…down on the floor, scratching for more…

Title from Fistula, “Smoke Cat Hair and Toenails”, from the album Vermin Prolificus

image

Manic as fuck. This has been building. It’s a frantic race to nowhere. A deranged rat on a hamster wheel. The sedatives aren’t working (“I think I can handle my sedatives, bro…” -Charlie). Cyclical thought experiments. Running through my past transgressions. Recall, revisit, rewrite, restore. This is why the lines get blurred.

Suddenly, focus. Something intense, white hot, piercing, and its all that there is. It envelopes from the inside out, wraps tentacles, consuming. It is all that there is.

It is gone. And there is nothing. Less than nothing.

Fractured psyche, rearranged. The protective cover of scar tissue. Healing. Growth. Change…

image

© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

Advertisements

You Oughtta Know

image

Most of the conflict in my life as it relates to the Others (all you people who, as far as I can tell, don’t exist inside of my head) is that I expect motherfuckers to know what I am thinking, what I want, and what I expect from you Others at any given moment. When this does not happen I get irritated and confused and my thoughts become all jumbled and manic — with a touch of psychotic, on occasion — and then I start fights that exist and play out solely in my imagination. Or, if my shit is really all mixed up, I will simply lash out in violence and loathing. My level of zen is directly related to how fully other people are living up to my expectations in any given moment, and since I forget to divulge any information about what those expectations are, y’all motherfuckers rarely live up to my oh so delicate and vital needs. This is probably why I plod through much of my daily existence in scornful, belligerent aggression. It has probably already given me stomach cancer, which would explain why my stomach constantly aches like a infernal burning pyre suffocating itself for lack of oxygen.

image

That’s another thing, when I am not getting the needy self-centered stimulation that my egotistical emotional psychosis desires, my brain acts out in irrational obsessive fears by doing things like convincing itself Our body is ripe with cancer, or the pervasive conviction that I am actually dead, that some long ago occurance that We experienced as a near-death experience, a close call, actually fucking killed Us, and everything that has “happened” since then has been merely a run-out of electricity, the last desperate gasps of life and brain activity draining out of me in prolonged dream-life flashes. Sometimes, if I see the same “stranger” more than once throughout my day, or if I get separated from a companion inside a grocery store, or any number of other miniscule moments of existential crisis, I find myself having to prove to myself through what are probably ridiculous and absurd subjective mind games and thought puzzles that I am in fact NOT schizophrenic, that my Lady or my mother or that guy on the bus or the person walking along behind me are in fact NOT projections of my own mental delusions, and that the entirety of being that I perceive as “real” does not actually exist solely within my mind.  You can’t tell me you’re “real” though. Because that’s just what a delusion would say.

image

I think it’s safe to say that madness is relative. And all my relatives are fucking MAD, baby.

I love you. No, I hate you! I want to start a fight with you to give you an opportunity through your response and reactions to prove to me your affection. Problem is, your reaction will never match the script I have written in my mind, and I am the kind of director that allows no room for improvisation. Just fucking dance when I tell you to dance, monkey. MONKEEEY!!!

image

In any case, I am fairly certain the crazy pills are no longer working. Sucks for me that my crazy caused me to freak out at work and quit my shithouse job several months ago. Sucks for me that my primary care physician left his practice abruptly, leaving me in between providers. Sucks that it takes centuries to get on the panel of a new physician. Sucks that my insurance coverage ran out before I could see a fucking new doctor about how the Crazy is taking over. Sucks that I my neurotic mindfuck bullshit manic psychoses have made it oh so difficult to find new employment, something I cannot seem to find the motivation to give a shit about in the first place right now. Sucks that, with the exception of those moments I am with my Baby (my zen personified), I can hardly go out in public, or even exist inside my own head comfortably, without regressing into anxiety and panic and anger and disquiet and unease and scorn and loathing and hatred and madness and horrible violent aggression. Sucks that the Crazy has run out of targets and now lashes out at my zen personified and pushes Us towards absolute emotional meltdown in front of Our Lady. Sucks that every effort We expend to try and explain or make sense of Our savage brain fry shit storm head case only serves to confuse Us and push all else further and further away.

image

You like how We are not placing responsibility for any of this on The Ryan?  We are infallible. Y’all motherfuckers must bend to Our will or suffer Our wrath! Fucking get it together, vile creatures of this strange and terrible Reality!

This has been Our Stream of Consciousness Saturday post for this asshole of a day, the Twenty First of February, Two-Thousand Fifteen. It’s okay doh, cuz Love is in Da Blog, yo. Can’t you feel it? ;D

image

© Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Ryan Scott Sanders and Dharma and Belligerence: Mad Rants from a Free-Range Buddhist Hooligan with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.