| I didn't run this fucker though any grammar tools either.
I wonder to myself what the ramblings of a truely insane person would sound like. It doesnt seem like something one would wonder about. I mean, if i wanted to read the ramblings of a truely insane person i could easily search google for said ramblings. And why would i wonder about it because i know what the ramblings would be like. They would make little sense, have almost no point and probabally not be complete. And what i write here is pretty pointless but alot of the individual parts make sense, im guessing. I would imaging that a truely insane person would make sentances up, if they could type, which made no sense no matter how many times you read it.
Else in my mind.
I wonder what it would look like to the third observer looking at the sane world and looking through the eyes of the insane. Which would be the best view, or which would be the TRUE view? If i choose any of the 3 views i would be making a value judgement on what is considered the absolute self awareness and source of spectation.
I find it curious, because when we think of insane people, or at least when i think of insane people i try to understand how the logic works in their head.
I am talking about someone who looks at the equation 2 + 2 = 3 and it genuinely makes sense to them. That is what we would call insane.
There are plenty of simply disturbed people out there that have trouble socializing normally because they have strange and alien taboos and norms in their own head. You might call them insane, but they are probabally just people with a ton of psychological disorders.
Through their eyes it is easy to imagine. People with psychological disorders, i think, are people who see like we see, but do not feel what we feel. They see something, and feel apprehensive about it and consider things we dont and take some things seriously that we wouldnt and react logically to what they percieve.
But i think there are those out there which think on a completely different set of logic principles than we do.
We tend to think of logic in a very basic definition. Something is logical when we see it make sense. But what logic really is, is us percieving information and running that information through a series of filters, and reactions systems which end up spitting out what we normally call the "sense".
Like 2 + 2 = 4 makes sense. The logic we learned is even more fundamental than 2 pieces of something adding to two existing pieces to form a collection of 4 pieces. Our program of logic exists somewhere on the level that we feel it wouldnt be "logical" if for SOME reason, whatever it is, in someones mind it is accepted that 2 + 2 = 3, that in some cases 1 piece doesnt count. We base our mathematical logic on the idea that it is the same every time without fail and the roots of logic go down to that, almost ignoring the strangeness of the possibility of 2 units adding to 2 other units and ending up with 3 units.
How would you describe to a sane person what the world would look like to an insane person?
Is it possible? I don't think so.
Part of being insane is that your self-awareness is altered. That part of you which makes you think you are you is ltered.
When that thing is altered it makes all of the following decisions justified and "logical" within the context of your altered world.
And i would be making a value judgement to say the world really does look like this to the reader through the words.
And yet i visualize, inaccurately no doubt, the image of a book which describes vividly the experiances of an insane person on the level i describe.
What would his experiances be like? what would his world look like? What is that which we call his mind?
What would our mind be if we were that person? only such a book would tell us what our mind would be, since the words you read become you.
I don't think it is possible to really hit home some of the more deep concepts to alot of people. Like the idea of an object holding several simultaneous meanings, and actions.
Like to an insane person, they could be sitting in a room and to them they could be seeing a long passed memory and be journeying through their conscious dream world all of the time, while at the same time in the real world they were simple walking around the room, or sitting in one place. And what if someone were to walk into that room? How would that conscious dream change? What would they see in their dream and what would their real life reaction be?
What would they say? would they know they are insane?
Would it be like they were walking in a sunny, warm late afternoon, carnival. And the entrance of the person in the real world translates into the entry of a new friend or maybe a new ride suddenly opens up. And they recognised all the implications of this new person or ride yet simultaneously knew that the person they were talking to was just a orderly coming by to check on him.
Where does the reader exist when this is happening? Will they assume that the carnival is the true world or will they assume that the insane asylum is the one?
How could i write it to show that the insane person knows full and well that the place he is in now is something no other person understands and comprehends and that he knows both worlds simultaneously.
I was trying very hard not to get my fingers sticky, i was afraid that the melted water from this strange chilled desert would make my fingers sticky and that was the kind of sticky that only went away when you washed your hands. Me and my 3 friends were walking in sync or at least trying to. Two of our group were trying to force me and my other friend to try out this ride or that and i would comply when i felt that the tension in their voice indicated that i really should comply. And i would take a moment to glance from side to side, if you could say side. I saw people walking all around us, walking on the muddy ground, which had patches of very thick and wet mud and patches of grass elsewhere. And there were people of all different groups and ages. There were people behind counters yelling at the crowd to come try their luck and people losing their luck at those counters. The skee shoots were all full up as that game was very fun and had a degree of skill involved. The sky was slightly dark, the last vestiges of the sun were blocked by rides on our left. As we walked and passed between the rides the sun got in our eyes more but it was begining to set below the trees. Soon the stars would be out, and we would see them, and breifly consider how beautiful they are. Then we would gaze at what little horizon we could see and reflect on how much more majestic the sky would be if only the citys of our world would be silent for a few moments of darkness. What a sight it would be we would think.
My legs are cold in my jeans but it is easy to ignore and im wearing no socks under my shoes, but the cold is not too crippling. I am enjoying the company of my friends. We walk and we talk about this and that. I briefly wonder about friendship and all that that implies before returning to the event at hand. Should i get on the ferris wheel? I decide that i will since everyone seems to be going. I pretend that the ferris wheel really scares me and i admit it does give me a little bit of a rush. I know that i will not die on it, i wont even get mildly injured, but i still cannot help but feel insecure. I pretend my fear mostly for the enjoyment of the others. I try to be careful not to push my warnings too far. I tell them gently not to rock the car, i figure that this should amuse them when they rock it more. I breifly consider the discomfort accompanied by plunging to the ground and crashing into the ground. The crash sounds okay, but plunging would be kind of scary. Regardless of this our conversation continues. Sometimes i think that a meteor could hit and we would still be talking, thinking and moving. The ferris wheel stops and we get off, we walk around trying to decide what to do next. We are feigning the impression that we know what we are doing. Maybe someone wants to do something, and more likely there are those of us who want to not do some things and using those two ideas we can figure out the next course of action. Meanwhile my arm was pretty sore, as those introvenous tubes are pretty large when you finally get a good look at them. I was sitting in my bed and waiting. When i get sick now i usually listen to music at my computer but right now i was just sitting in the bed and holding my arm. The tube was very large and the needle was so small, i would like to know to this day how they managed to get that tube in there. Every once in a while someone would walk in and change my IV drip. I am resting now, there was just alot of action recently. You see i was very apprehensive about shots. Some of this reaction was because i was told that it was reasonable for me to be apprehensive about shots because im a small child. And most small children dont like shots. I just got my fucking finger cut open. I still have the scar on my finger. I can only speculate that the hospital was stressed to the edge in patience to actually give me that second option. They told me, and my mother told me, that i need not get a shot. They could just take a razor to my thumb. I figured to myself, hey- This must be the less painful method. This is the second choice and they all seem to think that the second option is like the less painful to me, and less easy option to them. Part of my logic was that a shot was easier for them and it was at the expense of my pain. So i figured based on the opposite of that and the peopels reactions that slitting my finger open as the 2nd option was going to be less painful. They were going to all the trouble to put the blood in a petri dish. It must be to my benefit. I was wrong about that one. I only vaguely remeber the feeling. I guess they only broke the skin to get at the blood within my thumb but it was like my thumb was open to the world, it looked like i needed stiches to put it back together. I dont know if it hurt less or not. I remeber that i was skeptical about getting my finger sliced open. But the power of suggestion was so strong that i went with it. And the power of suggestion was so strong that for a very breif time the pain was unnoticable. So they finally got my blood, and i was already busily clutching at my hand, at the huge gash in my thumb. They wrapped it up and i still clutch my hands at the thought of that wound. I huddled into the corner of the padded room. It was warmer in the corner. I wanted to be warm. I wanted to be were i felt safe, i felt protected. I wish i could wrap the walls of my cell around me and fall asleep in the darkness. But it is white and bright and consumes your mind. Save one window, the whole room is a uniform nightmare. The only company one has is your mind, but i have learned that that is not a total loss. I don't know why they keep the strait jacket on me. I don't hurt myself, at least i don't think i do. But the blood all over the completely white padded cell says otherwise. It was completely white mind you. No blood there. But the blood there kept telling me that the jacket was a good idea.
So sitting in the back of the car back to our friends hours i was a bit cold. I gritted through it thou. I just rubbed my hands together and wrapped my arms around myself. I scratched my head quickly and tucked my arms back in. I felt the cold bursts of air get in but i could do nothing about it. The cold was consuming me but it would only be a short time before we got to a place where the cold would end and warmth would consume us. My feet were uncomfortable on the floor as there was little room down there and my knees were longer than this car was designed for. I was in the back seat so that made it automatically a crappier seat but it wasn't important to me in the least. The only thing which really was present in my mind was the feeling of the wind on my arms and the rest of my body as the wind blew through the my sweater, via the two front windows. The wind was inconsistant, it is like what i call chunky. Others call it choppy. Regardless, i was feeling pretty real, and i shifted uncomfortably in the seat trying to stay warm and at peace with the crap in the back seat.
I had my feet way un in the air, and i could feel the blood draining out of them. Not uncomfortable this time, when limbs fall asleep sometimes they fall asleep in an uncomfortable way, but not this time. I had both legs up in the air, and my arms were free. but i still had both of them wrapped around me trying to keep warp. My feet were very cold but i had to keep them in the air. I would keep them there until i collapsed. We walked up to the front door, apparently my friends parents had left for the weekend, they do that often, i wouldnt be suprised if they did it intentionally. If i ever had children, especially a girl i would organize it so that she could have private team. I would also make her room large enough for a bed to be so she could lie down with her boyfriend and cuddle. I think that my daughter should have those kind of things. I would be concerned about her safety of course but i would make sure to educate her. To make her aware as best as possible. Since in the end that is all i can do for her. We got to the porch and went inside. I believe we were going to watch a stupid movie, or porn. Something amusing. Something good to watch as a group while plastered. My legs were getting very cold, since i had them in the air, they had lost alot of their blood and the padding had made it so they never did fall down. They were getting to be pretty numb at this point but i was having trouble distinguishing pain from discomfort to i left them, staring at my toes, which were clenched in a curiously odd way. I kept looking at my toes when we were in the house. I tried to get a good couch to lounge on while the porno went through. I wonder what other people get from pornos. I have my most fun thinking about the implications of watching porn with a bunch of friends and thinking about what is going through their minds. I mean, i enjoy the porn, but the porn is more a comedy than a comedy. It is a mockery to what sex is most of the time. Once again it is just an excuse to get together and talk. And we did talk it was pretty fun and interestingly enough we came across some considerably more tabooish subjects while we talk than the mock hardcore action on the screen. My throat hurt alot, and i wanted to puke up blood but i kept telling myself that i couldnt do that. I wanted to keep my padded room perfectly clean, no matter what. If i got one spec of blood on the pads then i would have to look at it forever. I dont want my only other sign of existance to be a splotch of blood i coughed up because of some bile in my throat. I want something profound for my acknowledgement of self existance. Like a soccer ball with a handprint in it. Or maybe a tall bird. The bird would walk around on the ceiling and be able to make interesting designs of smoke that come out of its nose. But when the orderly comes back the bird would flatten out on the ceiling and the orderly wouldnt be able to see it. Unfortunately the bird wouldnt come to see me when im drinking at my friends house either. I went downstairs because i needed to take a piss. It wasnt urgant by any means. I needed to piss only because there was a lack of anything happening at the moment and i was desperate to cause motion. To keep from dying in the pit of motionlessness. I went downstairs because that was a longer trip. A longer trip to think and contemplate. As i walked down the stairs i thought about how i have no girlfriend and what that implies. I ask myself why i dont have a girlfriend and how i wish i did and i keep going like that in a loop as i walk to the bathroom.
The sensations while drunk are strange and most noticable when moving. Your head is stuffy, like you have a sinus headache in your temples, and the back of your head, and as you move your body is much lighter than you expect it to be, it is also much more impotent, meaning that you can smack something and do only 1 tenth the force you expected to execute. When i was going down the stairs, looking down at the strips of plastic which seperate the basement from the stairs my center of balance kept shifting so i felt the lightness of my drunken effect much more. I was careful to take the steps slowly, feel each one under my feet so as to not slip, and when i reached the bottom, i felt the cold flood through my socks but right now im object is to go the bathroom. So i headed in that direction noticing my surroundings. I take them into me. I look at the bookshelf, and the pool table, and for the briefest subconscious moment i ask myself why i would be taking in such details, and i answer that the answer is that i can and no normal person would. In th end i can say i did and no one else can. Is this my immortality? I am still looking for that book i was reading like last year, but by this time i am in the bathroom. I spin around and really feel the weightlessness on that pivot. I reach out, turn on the light, open the toilet, drop my pants, sit down and concentrate on one spot opposite to me as i procede to piss.
My throat still hurts. I really wish i had a losange or some kind of pain killer. I figured my body had some kind of defense against heart burn regardless of your verticle position. Ah well, it guess it my my own flaw. I am also still cold. I really wish and orderly would come and take care of those two problems. Well 3 problems if you count my legs which are still asleep. I once feared that if my legs feel asleep they were dead. Cause if i cant feel them, oxygen isnt getting to them, which means that they are dying, i think. I fear that, i fear i will do irreperable damage to my body. So i keep my arms wrapped around me and try to keep warm.
When i get back upstairs i want to be warm, i want to be covered up by a blanket at least. It would be so much better if it was another person. But i am so vain, i hate myself. I want a pretty girl, but i have proven to myself that i can enjoy the touch, enjoy the kisses of someone overweight. I have full confidence that i loved the time me and my friend shared and i yet i still wonder if i would enjoy the attentions of another overweight person. A person problem, yes.
Well, i think that it is time to let my legs rest and i let them fall, and it is only now that i understand the full impact of how asleep my legs are. They are like dead weights attatched to my clothing. I was hoping the feeling would come back so i could resume some other pointless task, like counting the buttons on the pads in the room, or crawling around in a circle. Something to pass the time. I obviously wasnt going to get anywhere talking to myself. Was i going to go home like this? I dont think it would be a good idea to drive home this drunk, but my mind is filled with false hope shattered to peices and i want to retreat to my home where i can curl up in my bed and allow the darkness of unconsciousness consume me. I figure that i will allow the darkness to consume me here. Could i, would i, will i say that this was fun? Is it fun? Why is that fun? I like fun i guess but was this fun? I think i enjoyed it, because my false hopes are doomed to be dashed to hell and i really should expect it. I think i try to be but i dont succede. Well i was very tired so i wanted into the darkness and sat in chair or in a bed and waited for the quiet to come. Maybe i stayed up and watched a movie. I considered that maybe it would be an interesting move to stare at once stop for hours on end. Just to say i did it. But no, i did stare at one spot for a very long time but i decided to watch bicentenial man instead of doing it for several hours. I think the experiance was worthwhile but i question my own judgement, i may infact be happier if i found myself a creature to be mine and me hers. I figured that it was time to eat, because the food was right here, in foots reach. I wouldnt eat it with my foot of course, but i did try to nudge it over to me. Maybe it is amusing for people to watch others in strait jackes try to eat soup and crackers. Oh well, food is food and it isnt like i am going to be able to nourish myself until like noon when it is reasonable to go to the cafe. Well, i was busy chowing down on the soup, it was kind of fun, manuevering the cracker into the soup with my teeth and then eating it. But it was awfully uncomfortable, i was forced to wipe my face on the pades. I dont like the feeling of a wet face. But i like my pads being dirty even less so it was a hard choice. I wasnt hungry anymore, but i was still cold and i was still kind of damp. These pads werent exactly paper towels, they were designed to keep out stains and such if the patients decided to do some personal decorating with their liquid wastes. So not alot of the moisture on my face got wiped off. I would think they would either take off my jacket for food or give me something other than soup. It was about afternoon and i figured now would be a good time to leave. I went and got my shoes and headed out. I said my goodbyes and yet i still felt like the evening couldnt end. I wish night lasted forever, i dont like the day. It is too bright. I wish i could have gone home in my car in the night and lost consciousness there in the night. Yet i would still be losing consciousness in the security of my room. So i was reflecting on what i was seeing as i drove home. The streets and stores, pages and pages could describe every unique detail of this single intersection and the only thing i will mention is the pull i felt to one side as i went around the left turn. There are these 2 lights which i must defeat, they have some kind of pattern i must learn and that way i can pass both when they green and im happy. There has to be a way, i only fear that i will have reason no to do this if i way to long. Oh well, maybe i will do it just for fun. So i get home, and i hope out of my car, after pulling into the ditch. I dont get hangovers but i do get that feeling in your head which lets you know that you HAD been drinking the night before.
As i was going to the back door it occured to me that my meds were due any minute. I had developed a natural sense of time by spending so much time here. Day after day, year after year i would recieve my meds and be blessed by moments of precious unconsciousness.
So i walked through the cold air and took in the details of the bushes on either side, taller than me, and the door ahead of me, behind two garbage cans, which i manuevered around, since both cans were heavy with water. I opened the front back door and then the large inner door and was happy when the rush of warm air hit me.
The orderly had injected some kind of chemical into me, and had already left when the effect started coming in. It was warm. I was warm, i didnt need to close my arms around myself, but it still felt good. I could stand and i could jump and i would always be warm. I didnt need to move. I would just sleep. I would sleep and i wouldnt have to think.
I pulled all the crap i had taken to my friends house out of my pockets and dropped my pants. I took in the warmth. It was so pleasent. It was so wonderful, i wish i could sleep in this room, but unfortunately there are no beds that are good to sleep in here. So i made a casual trip through the house, each step making a noise in this old house. I went up stairs and around bends, and made it through the rooms, and finally began ascending to my room. It was even warmer up there. When i got there i was relieved. Here i would get my quality sleep. Here i would become unconscious.
My room is my castle. I love it. It is my place, where only i exist, where only i can exist. I stay in here, and i love it here. It is warm when i want it to be warm and cold when i want it to be cold. I can even make it cold so being warm under my covers is all the more wonderful. The walls are undecorated mostly. If there is anything on them it is not because i was trying to decorate, it is there because i had intended something which more than likely fell through. The decorations are in the scenery. When i am in my room i feel warm and safe. There are mountains of garbage at every angle, and i feel engulfed by it, cradled by it. I love it. So warm. No one dare ventures into my room because of the garbage, i almost think the room is alive and protecting me against the world. A place where i can escape to, to live alone and safe. The throne of my room is the bed, it is where i am safe, where i can be unconscious. Where i can escape, my final escape.
I turned off the monitor of my computer and the sound, to ensure that my darkness would be uninterupted. I was so pleased for it to be ending. so pleased. And i stepped over the garbage and tested the ground to make sure i would not crush anything that i needed, and then i took another and fell into the bed. Such relaxation.
The meds were really taking their effect now. I could feel them consuming my mind. The layers of my world stripping away, the pads in my room wrapping around me, sending me to sleep. I was waiting very patiently, waiting for it to end, to sleep, end.
I pulled my cover over me and i shifted myself to become comfortable, and placed my glasses on the table, and for a final touch adjusted my pillow. Here was eternal warmth. The warmth filled every crevice, every pour in my mind. It was the heaven before the end. The consciousness was coming and going.
The world around me was very fuzzy, i knew that the window of the padded room still existed but the pads would soon block even that from me. I was happy with my day, i would enjoy tomorrow, and the day after that. Life was good, i wonder what things i will do. Things i will feel, things i will remember.
I fell through the last barrier, i was consumed by darkness, and the warmth was the last thing i knew.