring me down as lady bug vanity sat to detest, knowing the most refined of beauties would my forms writhe to digest. narcissism, a conceited disease encapsulating insecurity… i fixate and i consume my self defeating immaturity.

“slipping, failing, wailing, ailing, screaming, yelling, cursing, craving.”

recovery

eventually these symptoms of disparity strive to attain emancipation. past history clearly demonstrates one must recover from disintegration. rough to consider my past account of dizzy days and harsh atmosphere, but stability has a running chance so i dare my will to persevere. therapy is no pleasant joke, resurgence is another feat, but redemption speaks a rigid plan to mend the wounds of my defeat.

nil would work to save myself from this state i left me in. all these methods of quick resolve make me climb right out my skin. i find solace through a way of personal deliverance, a solution to show my peers reconciled belligerence. it’s a common fact that inner zen takes awhile to consolidate, i’ll pick the pieces off the floor and make the time to renovate.

“the juxtaposition of the position within and without — within and without fear, the fear to become lonely, the lonely when all else has failed, failure of completion, completion of derivation, derivation of divinity, divinity of you,
you within, you without.”

relapse

reverting to a life of malady has its own natural penalty, impulsive action humbly called: a progression of uncertainty. in these terrible times of absolute irrationality. you will sadly find me cursed with a reversed popularity. at the sound of erratic affairs, fair-weather friends drop like flies. while refusing to spare their prayers, they’d rather watch my demise. restraint is a false idea impersonating partial power, spinning round, and round, without halt, ten hundred thousand miles per hour. hard to resist a quick escape, an attractive invitation — sobriety is imaginary when faced with dark temptation.

indulgence and some decadence, with narcs to take me higher — all roads will lead to relapse experimenting with carnal desire.

“the axe corrupts the axis, the quivering weeping willow would leave the wood and the leaf — and may blood and chlorophyll be her favourite make-up as it starts all over again..”

epilogue

what is normal when ‘normal’ is compared?
…to a normal mind’s mind, civilly unimpaired?

factory standard, all so typical, they make them so perfect, i remain cynical. out of interest we study humanity, unkemptly aware we observe some vistas. a population set so pristine: these clean shoulder, sure chested existers. such elite bodies garnished with bliss, squarely engineered, taxed, and planned. assemble in rows! now conform like this! we may be invalid,

but they are all damned….

i dare you walk sometime in my shoes, just to see how it goes… fun, flowers, and fancy fairs, my days i say are none of those. maybe you wonder what was the point of this melodramatic dissertation? sounds like this author just smoked a joint, and got lost halfway through translation? i assure you there is some cause to this written compilation: raise compassion for the mad because it’s better than your condemnation…
“the function of the mind is called i, the opposite of the statement contradicts contradiction. wisely the sense would be taken to misinterpret a mass division of multitudes with wigs and pasty ink”
nothing is perfect in this world, life is a chain of happy and sad — look inside and tell yourself:

“but first, i’ve got to get mad!”

@mmjude (2013)

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