Posts Tagged ‘Insane’

When you imagine an artist,
You do not see me,
You see a noble practitioner of the word,
Your Tolkiens and Pratchetts,
Not me,
Not this freak with a pen,

I’m no artist,
I’m a monster of art,
My process is more of a hunt,
Deranged savagery in each stroke,
Less the orchestration of an artistic vision,
And more the dismemberment of prose,

The words I scribble are the meat,
The meanings behind them are a bitter aftertaste,
A happy accident,
Rending phrase from stanza,
Mutilating rather than composing,
Poetry coming from a state of psychosis,

I’ve read the greats,
My fangs were cut on their work,
This creature is a deviation from their ways,
I write because I must,
Perhaps one day,
I’ll write this monster a happy ending.

There is tell of a fallen angel,
Feathers replaced with horns,
Some epitome of spite,
And of this we are taught to fear,
Lauded as some ultimate enemy,
But I say different,

The devil is an amateur,
Way out of his infernal depth,
Ultimate evil sits in coffee shops and sips lattes,
A creature as studious as it is destructive,
Whose ingenuity has moulded countless systems of abuse,
It chokes the land not in lies but toxic waste,

The devil should just retire,
Last I checked we wore serpent skins,
Extinction is just in a days work,
Even Lucifer ought fear the mailed fist of man,
Both in location and scale of evil,
Humanity is punching down.

I am not a glamourous man,
Not a Prince Charming,
More of a Grendel or Hyde,
Something akin to a blobfish in a shirt,
A weirdo,
An eccentric enemy of the state,

But when I place that crown upon my head,
That mad hatter headpiece,
Victorian fashion supreme,
I don’t care anymore,
I know that I’m finally me,
I’ll be able to grin,

With it comes the face paint,
A clown taking shape under its rim,
Madness coalescing with joy,
With this ensemble I can recover from normality,
But I fear it’d all be for naught,
If not for my top hat.

They tell me that I’m alright,
And I may well be,
But a cruel occasion has reared its head,
Joy seems to be held behind a veil,
I simply don’t feel it,
I’m not sad either,
Just hollow,

Pleasure is a memory,
One that feels like an echo,
One that I’m unsure really happened,
I do smile ear to ear,
But it’s just sketched on,
I have a painted smile,
From the palette of social expectation,

Sensations turned down like a volume control,
Hobbies become trials,
Food and drink taste like static,
Humans become boogeymen,
It’s a curious phenomenon,
Perhaps of a mind cracking,
Or a man broken by the world.

I find myself shuffling through life,
Forced to play this card game again,
I’m exhausted,
I’m tapped out,
This game of life is using rules I don’t recognise,
Hands growing aches aplenty,
Card upon card ripped from my deck,
And I struggle to draw the vigour,

Life has all the cards,
Counting down in blacks and reds,
No kings and queens to be found,
Yet I still go digging for diamonds,
Beaten down by wicked clubs,
Only spades waiting for me at the end,
Hearts in my pupils as the lights fade,
No ace up these sleeves.

I’m a rotten clown,
All maggots and red noses,
I’m no good at making them laugh,
At least not in sincerity,

I’m a pitiable jester,
All rags and body odour,
Dressed up and ready to dance,
But the stands remain empty,

They tell me I need fibre in my diet,
It’s good for the gut they say,
But why care about their wellbeing,
When I’m led to hate my own guts?

Self hate is an artform,
And I’m something of a critic.

After trying these new sweets,
Compliments of the white coats,
I find my thoughts lying in a swamp,
Those little candies turn my mind to slop,
A marsh under kaleidoscopic skies,
But it’s for the best they say,
It’s for the best,
I sit in this swamp in my mind,
Unaffected by the brisk swill,
My eyes rolling in slow motion,
Rolling slightly to the sides,
A curious blur over my eyes like plastic,
I feel no remorse,
No misery,
Nothing,
But it’s for the best.

I am a broken jaw,
A smashed nose,
I am a fetid wound,
An injury of a being,
I require correction,
Surgery of the self,
Something has gone wrong,
An unknown contagion has rendered me inhuman,

Put me under,
Gas to kill the monster,
These doctors in their gory aprons,
They will fix my inhumanity,
Scalpels to the various pieces of my soul,
Incisions and psychiatry,
When next my eyes reflect light,
Will I awaken as a man?

As I rise from my crypt,
I feel as if some presence rises with me,
An ethereal force,
Like my dreams have pierced forth from my mind,
Transmogrifying before my sleepy eyes,

Butterflies in every shade,
Once greyscale,
Then shifting to each and every colour in turn,
Phantasms in flight,
Fluttering around the room in lyrical patterns,

The projections grow more maddening,
Hypnotising my cortices,
Spelling out words that seem gibberish,
Images of make-believe realms,
Visual patterns put my brain through a blender,

Was any of this real?
Horror and euphoria and mystique brewed together,
Who knows?
But only the sunrise did quell the mania,
And weld my brain back together again.

Greetings inmates.

I’ve got a short one this time. I promise it will actually be short this time. You see, i had an interesting idea the other day. I explained it to Lee and she seemed to think it was a pretty good idea, despite my inability at the time to explain it very well. My mind was quite literally all over the place. I must have been rambling like a lunatic again! I’ll try to explain it a bit better here today. You see, it’s an idea for a new segment for the blog. I believe segment is the right term for it anyway. A bit like my writing music segment, for example.

As anybody who has read my blog knows, WorldofHarley is an asylum for creative derangement and originative absurdity. I picture it as a literal insane asylum that holds my poems and stories, with the inmates milling about here and there. I’m not entirely clear where this thought came from originally, but it is how i view my blog for what ever reason. Anyway, my segment idea was going to be called something along the lines of “Asylum Escapees”. Each ‘chapter’, if you will, of this segment would surround a different music artist, writer or actor who is known for their eccentricity or unusual characters. For example, Marilyn Manson, Till Lindemann or HP Lovecraft. I’d basically write about how each of these people were a fictional asylum escapee and how they’ve escaped. I’d also use the same opportunity to write about what i love about them and their work, from the perspective of a fictional doctor.

I just wanted to try a different kind of writing while still keeping to my “style”, if it can be called as such. Variety is the spice of life after all. So, i implore anybody who reads to tell me if they like this idea and perhaps make some suggestions? Any and all thoughts are appreciated, as always!

Have a very crazy day inmates! Oh, and happy St. Patrick’s day!