Showing posts with label Madness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Madness. Show all posts

Thursday, March 13, 2025

Going Nuts

Not a spark of electricity in this whole damn house

Not enough melatonin to knock my ass out

My dreams are lysergic, my reality is no different

Going nuts in a dark room with demonic visions

My body could fry a whole carton of eggs

My throat slime could melt through my nonexistent neck

My nose is undergoing medieval torture

A mountain of tissues ruined in short order

Coughing up a storm of pandemic proportions

Dreading the days of insurance extortions

No breathing apparatus to pump my lungs

Waking up from dreams that feel like drugs

Alcoholic syrup is the only solution

To keep me away from the mental institution

The late night is over, the day starts at dawn

Still the electricity won’t come back on

I slosh along like a radioactive blob

Throat’s too sore for corn on the cob

I might as well swallow shards of glass

The next 24 hours can kiss my ass

Nothing to do but lay down and drift

Leaving my thoughts to sort and sift

Through a filter that was never there before

Demons in my head fight an endless war

With swords, rifles, bombs, and nerve gas

Turning my brain into a mass grave fast

The world wasn’t supposed to end this way

But why expect it to last forever and a day?

The power’s back on and so is the news

My fever kills, but millions are screwed

A fever passes with time and some rest

Hits different when the rich see you as a pest

If it had been measles or god forbid COVID

We’d have bigger problems than feeling hopeless

I survived insanity and snot-covered sickness

Got any more tragedies for me to witness?

Going nuts is kind of what I do the best

Don’t believe me? You fail the polygraph test

Friday, April 26, 2019

Not Worth the Pain


CHORUS
You’re not worth the pain
I’ve got nothing to gain
From watching you walk away
You’re not worth the trauma
You’re not worth the drama
Tomorrow’s yet another day

VERSE 1
What makes you worthy of my crowded mind?
What makes you worthy of my precious time?
Anybody can wear the shortest of dresses
Anybody can rock the hottest of messes
But only you can break another man down
Get your entertainment from watching me drown
Goodbye, my friend, for now and forever
I wish you the best in your future endeavors

CHORUS
You’re not worth the pain
I’ve got nothing to gain
From watching you walk away
You’re not worth the trauma
You’re not worth the drama
Tomorrow’s yet another day

VERSE 2
I’ve got enough pain in my oversized heart
And you were hardly the end or the start
I’m a sucker for only the tightest of hugs
It’s kind of like being high on opium drugs
Fool me once and the shame goes on you
Fool me twice and it’s really nothing new
I’ve got to kick this habit sometime soon
Before I get locked up like a loony toon

CHORUS
You’re not worth the pain
I’ve got nothing to gain
From watching you walk away
You’re not worth the trauma
You’re not worth the drama
Tomorrow’s yet another day

VERSE 3
Why do I keep on doing this to myself?
Why do I keep on compromising my health?
Why do I form these unhealthy crushes?
Why do I use friendship as my crutches?
Why do you keep coming back in my life?
Why do you keep on twisting the knife?
Why do you keep on breaking my heart?
Why do you like to tear my life apart?

BRIDGE
Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!
You’re not worth the pain!
Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!
You’re not worth the shame!
Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!
You’re not worth the sadness!
Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it!
You’re not worth the madness!

Saturday, April 6, 2019

"Howl" by Allen Ginsberg


BOOK TITLE: Howl
AUTHOR: Allen Ginsberg
YEAR: 1956
GENRE: Poetry
SUBGENRE: Beat
GRADE: Mixed

It could be that I’m missing something here. It could be that my English degree wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. It could be that Allen Ginsberg is making me feel stupid. But whatever the case, when I tried to piece together the imagery in Howl, all I could say to myself was…”What?!” Sometimes the imagery made sense to me and I could carry on with my reading. Sometimes I had to read it twice or three times and even then my ability to comprehend it was sketchy. The first poem in the book starts off with, “I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness.” Ordinarily that would be an awesome way to start a poem. It certainly got me going. But then reading the rest of it, I began to wonder if Allen Ginsberg himself was being destroyed by madness. He does have a creative mind, I’ll give him that. He’s so creative that only he understands what the heck he’s talking about.

But for all of the times that he made sense to me, his poetry truly spoke from the heart. It’s depressing watching great minds descend into madness. It’s depressing to watch the almighty “Moloch” take over everything you love. It’s depressing to know that your best friend is wasting away in a mental hospital while the orderlies employ draconian techniques. I know how depressing these things are because I myself am a schizophrenic. There once was a time when I thought I was going to be institutionalized against my will. I even welcomed it at one point. But if I didn’t get the help I needed when I did, I could just as easily become another statistic a la Carl Solomon (Ginsberg’s insane friend). This book was published in the 1950’s, during a time when ignorance towards mental health was rampant. I’m not so sure I could have survived that era. Thank you, Allen Ginsberg, for bringing me back to reality.

It should be noted how important this book of poetry was to the free speech movement. The sexual imagery, the violence, and the constant swearing had conservative censorship groups up in arms. Despite me not understanding most of the content, I can appreciate the battles Allen Ginsberg went through to get Howl published. Freedom of speech was always a guaranteed right in the American constitution, but it still comes under fire to this day. Luckily, we’re a lot more open-minded as a society, but if not for people like Ginsberg putting their lives on the line for free speech, we would have stayed in the dark ages for a long time. When balancing the confusing imagery with the impact the words had on mental health and the free speech movement, I’ll give this book a respectable mixed grade. It wasn’t a perfect read, but maybe I’m not high enough on the educational food chain to appreciate it to the fullest extent. This is just my opinion. You’re always allowed to have your own, because that comes with the freedom of speech deal.

Friday, November 3, 2017

Gorgon Death Bitch

The clock on Steve Jones’s dashboard struck midnight while the rain pounded on his windshield like hammers. He clutched the steering wheel with a monstrous grip knowing what was waiting for him beyond that apartment door. He could faintly hear Kathryn Marsh’s radio blasting the coincidental tune “The Thunder Rolls” by All That Remains. How funny would it be if those lyrics about a cheating husband influenced her rage when Steve walked through the door? The last time he sniffed around, there wasn’t a trace of cologne because there was no other woman. But still…

Steve took one last swig of his Jack Daniels and let out an ogre burp before exiting the car for what would be the longest walk of his life. It was only one flight of stairs, but with the alcohol turning his brain into mush, he might as well have been walking on an endless treadmill. He limped up each individual step while maintaining a chokehold on the railing. He dared not peek down to know just how high off the ground he was. Instead he fixed his short brown hair and brushed off his gray hoodie and black jeans before slipping his key in the door and walking through the gates of hell.

“Where the fuck have you been?” belted Kathryn as she sprawled across the couch in her pink fleece robe while her King Charles puppy licked her hands. “Do you have any goddamn clue what time it is? Jesus, you smell like a brewery!”

“Kathryn, now’s not the time for this dramatic crap. I’ve had a long day and all I want to do is get in bed and forget all about it,” begged Steve while holding his hands up defensively.

He stumbled towards the bedroom slowly and lazily when Kathryn shoved the puppy off of her chest and leaped up to block her boyfriend’s path with her arms akimbo. “I’ve been waiting for you all day long. We were supposed to have dinner together and then go see a movie.” She took in the scent of booze with a scowl and said, “You obviously had other plans.”

“You know what?” slurred Steve. “I did have other plans. Plans that didn’t involve coming home to you every night and getting chewed out for stupid shit! Ever since we got engaged, it’s been the same: fighting, fighting, and more fucking fighting! So excuse me if I don’t feel like hanging out with a crazy chick who wants to keep me on a leash!”

Kathryn shoved Steve and sent him careening backwards. He would have landed on his ass if he didn’t have a firm grip on the back of the couch. Towering over him, she snapped, “We never do anything together anymore! I have to keep you on a short leash because I can’t trust you to be there for me! We’re supposed to get married soon and now you’re going to ruin it for us by drinking yourself to death! I’m sick of this shit, Steve!”

Amidst rapid-fire dog barking, Steve pulled himself to his feet, but not without tripping forward and almost landing face first into Kathryn’s chest. “Kitty-Kat, just shut the fuck up before you make my headache worse than it already is.”

Kathryn slapped Steve across the face and sent him rolling onto the couch. “How can you talk to me that way?!” she angrily sobbed. “The Steve I know would never have said that to anyone, let alone his own fiancĂ©! You’ve changed! You’ve fucking changed! You can either check into rehab or I’ll drop this wedding like a bad habit!” When the dog continued to voice his opinion, his owner shouted, “Shut up, you stupid dog!” and earned a whine and a crouch from the little pooch.

Steve’s burning fury caused him to grab one of the couch pillows and thrash everything in sight with it, whether it be the coffee table, the TV, or Kathryn herself. He threw the soft weapon to the ground and shouted, “That’s it! I’ve had it with you! You want to end this relationship?! You want to throw it all away over stupid shit?! You got it! Good riddance! I’d be better off jacking it to internet porn than spending another night in the sack with you, you gorgon death bitch!”

Kathryn’s cheeks flushed into a brighter shade of pink than her bathrobe. Tears poured from her eyes with more intensity than the weather outside. “The Thunder Rolls” meant more to her now than it did when she was waiting for Steve to come home. She curled up into a ball on the floor and dampened her knees with sorrowful liquids. Steve wouldn’t be deterred by such a “pitiful” display as he crossed his arms and stood over her like a giant terrorizing villagers. He wasn’t staggering anymore despite the strong scent of alcohol blowing around the house like disgusting perfume.

“How could you?” Kathryn whimpered. “Why would you say that to me? Don’t you love me anymore? Does our marriage mean nothing to you?” Even with the biblical flood of tears, Steve hadn’t moved an inch. It was only when poisonous snakes grew from her scalp that he slowly staggered backwards and fell on his ass.

Now it was Steve’s turn to shed tears of misery and fear. “What the hell?” he asked as the dog’s barking picked up steam yet again.

The snakes in Kathryn’s hair slithered, spit venom, and chewed at the air. Her skin whitened to a pale shade of marble. When she nipped up and roared to the sky, neon red lights shot from her eyes and turned every fly whirling above her into little pebbles. Their corpses rolled across the ground like a game of craps. Steve had already turned around and covered his head so that he didn’t have to look into her eyes. Her demonic voice, on the other hand, was as clear as day. “You want a gorgon death bitch?! I’ll give you one, you little shit! You’re going to put a ring on me whether you want to or not!”

The shivering and cowering Steve opened his eyes ever so slightly to see Kathryn’s shadow creeping up on him. The snakes in her hair all made a lung for him and he rolled out of the way just in time. “Come on, Stevie-Boy!” the gorgon taunted. “I thought you liked putting poison in your body! You do enough of it at the bar, so why not here at home?”

The snakes lunged at him again and one of them managed to snag the back of his hoodie. Steve screamed in almighty terror as he ran behind the couch, leaving a piece of his clothing behind for the snakes to snack on. He tried to run towards the bedroom, but his drunken stupor made athleticism close to impossible. He tripped to the ground and crawled across the carpet like a soldier trying to avoid barbed wire. His heart thundered at a million beats per minute. Sweat and tears rained off of him like a dam after an earthquake. His body trembled and his bladder unleashed another rainstorm upon the ground. He even managed to feel pity for the barking dog behind him.

“I’m sorry, Kathryn! I’m so sorry! Just leave me the fuck alone!” Steve pleaded through a swamp of tears.

He felt a sharp presence clutch the back of his hair and yank him up to his knees. Those same claws mockingly massaged his shoulders while Kathryn whispered sweet nothings in his ears, her cacophony complimented by hissing snakes. “Oh, Steve. You’re so cute when you’re shaking in terror. I knew there was a reason my family loved you so much. They kept pushing me to marry you and now we can be happy together at last! Just you and me, nobody else! No beer, no drugs, no shitty music, just a lifetime of sweet symphonies! Doesn’t that sound like paradise, my darling?”

Even with his mind racing beyond the galaxy itself, Steve could make out the sound of the little puppy gnawing on Kathryn’s ankle, to which the gorgon growled and unleashed her savage stone stare upon the little guy. Steve and Kathryn yelled, “No!” together, which would be the only thing they had in common at this point in the argument.

Steve slowly turned his blistered face to see Kathryn on her knees cradling her stone statue puppy and sobbing once again. “Why?” she blubbered. “Why do I keep doing this to the ones I love? I didn’t mean to, damn it! I just want a happy life! I just want a husband and a puppy-duppy! Is that too much to ask for?”

With his eyebrows furrowed like lightning bolts, the thunder flashed in Steve’s eyes as he saw his opportunity to end this madness. He leapt to his feet, yanked the stone dog out of Kathryn’s hands, and before she could turn around, he smashed the petrified animal over her head multiple times. She screamed in bloody agony while her snakes hissed and nibbled at Steve’s arms and hands. He didn’t give a fuck about the poison or the blood.

A flash of red burned across his retinas as he smashed Kathryn’s head over and over again. The blood splatters and dead snakes were giving him a funny feeling in his wet pants. His eyes bulged and so did his underwear. He laughed like a psychopath as he bathed in the sweet venom of his now dying fiancĂ©. It felt as warm and relaxing to his aching body as a Jacuzzi. He hammered her again and again until the stone dog spilt in two and Kathryn’s head was a pool of shattered bones and splattered brains. For the first time in this relationship, Steve could breathe easy, but he did so with a deep, raspy throat.

His moment of sweet nirvana was interrupted by the sound of his apartment door being kicked down and police officers yelling, “What the hell?!”

Steve’s bulging eyes and psychotic demeanor faded into soberness when he peeked up at the cops. His heart sank to his feet when he saw that Kathryn’s gorgon appearance was no more and the puppy’s stone body was a bloody heap. Beyond the rancid smell of blood and guts, Steve could still identify the alcohol on his own breath and clothes. Goddamn, that was some strong booze.


The officers at the door gazed at Steve with horrified shock and arms akimbo. All Steve could do was shrug his shoulders and say, “It’s not what it looks like.”

Monday, November 2, 2015

"January First" by Michael Schofield

BOOK TITLE: January First: A Child’s Descent into Madness and Her Father’s Struggle to Save Her
AUTHOR: Michael Schofield
YEAR: 2012
GENRE: Nonfiction
SUBGENRE: Schizophrenia Memoir
GRADE: Extra Credit


In this tear-jerking memoir, Michael Schofield describes what life is like raising his schizophrenic daughter Jani, who was officially diagnosed with an acute version of the disease as a six-year-old. As a result of her psychosis, Jani would burst into violent tantrums where she would punch, kick, and head butt anybody who suggested that her hallucinations were fake. She has assaulted her own parents, her teachers, her nurses, and even her baby brother Bodhi and her dog Honey. Jani is highly resistant to any medication she is given as well as the harsh discipline her father tries to enforce. The violence, the sleepless nights, stressful days, and constantly playing the role of gatekeeper has psychologically exhausted both Mr. and Mrs. Schofield. And through it all, they learn to be strong and come together as a family.

As someone who teaches college-level writing classes, Michael Schofield has a tight command over the art of literature. His pacing is quick, his ability to show instead of tell is present, his innermost thoughts are compelling, and he does all of this with a no-BS style of writing. He doesn’t try to employ an overly flowery style of writing with poetic descriptions an incomprehensible words. He’s a no-nonsense, no cheap gimmick writer, which is probably why this book is a fast read to begin with. The pacing has to be fast because trying to control an unstable child like Jani is a fast paced business to begin with. It’s exciting, but at the same time it’s emotionally taxing because of the heartache the family goes through.

Speaking of emotionally taxing writing, I’m going to get straight to the point when it comes to this memoir’s extra credit (five-star) rating. I was diagnosed with schizophrenia when I was only 17 years old. As a mentally ill person, I recognize a lot of the frustrations the parents and their child Jani have to go through. To see such a small, beautiful, intelligent child descend into darkness is devastating to me. Michael Schofield expressed these tearful thoughts in such a way that I was almost driven to tears myself. January deserves nothing but a bright future and just when it looks like nobody can help her, her parents keep on fighting for her despite having empty tanks. I haven’t cried since the year 2007, but came very close to doing so several times while reading this heartbreaking book.

And then you have Mr. Schofield’s criticisms of the hospitals that did a minimal job of trying to help January, which I believe to be accurate. Before eventually taking January to UCLA and getting the schizophrenia diagnosis, the Schofield family had to deal with uncaring nurses, incompetent doctors, predatory insurance companies, and none of those same people having a damn clue what the hell is going on with this child. If I had to deal with that much of a lackadaisical approach to medicine, I’d be pissed off and in tears too, just like the author was. The events of this book took place before Obamacare became the law of the land. But even after such a historic law was passed, we still have a lot of work to do when it comes to hospital reform. If you don’t believe me, read this book.

This book spoke to me in a way that no other text about schizophrenia could. I was actually able to feel the struggles that the Schofield family went through, not just as a schizophrenic myself, but also as a human being. But some people will never admit to that, because there’s all this buzz going on about how Michael was abusive to his wife and children because of his hot temper. To those people who falsely slander Michael that way, I have only one thing to tell them: you show me a parent who isn’t going berserk after fighting for a mentally ill child and I’ll show you an abusive parent. Until then, keep your one-star ratings and your judgments to yourself.