my sanity hung loose by the noose that no knife in a surgeon’s hand could thoroughly cut away, it would snap like a piano string anyway, and the numb break from reality would complete itself. they seem to think that the surgery is necessary, but my intuition says a different thing altogether. that it was never meant to be taken this far was not the issue right now, and my family is thinking ideas that betray all reasonable logic or relation to me as a person once in their lives. my hospital room decorated with flowers all over the place, but no idea what most of them were really there for, doubting that anyone else does either.
the sun streaked in like the constant cutting that has defined my life until now. taking the bowl of institutional gruel with fifty pounds of sugar, and breakfast was to be served so queasily. my mind tearing off at some of those duller seams, and thoughtful of the brain salad surgery doomed upon these damned wretches here in the asylum state. hollow chatter of these poor creatures, sitting still and sedated constantly, and doctors were the enemy here along with their strong arm orderless lackeys. no knife to cut through this rubbery food. faked the babbling before, but it only gets you out of work duties, which didn’t make too many of my fellow inmates here too happy. at least, not the ones that were more conscious than sedate. we, here, are blessed with all the amenities like shock therapy and even the occasional lobotomy. a better hostel could not be conceived of for the mentally unstable. with three meals a day and all the intensive therapy you could never want. it was a dream come true for all those on the outside looking inward. the dreams of those inside became tortured and mad representations of an imagined real world, and no hope of getting through to anyone beyond the walls was a common thought here. scalpel and crutch were the things that made us all better people, but where was the kindness created from another form of compassion, one that might seem to see all human beings with equal mercy. there was no pleasantly silent Indian for me to confide in my frustrations with the present situation calling itself home for me. this was far from a nest, but with more than just a few cuckoos to stir the stew into boiling over the top. i remember that when i first got here in a very literal state of psychosis, that i would be prone to violently lashing out at the others, and this earned me that ‘psychotic’ moniker among the patients and doctors here. creatures inhabiting the raw head doctors moving around were far stranger than fiction for sure, but the surety of the insane struggles was far more precarious, even my own grip was constantly on the fringe. how did we know that we were less sane than those supposed to be our caretakers? not much by my regard. it all seemed like just the same regurgitated sediment for all to indulge, and no one was ever consistently conscious enough to repair the damage to our brains. where would this all stop in the end, i wonder? an orderly was walking towards me, and all i could see was contempt for his fat rat face. he seemed calm enough, but i decided to trip him down to the floor anyway. with a moan and a crash, he fell. he got up faster than i could imagine, though, with a red face and steam pouring out of his ears, and he grabbed me by my collar. all the apes began howling for the blood to spill before lunchtime, but there are rules here that disorderly gentlemen need to follow for the record. i apologized in my own inimical way, with a chuckle and a following reply of ‘no harm done’, and through the cacophonous barrage of inmates chanting inane gibberish to precede the proposed bloodbath. that dark awareness opening a center of focus before coming hostile resolution takes place, a nerve center, and the fury that comes from the attempt at knowing your enemy. i then saw the person holding me as that young boy i had killed, incredulous that he was still alive in front of my eyes, and everything else faded into background noise altogether. with eyes wide, i slapped his hands away from my collar, and stepped back a couple feet. i had no idea that i was going to be institutionalized like this. i had heard words like ‘insane’ and ‘mental illness’ before, but never thought in a million dreams that this would be where i stood. in churches i had heard the words like ‘heaven’ and ‘hell’, but none of those ideas made any sense in a real and now world. i never had any expectations of where i was going, and to this day, i haven’t given any more thought about it. i guess even that might be considered insane by those that think their beliefs the more superior to lesser beasts that wander the streets. in the streets, where i killed that kid, the first time. he was staring at me with that horribly knowing look in his eyes. i was the better person, minding my own business, and then i felt his soul boring holes into my skin. it was almost as though he was looking through me into my soul. he smiled at me, but all i knew were the darkest urges to hurt him, to make him stop smiling. i remember running towards him, but afterwards, i was sitting on the curb breathing heavily. the officer who took me away had to point his gun at my face before i was fully aware that he was standing there. we were both just a few feet from the body. the court would have been almost bare if not for the overwhelming hatred that weighed heavy over the proceedings. i didn’t pay too much attention to the boy’s name, or to the various arguments that were made. i think i remember having a lawyer, but not absolutely sure about that either. i must have blacked out when i killed him because none of what they said made any sense to me, their descriptions of the scene, or the assumption of my motivation. i was lead away with a sentence of mental instability. never disagreed with that, but this institution was breeding with emotional disaster in every nook and cranny. nothing was ever what it seemed once i became isolated in this environment, but i could never just keep to myself, as that was said to “hinder” my therapy by those doctors crazier than me. sometimes i thought there would never be any hope for me to escape this place. i think that i really was figuring right. until the hallucinations became real and wholly unsane to witness, and the outright madness began to move gears in both the mind of this victim and the system projected externally moving around him. his mind was the last thing needed to establish the wills of those other things calling out to him, and could believably conflict with their collective direction for his materializing their intents. no, the best it to be erased from his memory, and the doctors indeed had the best methods to erase that meddlesome brain of his. the act of terror would commence soon, and with this information in his brilliantly jagged perceptions, he was cast out back out of his catatonia on the floor. his face hurt severely, and he could feel the bruises all over his body, thinking obviously that more than a few of the animals got their kicks in. his one good eye not swollen, but red and blinking the dryness away, tearing up as he realized his forearms were being restrained to the sides of the gurney. he awoke in a dark room without lights, and he knew it was punishment to keep him restrained in isolation.
the sun streaked in like the constant cutting that has defined my life until now. taking the bowl of institutional gruel with fifty pounds of sugar, and breakfast was to be served so queasily. my mind tearing off at some of those duller seams, and thoughtful of the brain salad surgery doomed upon these damned wretches here in the asylum state. hollow chatter of these poor creatures, sitting still and sedated constantly, and doctors were the enemy here along with their strong arm orderless lackeys. no knife to cut through this rubbery food. faked the babbling before, but it only gets you out of work duties, which didn’t make too many of my fellow inmates here too happy. at least, not the ones that were more conscious than sedate. we, here, are blessed with all the amenities like shock therapy and even the occasional lobotomy. a better hostel could not be conceived of for the mentally unstable. with three meals a day and all the intensive therapy you could never want. it was a dream come true for all those on the outside looking inward. the dreams of those inside became tortured and mad representations of an imagined real world, and no hope of getting through to anyone beyond the walls was a common thought here. scalpel and crutch were the things that made us all better people, but where was the kindness created from another form of compassion, one that might seem to see all human beings with equal mercy. there was no pleasantly silent Indian for me to confide in my frustrations with the present situation calling itself home for me. this was far from a nest, but with more than just a few cuckoos to stir the stew into boiling over the top. i remember that when i first got here in a very literal state of psychosis, that i would be prone to violently lashing out at the others, and this earned me that ‘psychotic’ moniker among the patients and doctors here. creatures inhabiting the raw head doctors moving around were far stranger than fiction for sure, but the surety of the insane struggles was far more precarious, even my own grip was constantly on the fringe. how did we know that we were less sane than those supposed to be our caretakers? not much by my regard. it all seemed like just the same regurgitated sediment for all to indulge, and no one was ever consistently conscious enough to repair the damage to our brains. where would this all stop in the end, i wonder? an orderly was walking towards me, and all i could see was contempt for his fat rat face. he seemed calm enough, but i decided to trip him down to the floor anyway. with a moan and a crash, he fell. he got up faster than i could imagine, though, with a red face and steam pouring out of his ears, and he grabbed me by my collar. all the apes began howling for the blood to spill before lunchtime, but there are rules here that disorderly gentlemen need to follow for the record. i apologized in my own inimical way, with a chuckle and a following reply of ‘no harm done’, and through the cacophonous barrage of inmates chanting inane gibberish to precede the proposed bloodbath. that dark awareness opening a center of focus before coming hostile resolution takes place, a nerve center, and the fury that comes from the attempt at knowing your enemy. i then saw the person holding me as that young boy i had killed, incredulous that he was still alive in front of my eyes, and everything else faded into background noise altogether. with eyes wide, i slapped his hands away from my collar, and stepped back a couple feet. i had no idea that i was going to be institutionalized like this. i had heard words like ‘insane’ and ‘mental illness’ before, but never thought in a million dreams that this would be where i stood. in churches i had heard the words like ‘heaven’ and ‘hell’, but none of those ideas made any sense in a real and now world. i never had any expectations of where i was going, and to this day, i haven’t given any more thought about it. i guess even that might be considered insane by those that think their beliefs the more superior to lesser beasts that wander the streets. in the streets, where i killed that kid, the first time. he was staring at me with that horribly knowing look in his eyes. i was the better person, minding my own business, and then i felt his soul boring holes into my skin. it was almost as though he was looking through me into my soul. he smiled at me, but all i knew were the darkest urges to hurt him, to make him stop smiling. i remember running towards him, but afterwards, i was sitting on the curb breathing heavily. the officer who took me away had to point his gun at my face before i was fully aware that he was standing there. we were both just a few feet from the body. the court would have been almost bare if not for the overwhelming hatred that weighed heavy over the proceedings. i didn’t pay too much attention to the boy’s name, or to the various arguments that were made. i think i remember having a lawyer, but not absolutely sure about that either. i must have blacked out when i killed him because none of what they said made any sense to me, their descriptions of the scene, or the assumption of my motivation. i was lead away with a sentence of mental instability. never disagreed with that, but this institution was breeding with emotional disaster in every nook and cranny. nothing was ever what it seemed once i became isolated in this environment, but i could never just keep to myself, as that was said to “hinder” my therapy by those doctors crazier than me. sometimes i thought there would never be any hope for me to escape this place. i think that i really was figuring right. until the hallucinations became real and wholly unsane to witness, and the outright madness began to move gears in both the mind of this victim and the system projected externally moving around him. his mind was the last thing needed to establish the wills of those other things calling out to him, and could believably conflict with their collective direction for his materializing their intents. no, the best it to be erased from his memory, and the doctors indeed had the best methods to erase that meddlesome brain of his. the act of terror would commence soon, and with this information in his brilliantly jagged perceptions, he was cast out back out of his catatonia on the floor. his face hurt severely, and he could feel the bruises all over his body, thinking obviously that more than a few of the animals got their kicks in. his one good eye not swollen, but red and blinking the dryness away, tearing up as he realized his forearms were being restrained to the sides of the gurney. he awoke in a dark room without lights, and he knew it was punishment to keep him restrained in isolation.
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