🔥🦂🔥:::WordsJustCameOutWrong:::🔥🦂🔥 (AfterFace of volume 6)
I like to say Words are Worlds......Words are also Wounds and Wounds are Worlds....and if we are perfectly honest, All Worlds are Wounds. And I am unraveling my World as I unravel my Wounds. I have been Wound so tightly around a core of Intensity, and overwhelming personal psychic interrogation for my entire life, that I have produced a ridiculous amount of Words in various forms, either to Cover over the Wounds or to Unwind the Covers. I am unsure which. A bit of both. But In diving back into the World Contained in this Tome of descent…..I have been reliving the emotions and confusions and I am emerging from this ritual as if from a Tomb. Yes, Words are Also Wombs.
My Words are often the result of entering the Portal of Some Other, either in the waking world or in the vast internal realms I inhabited. I have always lived mostly inwardly, with a rich and sometimes disastrous inner life. Some of these poems are written from the perspective of the many battling inner realities within me, with no mirror in the physical world. I have always been submerged in what I call 'Bleedthru-s of Other Lives'……Psychic fragments and scars and emotions from Characters I have played before in other timelines, seeping right through my seams. My inner realities have always been more solid and real than my outer reality. Some of the poems are written from my own witnessing of friends dramas etc, and writing from the perspective of the players in those games. Some are archetypal expulsions of raw material suffocating me endlessly. But most are mirrors of some outer reality. My protean obsessions and compulsions always dragging me one way or another. The repetition of the theme of Love and Pain and Misery and Darkness and bitterness. The depth of my own emotional life was never expressed to any person in those years, in fact, that theme has held for my whole life. I have always turned my psychic and emotional disintegration into Art. Not because I don't trust people. But, I believe, I learned way back then…and find it still true today…that most people do not feel as deeply. Are not so completely consumed by passing moods or inner landscapes and are not so tangibly sculpted like putty by their inner reality. Those who are, have left behind all the great Art and Writing and Inventions of our Collective World Stage. Or they have drowned themselves in addictions because there was no way to silence the Demon, and there was no leap from the abyss to follow the Daimon into Alchemy, instead of suffering the excesses that Demons love so much. Or they have been given any number of psychiatric labels and then pharmaceutically numbed out of life or locked away instead of facing the abyss head-on. Or they have simply, chosen Death head first.
"Thus I draw from the absurd three consequences, which are my revolt, my freedom, and my passion. By the mere activity of consciousness / transform into a rule of life what was an invitation to death-and I refuse suicide." (Albert Camus)
Mostly, people try to commiserate, if I actually let out some of the depth of what I am perceiving or feeling or living, or what I am making flesh. I have often responded, that if they felt and saw and bore what I bear, relentlessly, they would be, like me, forced to alchemize it in some way or to destroy themselves. The kind of charge, the voltage of energy I am talking about, constantly pressing in upon me, is not the kind of fire or electricity that can be safely tucked away behind a netflix series, or a bottle of wine, or endless shopping, or endless socializing, or even hobbies. It cannot be stored in a back room and allowed out when appropriate. It cannot just 'wait til a better time' to make itself known. If someone is able to 'basically get on with their life' by drowning out the voices in any number of ways, they are not in the heat of the kind of flames I am talking about here. One may say that it is the human condition. Yes, in many ways it is. But it is a particular condition that only some people choose to incarnate into here in the Playground. It is a particular wiring, a certain blueprint. And they either learn to dance with it, and create great beauty or alchemize it in some way, or they destroy themselves and others completely. I do not believe there is any middle ground. Not for this initiation. Nothing about this kind of intensity allows for a 'normal life'.
We don't know that when we are young, however. We think if we just condemn ourselves enough for our Inner Fire, we will eventually settle into some typical way of relating to Self, in a controllable world of other people doing people-y things. We think if we just stop doing A, B, or C, or if we just Try Harder to be setted and content within our skin, we will alter the program. If we just make up a bunch of rules for ourSelf and stick within them, or follow someone else's rules of virtue, we will be free. But I have learned over and over, that there is something innate to certain people that will never allow for that. There is an inner prod that has no care for our human proclivities or our body's limits. It will not let us rest. Every moment is lived in absolute Intensity, whether that be the heights of the Manias we find ourselves in, when the blood is quickened within and we are a tornado of exuberance and god-like arrogance behind a bright and radiant smile of possibility. Filled with endless ideas that stream out like a broken water pipe and saturating everything and everyone in the vicinity. Or when Icarus' waxen wings melt and he falls from the sky in a dramatic display of descent back to Saturn's humus, humbled by the tumble from the lofty perch of our own ideals and effulgence.
What else but absolute obsession can make a person spend hours upon hours upon hours of days upon days upon days upon weeks and months and years focused on bringing to life some particular little nuance of their perception and participation in AllOfit. The Daimon drives us. And not All of our Daimons are playing the same game. And I have, after 44 years in the Playground, found a way to dance with that realization. It no longer destroys me and everyone in its path. I know a great many people afraid of being hurt, in Love. I am bass ackwards. I am not afraid of being hurt. I am incredibly reluctant at this point, to allow another to be hurt by me. I saw these patterns even back to this earliest poetry and was aware of the various warring selves within me. The Fire warms but also burns. It lights up a room but also sucks all the oxygen out of the air. Not all things and beings can handle the heat and intensity of a Being who is able to exist only at full throttle. At least not in close proximity for any length of time.
I have learned to create vast amounts of Space for myself, and vast amounts of Time for myself, to make of my life a sanctuary where I am fully aware of my strengths and weaknesses, and thus able to now use my gifts in Service, and minimize any fallout from my own perpetual emotional instability....(which all things considering, is very mild compared to the bulk of the prior 30 years).
A testament, these 600+ poems are, to the desperate restlessness of an unfolding psyche, that could only vaguely intuit, at the time, what lay right around the corner. It was only one full year later that the major confrontation with Self and the dissolution of everything I had begun to believe was me, was to take place. (See Volume 5)
I see in these poems all the foreshadowings that came to delineate the myths of my life, in germinal form. I have simply unfolded the tapestry through time. And now, as a ritual release, and as a precursor to Drawing My Stories on the Skin of this World, these Words Made Flesh are the final recapitulation of a long Poetic journey that has led me to this point in time. And I am casting off the garments of the old life, again, this time to be born anew without carrying the weight of these juicy nuggets of my Living Experience screaming into my psyche constantly, to be birthed into Flesh. Word Made Flesh. So Blessed. This Journey.
"Every time I tried to tell you, the words just came out wrong, so I'll have to say I love you in a song"
I'll have to Spell it out in Rouge, the Red from the blood thatl bled as birthed myself anew
"There's something that I just gotta say, I knew you'd understand…...”
Charleen Johnston 3-6-2025
"Words are like pillows: if put correctly they ease pain."
“There are dead ideas and cold beliefs, wrote William James, and then there are hot and live ones. When an idea “grows hot and lives within us,” he believed, everything must recrystallize around it. The exuberant life, bursting as it does with feverish beliefs, is one of constant recrystallization; in this lies much of its value, complexity, and potential danger. That which is most deeply felt is also most powerfully expressed to others. “We cannot write well or truly but what we write with gusto,” said Thoreau. “The body the senses must conspire with the spirit—Expression is the act of the whole man. that our speech may be vascular.” But our beholdenness to passion assures a darker side. Exuberance can veer sharply into disturbing territory. Champagne enchants, but it also intoxicates more quickly than stiller wines: heed glides into heedlessness as effortlessly as the silk chemise drops to the floor. The things that excite contain the capacity for excess and the potential to shame or devastate. Enthusiasm shares a border with fanaticism, and joy with hysteria; exuberance lives in uncomfortable proximity to mania. Exuberance, as Shakespeare wrote of music, “hath such a charm / To make bad good, and good provoke to harm.” Thwarted or deviant enthusiasms, once pro-voked, are powers to reckon with. The fever of passion itself is not the difficulty, argued William James; rather, trouble lies in the nature of the passion and how well it holds up to the light of day. “Surely the fever process as such is not the ground for our disesteem,” he wrote. “For ought we know to the contrary, 103° or 104° Fahrenheit might be a much more favorable temperature for truths to germinate and sprout in, than the more ordinary blood-heat of 97 or 98 degrees. It is the dis-agreeableness itself of the fancies, or their inability to bear the criticisms of the convalescent hour.” Disagreeable fancies are irksome at best and calamitous at worst. Too ardent or misdirected exuberance creates mayhem for the individual and exposes others to the possibility of mishap, if not actual danger. Unchecked, enthusiasm runs roughshod over reason and intrudes into the private emotional territory of others, imposing, as it goes, its own energy and tempo. Exuberance whips its way in, dominant, and forces itself upon those trapped in its eddy. At its best, it is infectious and enlivening; at its worst, it stifles the ideas and feelings of the less exuberant. Not everyone delights in delight, especially if it is not their own, and few wish to have their moods hijacked by those of others. Sustained or nuanced social interactions are difficult in the presence of great exuberance, and indiscriminate enthusiasm hinders the discernment necessary to sort out true friend from possible foe. The lack of fixity creates discomfort and mistrust: the mobility of mind and attachment that is artistically helpful may not prove an asset in other circumstances. Like Brown-ing’s Last Duchess, who had “A Heart how shall I say?—too soon made glad, / Too easily impressed; she liked whate er / She looked on, and her looks went everywhere,” the exuberant are easily engaged. And exuberance is, in its very effusiveness, liable to misconstruction and suspicion, often misinterpreted as sexual interest when none is intended, or as implying a more sustained emotional commitment than is warranted by the high spirits that, however persuasive, may prove to be transient or directed in any number of places. ….. Carter Brown was mindful, however, that not everyone found his energy to their liking (although most who knew him certainly did). His tendency, as he put it, to “lope into others’ pastures” was, he acknowledged, not infrequently experienced as “grating.” Brown, who could no more keep his enthusiasm in check than an otter can keep to the riverbank, believed that his exuberance was an integral part of his leadership of the National Gallery, but he was also aware that it caused envy in some and made others feel over-whelmed. Brown said he tried to slow down his speech and to keep his long arms and hands from waving into the “emotional space” of other people, but that it was an uphill fight. …… Where does exuberance end and mania begin? What is eccentricity, or simply a normal variation in temperament, and when does it tip over into irrational exuberance and psychopathology? We do not know. The edges of mania may be exhilarating, as Clifford Beers relates in A Mind That Found Itself “It seemed as though the refreshing breath of some kind Goddess of Wisdom was being blown gently against the surface of my brain. … So delicate, so crisp and exhilarating was it that words fail me in my attempt to describe it”. … Normal exuberance can escalate into pathological enthusiasm, anger, or even mania. Those who have what Emil Kraepelin called a “manic predisposition” are not only extraverted, cheerful, and overly optimistic, they also possess highly unstable and irritable moods. Indeed, those most inclined to exuberance are often most subject to despair and hopelessness. These dark sides of exuberance both help and hinder: if enthusiasm switches quickly to wrath or is bound too often to impetuous action, many of the dangers we have discussed are made more likely. If melancholy gives a humanizing perspective to exuberance, however, there is less risk of hazardous behavior and shallow thought. As we shall see, a close familiarity with both exuberance and despair may lead to a profound understanding of human nature, as well as an ability to more complexly express it in the arts and sciences. Moderation in strong emotions is not always easily come by. Lucretius observed two thousand years ago that the destructive motions “can never permanently get the upper hand and entomb vitality for evermore. Neither can the generative and augmentative motions permanently safeguard what they have created. …. There was, he said, “a sort of uncommon celerity in changing expression, in thought and speech.” His legendary restlessness was summed up most graphically by Henry Adams, who said that Stevenson “seems never to rest, but perches like a parrot on every available projection, jumping trom one to another, and talking incessantly.” Keeping to his bird analogy, but switching species, Adams wrote to another friend that Stevenson looked like “an insane stork, very warm and very restless.” An acquaintance of Stevenson’s in Samoa concurred: “He was as active and restless as if his veins had been filled with quicksilver.” W. E. Henley wrote of Stevenson that he was as “mutable as the sea,/ The brown eyes radiant with vivacity…/ A spirit intense and rare, with trace on trace/ Of passion, impudence, and energy.” Another friend said that “there were two Stevensons … this strange dual personality… I have seen him in all moods… chatting away in the calmest manner possible; and I have seen him become suddenly agitated, jump from that table and stalk to and fro across the floor like some wild forest animal … his face would glow and his eyes would flash, darkening, lighting, scintillating, hypnotising you with their brilliance and the burning fires within.” Stevenson had, in short, a febrile temperament. …. The intensity and variability of Stevenson’s moods-his not infrequent black depressions and his contrasting exuberance— certainly contributed to his understanding of the underbelly of delight. His temperament was peculiarly tuned to not only the darker side of human nature and its ready accessibility but to a firsthand knowledge of man’s multiplicity of selves. Stevenson’s own fluctuating and wildly disparate moods made him especially sensitive to the ambiguities, shadings, and inconsistencies of human enthusiasms and, indeed, of life itself. “It is in vain to seek for consistency or expect clear and stable views,” he wrote. “In this flux of things, our identity itself seems in a perpetual variation…. All our attributes are modified or changed; and it will be a poor account of us if our views do not modify and change in a proportion.” Stevenson’s close knowledge of dark and inconstant moods inevitably influenced his work. It provided him a keen sensitivity to mood states of all kinds, and enhanced his genius for portraying their nuances. It also gave him a hard appreciation for the seductiveness of uninhibited states of mind. Stevenson’s intimate acquaintance with contrary and unpredictable moods did not account for all, or even perhaps most, of his perspective on life. But to underestimate it is to underestimate Stevenson himself; it is, as well, to underestimate the raw, knowing, and deeply human power of his greatest writings. …. The juxtaposition of the exuberant and the malignant is potentially dangerous, but a balance between the two can provide ballast and gravitas. Excessive lightness can be given a grace note by the dark, as melancholy and mania can give each other depth and height. To make use of despair is an ancient gift of the artist: to learn from pain; to temper the frenzied enthusiasm; to rein in the scatter, the rank confidence, and the expansive ideas generated during times of unchecked exuberance. Melancholy has a way of winding in the high-flying expectations that are the great gift of exuberance but its liability as well; it forces a different kind of look-ing. “In these flashing revelations of grief”s wonderful fire,” wrote Melville, “we see all things as they are; and though, when the electric element is gone, the shadows once more descend, and the false outlines of objects again return; yet not with their former power to deceive.” Melancholy forces a slower pace, makes denial a less plausible enterprise, and constructs a ceiling of reality over sky-borne ideas. It thrusts death into the mental theater and sees to it that the salient past will be preserved. Exuberant ideas benefit from skepticism and leadshot. Whether the ballast comes from melancholy, from law or social sanction, from an astringent intellect or the incredulity of others, discipline and qualm are conducive to getting the best yield from high mood and energy.”
{selections from Kay Redfield Jamison, ‘Exuberance’}
As I sat down to write this post, I put on some music. I felt suddenly compelled to put on ‘Travis’, a band I used to listen to profusely 20 years ago. I clicked on the song ‘Sing’, sorta randomly, but had to chuckle as it started to play and I was whisked back to another lifetime. In some ways. In other ways its the same old story, the same old ways of trying to stay sane.
Baby, you’ve been going so crazy Lately, nothing seems to be going right So low, why’d you have to get so low? You’re so You’ve been waiting in the sun too long
But if you sing, sing, sing, sing, sing, sing For the love you bring won’t mean a thing Unless you sing, sing, sing, sing
Colder, crying over your shoulder Hold her, and tell her everything’s gonna be fine Surely, you’ve been going too early Hurry, ’cause no one’s gonna be stopped Now, now, now, now, now
But if you sing, sing, sing, sing, sing For the love you bring won’t mean a thing Unless you sing, sing, sing, sing, sing, sing, sing, sing
Baby, there’s something going on today But I say nothing, nothing, nothing Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing So, now, now, now, now, now
But if you sing, sing, sing, sing, sing For the love you bring won’t mean a thing Unless you sing, sing, sing, sing, sing Ah, baby, sing, sing, sing, sing, sing, sing For the love you bring won’t mean a thing Unless you sing, sing, sing, sing
Francis Healy from ‘Travis’ the Invisible Band
Ive been going back and forth about how to frame the narrative that is starting to chip its way out of the prism cell that is my mind, so effortless it wants to flow out, and I could use any number of filters to see it and speak it and sieve it through. I have been going through old journals and writings from way back to barely teen all the way up through recent times. The running theme, almost frighteningly so, is madness and moods and the mercurial mind. And in light of that, I have come to realize that the only authentic lens to write from is the pulsating pendulum of the opposing states of Mania and Depression that have characterized my existence. Ive spent my whole life with a subtle deeply ingrained terror that the white coats would be knocking on the door at any moment. Ive spent 23 years now in deep research into psychology, neurology, spirituality, astrology, healing, pathology, trauma etc……..simply to understand my own Self and the ‘madness’ that lay at the root of all I am and do. Most people who know me identify who I am, with the Manic side of my nature. There are others, particularly me ex-husband/sons father, who would have a very different story I am sure. To be fair, I met him at 19, not long after the life-changing Trip (story at the end of this post) that I describe elsewhere, which ripped what semblance of a cohesive self I had at the time, into a million pieces. Which catalyzed my entire life since, into a journey of self-discovery, healing, and understanding the precipice I feel I have always teetered upon. He was the only stable tether for almost 10 years as I dove consciously into the underworld in obsessive preoccupation with healing and wholeness. I was a shattered and fragmented madwoman, essentially; My maddening moods and breakdowns were the undercurrent of everything, I was clinging to my highly lucid and lightening fast mercurial mind which attempted to carry me on its wings out of the oozing swamp of unconscious emotional energies and frothing underworld demons from many lifetimes; what little boundaries I started with in this life, were completely shattered at age 19 and I have spent the past two decades putting all the puzzle pieces back together, to gather all the soul shards and gain some footing in this strange place called Consensus Reality. It is not a comfortable place for me, I live more fluidly in the Imaginal Realm, and I know that my Intention in this lifetime was to go down into what I call the ‘psychic gulags’ and rescue all the imprisoned selves that have been splintered and lost for lifetime after lifetime. If I were to try and write the story that is my Life hereNow, without acknowledging the impact that my own wiring and disposition and temperament has played in the narrative, it would feel delusional. And there are so many threads, ‘too many clues in this room’ as Gordon Lightfoot sang……….that untangling them finally will free me to explore another reality. If I had not discovered and immersed myself in the deep undertaking of Astrology and Psychology, I would , no doubt, be locked up somewhere unable to exist in this world. I know a few of those alternate selves, I have been inside their lives in the DreamPlane, I have seen some of the parallel tracks my potential has played out……and I believe I am in the best of all possible worlds.
BlissNinja ai generated Art
Lyrics
Dear diary What is wrong with me? ‘Cause I’m fine between the lines Be not afraid Help is on its way A sentence suspended in air Way over there
Dear diary What else could it be? As nightshade descends like a veil Under the sail of my heart Be still, don’t stop until the end
Dear diary What is wrong with me? ‘Cause I’m fine between the lines
Francis Healy, ‘Travis’ the invisible Band
Astrologically I am a Scorpio Ascendent/sun/uranus/mercury. Sun and Uranus are in exact conjunction………in the first house. If you understand what Uranus represents and expresses, it will make sense, the Mania aspect. The Million-watt electrical connection to the All, that cannot be separated out from my basic sense of self and vitality. Mercury sits almost exactly upon my ascendant. in the 12th house on the other side of Mercury, sits Pluto and Venus in exact conjunction in LIbra. There he is, Hermes, the trickster, the psychopomp…….straddling the very line between the unconscious/conscious self………mercury the winged messenger, the only god who could safely traverse the underworld the realm of pluto/hades. Neptune and MArs sit conjunct in the second house of sagittarius, adds some more intensity. But the kicker for the up and down pull of the madness of opposing highs of euphoric ecstatic delight and the morose leaden disconnection of despair……is perhaps the Moon(Moods/instincts/primal experience of self) in Aries(fiery/impulsive/intense) in close opposition to the 2′ conjunction of Saturn(contraction/depression)and Jupiter(expansion/joviality/cheer)….Those are just a couple short snippets of some of the things I will unpack over the course of writing. Ive gone so deeply into all of it for years, but never articulated it in written form. Its a daunting task, really, when the mind is super mercurial and sees the infinite patterns and connections of everything on many layers, one single sentence can have me fighting to stay focused on the point at hand instead of branching off into a hundred other fractal directions of experience and understanding.
BlissNinja ai generated art
Understanding myself through the astrological framework, has been instrumental in giving me some objectivity from my own temperament and even the gifts and traumas inherent in the very blueprint of Me. I had been convinced I was utterly insane and there was no hope, no way Id ever be able to integrate all of what was destroying me; in retrospect, I can see how far I have come in stabilizing myself and finally learning exactly what I need in order to have a functioning nervous system that is not destroying myself or others around me, and which can take advantage of the vast creative capacities I carry and have found expression for in the world. The terrible fear that I will die without having developed my talents in this life is the cattle prod that keeps me delving ever deeper into my Body and Soul in order to bring the two together in the arms of Spirit, to truly Bring the Fullness of my Unique Individual expression of Self into this reality.
As I laid on the floor in my blindfold bandana, 5 hours into bodywork and somatic meditation, It came to me how the see-saw had ripped me apart my whole life. But since I had started to prioritize Embodiment and working with my physical body in a variety of intense ways, I had finally found the path to stability, at least, as much as I am capable with this particular wiring and nervous system and astrological blueprint. I had tasted this years before when I obsessively did several hours of my own style of yoga/pilates/movement every single day……it was the only thing that saved me from leaving this reality completely, something to balance the Mind that drove me to madness. AT the time, for years, I still fought the twin demons of Anorexia and Bulimia, but the bodywork allowed me to get some kind of grip on my emotional dysregulation. I only rarely missed a day. I have a tendency toward OCD and my life is very ritualized in many ways, even still, so the over-control at the time of every single thing in my life was vital to regaining some footing in physical reality. AT one point, I woke every morning at about 5:30am, did two hours of yoga, showered hot/cold/hot/cold etc while doing more breathing practices, walked the two miles to West Portal (SF) to get the same Golden Dragon Oolong from Peets Coffee…….I walked the entire way reading a book…(I read up to 10 books a week, used bookstores being my favorite haunt….buying piles, reading, and returning some for the cashback exchange for more)……silently stirred my honey into cup for several minutes, in a sorta trance I would assume it looked like to others, walked back with tea and reading. That was my morning ritual for 1.5 years while living in the Sunset at that dwelling. I still have ritualistic things that I do, but I change them up now and again. AStrologically my moon is in 6th house in whole house signs, and in the evolutionary astrology framework my Pluto Point is in that same house. The 12th house where one of my my stelliums of planets resides is the house of the diffuse boundary realms/subconscious/deeply buried/dreamtime etc…….the 6th is work/service/the daily ‘chop wood carry water’ and the health and purification of the body etc. So it makes sense that the form my healing would take is through the constant and dedicated discipline of Bodywork and daily routine rituals; my natural tendency is toward the Dreaming reality and altered states of consciousness/OBE etc, Its natural, the challenge for me is to stay grounded. To BE HERE NOW.
BlissNinja ai generated art
How many times over the years have I come out of the low tide, the chosen isolation and reclusive despair state where I have zero tolerance for anyone or anything outside my own company and grasping mind, to think ‘im free now. Im healed. I did it, Im better, Ive sorted it out, im finally totally sane. The sweet shift into mania and high energy and lightening thought and desire for human company etc, the proof that Im superhuman and flying high and from now on I shall accomplish all the infinite desires in my soul, constantly without fail and I can be depended on and life will never lose its golden glow…….’
And hovering one fractal dimension away, my Daimon laughs maniacally and watches as once again the inevitable plummet with wax wings burnt, and the cycle starts itself over again.
The only salvation, is the Body. When I am able to stay true to my bodywork every single day and my grounding rituals, I feel balanced and great and high energy, with excitement and joy and creative fire, I have patience for the daily requirements of living, I care about people and things and have great warmth and appreciation for everything. It is not the euphoria of mania, but the ecstasy of truly being embodied, and loose and feeling and experiencing life through the flowing fascial network of the bodies wisdom. Its as far away from mania as it is from depression. Saturns cold leaden fingers cannot get to me when I devote myself to being in the body, through fascia work, yoga, intense dance, playful movement. Over the past few years I have made a point that when I start to feel Mania coming on, which is usually when Ive left the realm of body and gotten lodged into the mercurial uranian lightening mind suffocating in the infinite patterns and possibilities of all that I can and should do and be and write and say and want and dream and the adventures I can create……I step back and force myself to go deeply back into my body. I trade the extreme highs for the less intense but embodied joy of the simplicity of life. I still cycle through the pendulum but the lows are more like chosen retreat and renewal and refocusing and resting of the nervous system instead of nervous breakdown and collapse and despair and terror that the white coats will be here any moment, to take me away finally.
There are those who somehow find some simple way of living that carries them through, enjoying the typical distractions of what this society dances around. There are others who come into this game with a fire that threatens to consume them, driven by creative intentions that rip them apart and taunt and mock; Moods that make everything and everyone incidental to the crushing weight of manifesting that which is within the mind and soul, clamoring to get out. There has always been a fine line, they say, between genius and madness, and a huge proportion of those who have left the most vital and inspiring and insightul works of art and literature have danced with the very same demons (or Daimons) that keep me pirouetting on a tightrope between chasms……..uranian multidimensional awareness pulsating through a fleshbody with neural synaptic rapture as the Plutonian Dark Underworld of emotional terrors rises like molasses and the Jester Mercury juggling life and death and light and dark tries vehemently to rescue all these personalities from all the lives from all the playground capers in this Infinite Time Game……and integrate them into a Whole New Me.
BlissNinja 