fragmented thoughts make sense...if you listen

All are lunatics, but he who can analyze his delusion is called a philosopher. ~Ambrose Bierce, Epigrams

Perfection in my personal analysis of myself.
If everybody contemplates the infinite instead of fixing the drains, many of us will die of cholera. ~John Rich

…and this makes complete sense to me…I wish I wish I wish I could just turn my mind off and stop contemplating …why,why,why…and fix a damn drain. If it were only so simple.
I try very, very hard to just …to just be…and then the infinite thoughts come and I must attack them with my mind and dance around the ideas until it makes some kind of sense to me...or there is absolutely no rest for my brain… nothing shuts down the process of deliberation for me…NOTHING. The endless questioning inside my mind turns and turns and questions endlessly until I find the answer…and it almost never fixes a drain…although sometimes it does!
……A secret to the universe is that if you pose a question to the universe...the universe will try to answer you… you must be patient…it will answer, it must… or I am completely mad…but I don’t think I am.
I met this dude one time and he showed me patterns on the ground that had just appeared out of no where…he kept seeing the same pattern everywhere he went. the pattern would just appear out of no where…from a rain puddle to a clump of bushes… the very same pattern.
…copious amounts of Risperdal could not erase the message he was receiving.
JJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJJ
I know this other dude that had the same sentence spoken to him over and over again from different people…the same thought given to him over and over and over again…he knew it was crazy…he asked to be given more anti-phycotic meds…the sentence was making him crazy…He was woken in the middle of the night with this simple thought… he heard it on tv.(the report written was that he was extremely psychotic and he thought his tv was sending him messages)…but the thought kept building and building… he saw it on street signs…every random word spoken to him related to that thought… extra injections were given…constant supervision was given…he became very agitated if you spoke to him while he was busy having his own personal thought… he had to have the end of the thought…he thirsted for it…his hunger for the end of the thought. the thought was to be engulfed and filtered and then released…
……………after the all the injections and proposed supervision was given…he was still what we clinically termed…‘bat shit crazy’. I asked to go and have a moment with him… after much deliberation I was allowed to go…alone…no one else was brave enough…dude was utterly insane. unable to speak about anything but his thought…and his thought was so fragmented that he could not gather it all together to make sense, for the rest of the world. it only made sense to him…and any other schizophrenic psycho that was not stuck in their the middle of their own madness at the time.
………………..crazy gets crazy…it just does…unless of course they are both psychotic at the time. at which time the conversation is just great amusement… but I digress…………
……………………dudes mumblings did not make sense to the outside world that ran from his crazy ass… they didn’t stop to listen…..
…………………..The stench from his constantly pacing form made rational people keep their distance…. crazy is contagious……….
……………………..When I looked into his eyes…because believe it or not…crazy people do have feelings… when I really looked at him with compassion…I saw the dude I had known before trying desperately trying to get out…he was valiantly stuck inside his own mind…a prisoner of his own thoughts…or voices or what ever the norms like to call it…. He knew he was crazy…and he was stuck….
……………………………wild misconception………. crazy people know they are being crazy….that’s where the clinical term isolation comes from…sometimes…. sometimes isolation merely means we wont let YOU in the fucking door! write isolating on the fucking admit slip baby! see if they keep me locked up when I am being no harm to anyone else, just isolating…or cooking up a great fucking thought!
…………………………..sorry,sorry sorry…its my blog though…I can be socializing psycho if I want, right!
……………..when I looked into his eyes…I could see him trapped inside…my heart broke into a thousand pieces…my mouth took off without my brain…again.
….
“tell me your thought” I begged.
itscrazyitscraqzyitscrazy’ spiraled out of his clenched lips. the pain of trying to keep his fragmented mind in one piece was almost to much to bear. He anticipated fear and departure from me…I did not give it to him… I plopped down on the dirty nasty floor and swatted scurrying roaches as I begged him to tell me his story. His face contorted with extreme pressure as he tried to find his way to the surface. I waited patiently…I would not look at the time on my phone…as time would stand still until I heard him escape from himself… I would lie my ass off in the next meeting in order to release him from his prison of fear… in short, fuck them and the people who try to cure us. I knew the cure…it was absolution and sometimes absolution does not come in the form of an hour.
He stood to his feet in a jerking movement and when I did not jump up to run away he looked down at me and melted to the floor himself. ( do not try this at home…teehee, I’m a fucking idiot) I will fear no evil I will fear no evil was on repeat in my brain…we do not fight against flesh and bone…
……………as he positioned himself cross legged on the floor across from me…we smoked Marlboro reds until his story could be dissected then discarded…and when his story…his thought was fragmented together patiently…put into order…then it could either be analyzed for safe keeping or discarded forever…but make no fucking mistake it had to be analyzed to the end.
………………….thoughts are like that with FUBAR people… My family explains my strange behavior this way…she just thinks to much…ya…simply put…I THINK WAY TO FUCKING MUCH!

(If your wondering about the secret to his universe he shared with me...you will just have to wonder into oblivion…it is NOT my story to tell…I know many, many secrets…I know great stories…but they are not mine to share…that would be a great raping of a soul I could not fathom …we each have our own….I choose to share mine…because I must…others choose to smoke theirs away…others hide from theirs…lunacy is a hiccup in the middle of breathing…sometime you choke…but sometimes a friend comes along and pats you on the back until you can catch your breath… a true friend keeps your secrets)