On the brink of madness. I examine my life and its follies. When I view the sky I want to soar high; higher than any human being has ever tried. Life. Life. Such an interesting concept. Poetic yet perverse. Quixotic and reversed.
Backwards I walk. Downhill I talk to unkempt wanderers. They tell me I am just like them. I am sure I am. In a puddle of rain water my reflection depicts sorrow. But not a typical sorrow; more of a transformative sorrow.
Hand me a drink. Make it cold, make it speak. I'd bite my own throat if I could. I'd tell everyone to stop their bitching and twitching if I thought they knew how. Stains, cannot stain me much. Fame is no longer prophetic.
How old are you? How old am I? How old does one have to be before acknowledging negativity and positivity? 18? 21? 35? 55? Maybe one hundred and five. I could not say.
When I watch old black and white movies I take something from them. I do not criticize the lack of special effects. I applaud the complete absence of any effects. Why? Because there once was a time when actors were really Actors. They meticulously honed their craft and they had great respect for each other.
I suppose respect still exists today but on a much more superficial level. Viable. Negligible. Today's actors have made a living off of ignorance. Today's human survives by blocking out all things concerning civilization.
Local news perpetuates the propaganda machine. They can't even accurately predict the weather! Death and tragedy are the biggest ratings generator. Commercials corrupt our minds and souls. They tell us to buy the latest, newest mechanism. And when we do buy it they tell us to buy more of it!
Capitalism is not Democracy. Just like the Moon is not the Sun. Sure we have fun with every little trinket and technological wonder. But eventually we stumble upon a blunder. Eventually we recycle or throw out all manufactured numbers.
Normal? Normal is a bleeding wound. Normal is a broken vase. Normal is a homeless man sleeping in the gutter. Normal is a child starving to death. Normal is paying an arm and a leg for medicine. Normal is giving up and giving in. Giving in to fascist dictatorships cleverly disguised as democratic fellowships.
Revolt! Smack away the same old dichotomies! No one is gonna' take away my sovereignty. No one being can rule over another being. A law does not make it so. Most courts sway to and fro.
Madness is beautiful. Sadness is only a byproduct. Consciousness is free and ever flowing. Life. You know what it is but you have no idea what it entails.
Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Keep a blog of thoughts. Keep a journal of phrases. Listen to that little voice within. To hear it means you've already won. It means that the end is not the end.
Slurp up control. Gulp down wisdom. Whatever you may want out of life will never compare to what you need out of life. Strife. Yes, strife is the catalyst. Pain is non-negotiable.
Every single second of every single moment teaches us about ourselves. I breathe in insanity. It knows me well and I know it well. I tried ignoring it but now I engender it.
We need madness. We need catalysts. We need old fashioned informality. We need to dream. We need to bleed. We need to need for eternity.
If there is an end to madness... I do not want to reach it!

You cannot fashion the world without first cracking a few eggs, skulls, bones and limits. I've pondered this plenty. Destruction can be brutal but it does make way for creation. Some might say creation can be brutal but they would be misinformed and uninspired.
When one admires a painting or any other work of art there are a myriad of conclusions one can come to. Do the colors represent madness? Do the brushstrokes mimic life's disappointments? Perhaps the artist drove himself crazy while creating it. Perhaps the artist drove others crazy while creating it. Perhaps all possibilities are valid.
I tend to agree with my own perspective; whatever it may be. I have no reason to fall for juxtaposed anecdotes. Most days I sit around the house with a pen in one hand and a dictionary in the other. Most definitions do not speak to me. I speak to them.
Before feast must come famine. I heard that in a movie once. I forget which movie but it involved a struggling artist and an egotistical womanizer. I must admit for a minute there I was rooting for the womanizer. Not because of all the sex he had but because of how honest he was with himself.
There seems to be a shortage of truly honest people. I used to think honesty was overrated but now I believe we could use more of it. It is time to bring it back!
The next time you feel frustrated or irked please remind yourself that you are most likely in the midst of a personal destruction. And destruction only clears the way for more creation. We are forever growing and evolving.
Transformation is our birthright. A burdensome birthright but an important one nonetheless. One could even say... we are all insane artists. The artists of life.