A disclaimer: I’m not crazy
but can you really trust someone who says, “I’m not crazy”?
I mean, it’s similar to when a woman calls you dangerous
and you say, “I’m not dangerous. No, really—I’m not dangerous!”
And then she pulls-out her pepper spray.
Lately, in my life
I’ve been able to be more like myself
and it frightens some people.
They are worried about where my fictional characters come from
inside, the dark recesses of my imagination
where my strange philosophies come from
that I espouse.
If I say, “No—I only write to entertain, honestly.” Am I being truthful?
Truthfully, I don’t even know—
I love to play with ideas, and ask the same question
over and over again
People, who are afraid of fiction, don’t read
I am afraid of people
who don’t read—
they believe they have all of the answers
and they are quick to censor,
or to take offense.
under bridges, where they make their homes
and they say, “Who is that, crossing my bridge? You have to pay a toll. You can’t say that. I’m offended.”
It is laughable, really.
come from churches—
their love is conditional
most of the love, in the world, is conditional.
It is difficult to explain myself in ink
If I defend my good name, and say, “I’m a good guy,” I am being defensive, and I am guilty—certain sure.
I ask myself…
“Why do I need to defend myself?”
Why do I need to belong—
to be accepted—
when all of that has a price?
This world can kill you in a million different ways
the battle is for your mind
your self-expression is gone when you don’t have a self
They will try to take that from you
In my undergraduate abnormal psychology class, the professor told us a story
about an experiment that went bad
when Research Psychologists feigned insanity
to get committed into a psych ward.
Then they started acting normal, and asked the doctors for their release,
but they were suspected of being insane
and they weren’t allowed to go home.
They were trapped
and no amount of explanation
could prove their sanity.
That was the experiment
and it took doctors from the outside
to convince the insane staff
their patients were sane.
This story horrified me
but it gave me an explanation
for how people think:
clothing and dress (A patient wears a straight-jacket and a doctor wears a uniform)
who is credible, and who isn’t
Most people don’t have a clue
like lost detectives
who believe what they are told
who the murderer is
When you think for yourself
and actually find-out
it’s an uncomfortable truth.
People are blind to reality
unable to escape
where they hold themselves captive
in their own minds.