The lot was empty as you drove away; I was startled and shaken and now it’s just pointless.
Thought Disorder Awareness Campaign – The art of recovering from a high IQ
An abstract concerning the alarming disorder which is wrecking humanity/civilization/economy/aliens.
Ah, the discomforts of the last of the true spirits; the lack of triumph surrounding the bus pulling out of the San Francisco Mental-Plex, the sounds of the hysteria fading and the scent of damp dirt and dank cigars feel like sunlight in your ears; you fold your letter you wrote to your mother, the one you didn’t send to her because she wouldn’t have taken the news of your early release as a good thing, you rip up the yellow legal paper she will never see and you think about eating it, even though it wouldn’t taste as good as the garlic chicken and powdered toast you were still digesting from supper that evening, but you decide to go ahead and you slowly chew all sixteen pages of it, you hope you will digest these words and then salvation shall surface.
I stopped before I started to think about it again and I made myself a big bowl of spagetti and tried to locate the remote control so I could watch the new episode of “House” and I didn’t find it. So I started to think about it again. I made of list of what could happen if and when I couldn’t stop thinking about it. For an instance I recognized that nothing was ever the same and this kept happening over and over and over and over and over and under and over and the thoughts would never actually stop until my brain lost it’s energy and I died – though even that was a theory because many religious people would argue that there is life after death, which made me think that, damn! I needed to get some sleep. My eyes were dry and saw the dreary droplets of hope and love and then I thought about steam and vapor, solids, liquids, gas, wash, rinse, repent. My eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the bored… I laughed out loud and wondered why I was standing in a shallow pool of mud rather than a deep one, metaphysically corrupt and meta contained in this slingshot I called my sanity. I was not as deprived of intellect as most everyone who got in my narrow passageway to getting through the day, but I couldn’t grasp if I was better off or not. Then I decided not to decide.
I stood in that spot, undecided and undeciding until I had to make a decision or something. I blinked hard, I slammed my eyes down and it hurt, and I decided to cry.
Everything I say comes back to taunt me. It doesn’t -haunt- me; haunting would be the verb I would use if I intended to say that there was another force behind it; meaning that one cannot haunt oneself but may surely taunt oneself – in word, thought, and deed; everything I say (if even in my own internal monologue – “Internal monologue?! She is crazy!” dialogue taken in context from “Scrubs”) is everything I imagine I am, and everything I think is impossible to say, which leads me to actually blame my old college roommate whom I shall call “Justin Tochber” for his own protection – but one night while we were being clever geniuses in his dorm room, two short doors from mine at the notorious Cash Hall at FSU, JT told me of an amazing way he had learned to become so darn smart (and he was just that); he told me that a mentor of his had asked him to try an exercise to increase his awareness and become a master of all that is brilliant – and this I will share with you, reader, but I must warn you that I may:
A. Be unable to explain it enough for you to actually be a student of this meta-mind play
B. Find something cooler to metagrobolize about while I get bored trying to explain it without actually being in human contact with you
C. Taunt myself for thinking that this was something I needed to write about and thus involve other people – shaming and humiliating my self
D. Laugh at you for being stupid enough to try this for several days and forget that you had a choice to ignore this exercise
E. Laugh at you for thinking that this is a stupid exercise
F. Forget what I was going to say here. Damn it.
Here is your mission if you choose to accept it, grasshoppers of the cyber world:
It’s simple: close your eyes (or leave them open and blink naturally, I don’t really care), then do this with your mind – Think about three separate phenomena at the same time. Then keep doing that all the time, for as long as you can; change ideas if one has run its course, but trade it with another one of equal or better value. Continue doing this while you are conversating, working, studying, driving, flying a helicopter, getting eaten by a shark or a panther, having intimate relations, sleeping, and especially when you are trying not to think about three ideas subsequently.
So I beg the question, does this mean I have thought disorder? Where did I put the receipt and how am I going to find it when I get home? What can I do to get these students I teach to pass the CSAP?
How where do butterflies sleep at night?
Choices are all in your imagination. As Ellis so weirdly wrecked another part of my and many other tender highly intelligent college kids lives when we read both past as well as the end of “American Psycho,” the words that finally proved that nothing was anything that it seemed except to oneself – This is not an exit.
But seriously, please do not exercise reading that book. If you already have, I would rather not discuss it.
(The author is mildly concerned about you. Please practice safe thinking and encourage others to do the same. The author would also like to make sure you know that this is an exercise in writing random thoughts as a release and as a target for the bullies and the readers who don’t understand abstract thinking and see it as something to shake their fat ugly head at. The author would recommend that some individuals can’t enjoy another’s love of stream of consiousness and asks that they please go read something they can relate to, berate, and blow smoke in the grass. The author is smiling at you right now. You know who you are…. or do you? Hmph.)
My fictional and semi-fictional misconstructions and stories, my music, my videos, my band, photos, friends and family, my life-ish.
© Wendy Clark Hudson
The weather inside was as bad as it was outside. I found the last of the coffee and set a pot on the stove to brew. I could hear the wind in the windows seeping into the living room and I sat in the old oak rocking chair and waited.
I raised my tired eyes to my dangling bangs. Mom told me to get a hair cut before the funeral but the consequences never crossed my mind. The mirror was behind me, so I stood up and watched myself carefully. I used to trust mirrors until I saw other people’s reflections in them. Everyone trusts that the mirror reflects the image one sees, but not me – not anymore. Episodes of false intent made my heart pulse sickeningly and reminders of the images long gone were not to be tangled.
How can you validate/verify/trust your existence?
First of all, you must admit that you are going mad. Loco. Insane in the membrane. You must shatter that mirror, stomp on your shadow, suck helium from an innocent child’s birthday balloon, where your bra or underwear outside of your clothes, drive your truck from the backseat, eat bugs, smile all the time even though your face hurts and your friends have written you off, read the paper upside down, chant in squeaky one-syllable throaty grunts, declare your royalty to your friends and enemies – you can probably conjure many more extreme monsters than you want to think about.
Shall I stop here?
Consider this story.
(Remember – if you are trying to find yourself, don’t do it here.)
Something was missing.
I untangled the telephone cord from my arm and I watched the distorted reflection of myself in the glass of the China cabinet; my eyes glazed over and my lips curled dryly against my teeth, possibly as an expression of suspicious hesitation. I glared at the mouthpiece of the phone and realized I was nodding my head as if I might be acknowledging the end of all calls – forever and ever, amen. Blinking hard, deliberately, and knowing my lack of focus would be nonexistent if I had slept longer – or gone to bed earlier – or could decide if I was a night person or a morning person – or neither, I instantly changed my mind again. I would never make another clear decision as long as I should live. That was a stupid decision, you are thinking, for a person who, only a few words ago, declared she would never make another decision. Pensive and perplexed, I knew something was missing.
My mom told me that my writing often started with the pronoun “I” and I considered this her way of telling me that I was a narcissist. But I am not.
I may be a narcissist but at least I am writing in first person. Pronouns are nouns of perspective. They also help one to not repeat the nouns they represent. AND writing in second or third person would be ….. nevermind. Wendy is not finished here. Pronouns versus antinouns.
Back to my anti-story.
Something was missing. I slid away from my claustrophobic non-reaction and I started all over again.
Do you remember the day you finally called me back and forgot to tell me how you finally remembered why you forgot the reasons which caused you to forget to call me earlier?
I don’t recall reminding you to rehash your reasons. You were too much to take and I wouldn’t take much more than you had to give because I am forever broken with inhibition. You are too much for me to absorb and too much to take and how much I wouldn’t take than a few more of your giving me that much more passion of the lack of what I didn’t miss in on the out.
This ain’t no story. This ain’t no goddamn coffee house. This ain’t you and it ain’t me.
This is not your favorite summer. The smile of the patio furniture and the unbending smirk of the tattered lawn chair reminds you of the birth of your words, echoed in silence and magnified by the PTSD you will never recover from because your mind reminds you of how close pre-traumatic stress is blazing through the drawn curtains of your shaken heart and jittery pulses of neuotic blood pumps normally but your synapses won’t let you interfere. But you paid a lot of soul cash for these moments – you wouldn’t change a thing anyway (would you? could you?); your life is about to begin – any second now – you can feel it…
The air suspiciously reeks of cherry wheat ale and fresh factory plastic; winter is far away and so are you. Like every sunrise you slept through. Like each bad habit you enjoyed. Like me.
The time arrived again. You vill sit and you vill enjoy it.
You will mind your manners just like I told you.
You can’t seem to get out of your head, even though we told you, “There’s nothing to worry about.” Or when we said, “Relax, just calm down.” Or your favorite, “Don’t worry. You worry to much. You need to stop that.”
You wonder why you didn’t tell them the truth. Your truth is that this is not your favorite summer. You aren’t worried about anything and no one gets it because they are not aware that their wise words will change you. If one more person tells you that you’ve got to stop worrying, you may not be able to explain to them why because they are ignorant and self-righteous – they are not not not trying to help you – they are saying those words that make you want to die because you are anxious and you live with it every day and every moment you pray to be calm (even for ONE day), but you nod and hope you will die because you can’t survive surrounded by fear. “Don’t worry,” and you say in return, “OH! I will stop worrying right now! Good idea, fcuk-face! I forgot that I could just turn off chronic anxiety disorder! Silly me!” Of course, then your heart would palputate terminally. That will teach those calm assholes.
Your friends didn’t call, text, email, didn’t leave you a message in a bottle, didn’t meet you by the rocky beach. Seismic waves.
No smoke came from the chimney.
This is not your perfect weather. Please hold your breath as the thermal nuclear radiator opens its doors.
Um. It really depends on whether there is a change in the weather. Take a seat. You are brilliant, except today. Today your brilliance has been replaced by radiance.
Every word (sound) is a vibration, every vibration controls and sustains the universe.
Below has nothing to do with the unfinished entry above.
Readers: The article/sales pitch below is __________ and more infuriating than _________ and this dude must be __________ and ____________. Please read it and send me your reactions/responses. I found this site to be as hilarious as it is insulting to semi-educated people everywhere.
Unless it works. If so let me know and burn me a copy. Hehehehe.
Good night, moon….
The article below is from this site: http://www.hypnosisdownloads.com
Overcome the Fear of Going Mad
Going crazy, insane, mad, nuts, losing it and going loco. There are many ways to express what happens to the human mind when it is stressed. But we often talk about madness or craziness when we really mean just stressed out. True madness is something else. And fear of madness or going crazy happens often when people just don’t truly understand what true madness is and how much they can do for themselves to feel better and more sane.
Fear of going mad can be terrifying. Having a sense of control is so important and people everywhere fear ‘losing it’ and going mad. We all behave irrationally sometimes but when we start to feel overwhelmed it’s easy to fear going mad or ‘crazy.’
It’s important to know that just about everyone has seriously thought they were going mad at some time or another.
Maybe there is someone in your family who had emotional difficulties and you fear that it will happen to you just because it happened to them. Having emotional problems isn’t the same as ‘being mad’.
What does ‘mad’ mean?
Madness means ‘psychotic’ which is a disorder in which people hallucinate visual images or sounds or even smells. During proper psychosis the contents which originate from within the mind seem to originate from outside of the mind to the point at which the person experiencing the psychosis really believes that images and sounds produced by their imaginations are actually produced by the environment. We all experience this when we dream at night-we believe that our dreams are real when we are dreaming them. The psychotic person dreams whilst awake and believes these ‘dreams’ or hallucinations to be real.
In fact the human brain is designed to simulate reality and make imagination seem real. During dreaming your brain simulates images, sounds and other sensations. It does this in a controlled way. So dreaming is controlled ‘reality simulation’ and psychosis is uncontrolled reality simulation. In order for psychosis (madness) to be happening you’d need to believe that hallucinations weren’t hallucinations but in fact real.
This happens in an uncontrolled way during waking consciousness it is seen as madness if the person believes the hallucinations to be real and starts to act on them.
People can hallucinate without being crazy.
We might describe someone as ‘mad’ or ‘crazy’ because they experience strong anger or anxiety and, indeed, any strong emotion makes us irrational but this is not the same as madness.
Of the 1% of the population who do ‘go mad’ (have a psychotic episode) many of them will go on to live normal healthy lives having just had the one ‘break down’ so even people who do experience ‘madness’ at some point don’t necessarily become mad forever. They move on from it.
We all have needs in life which, when they are fulfilled, make us feel more normal and ‘sane.’ This session will describe some of those needs so you can begin to see what you really need to feel better and more settled in your own mind.
Strong emotions make us irrational
Being irrational is caused by strong emotions – this isn’t madness just irrationality and confusion brought on by strong emotion. When the emotion calms down the rationality comes back.
There are things you can do to make you feel more ‘sane’ one of which is to calm the emotional part of the mind down by regular and deep relaxation and comfort.
This session will help you relax so deeply which is a wonderful way of calming the emotional mind. It will reassure you that you can have control and that your mind has a very clear center to it that can look after your best interests.
Download Overcome Fear of Going Crazy and regain confidence in your own mind.
|Your 100% 90-Day Money-Back Guarantee
Go ahead and try out this mp3 download now – there’s NO RISK to you. If you find that it doesn’t do what you wanted, simply let us know within 90 days and we will refund you in full. No questions asked.
Mas o Menos by w. clark
I had made an important decision that drizzly December lunch our, a choice that might have been a major turning point, or one that made me realize I couldn’t trust myself, control molecular mutations that were implanted in my DNA, but were fertilized by the irony of life and made me older, smarter, and a riddle unto my own psyche.
I left the office promptly at 11:45 am and it took the usual 3 minutes to get from my desk to the elevator to the front door and down the dozen stairs to the front green and I swiftly broke right up Maroon Hill two blocks west, slushing hurriedly up to the garden gates, and then made haste past the goat petting zoo.
Temporary images whirled past me as I lost more seconds of my hour and tore down to the Landing, the hillside slanted toward sea level and my spine started to burn as my speed increased, the spring humidity filling my lungs with heavy water and my terror elevated to a state of shocking horror for that which broke so many on the same journey to the ends of the earth, the beginnings of the ends of the furiously confused souls who came before me, live amongst me, and will be as unclean with sense of extreme compound awe, as we run past the calm, self-controlled, the composed egos whose filthy poised smirks made our thoughts race faster than our throbbing hearts as we stole away from the sun and found ourselves caught between the past and the future, between the land and the sky, the true and the false, not by choice, but by the means in which we ran though life with desperation and glory. We were born running, we choked on our conscious intensity, and eventually we realize would all die running.
I just wasn’t sure where I was going, but I had to keep on, or let the world stop and close me in its carriage, the cradles of the casual, the place you stop to take a breath is the last exit on the last highway.
Gravity pulled me down the street and I lunged forward as hard as I could, fearing and seemingly unfearful of the fact that my little heart felt determined to blow up in its madness to pump blood into my pulsating limbs, but also my clear head, falling into the ground, falling before I could get anywhere, falling before I reached the new race, the next step to the next step, the next path that always awoke and stirred my soul.
I stumbled on the gravel and drove forth to the liquid at the end of the Landing, the people and children and dogs and boats were the same day after day with faces of security and familiar sanctuary.
I dove into the shallow water and cried the familiar war cry of the storyteller who finally realized to give up on ever ending a tale. Nothing ever ends anyway.