Mad Chap Laughs

I ventured far in search of Solitude. Muffled colloquialism and the repressed ideologies of a disgustingly lost generation of fools and pseudo-intellectuals forced me to do so. At a time when claiming atheism was a fashion-statement and finding “inspiration” in music made by corporate lawyers and pushers of conformity was the blindest and therefore the most widely embraced contemporary religion available, I decided to quit everything and shift my attention to looking for more in less. That, I believe, is the path trod by those, disillusioned individuals, who have found no love in starry-eyes and the repeated lies of those who sell their souls for a few seconds more of nothing.

And yet to claim that we should all be the same is so dense an assertion, that mere words cannot express my intense loathing of such a statement. My travels (which have been strange if not many) have led me far from here.

When the past was the present I could easily claim that this present ‘uncomfortable situation’ allowed me to escape from its clutches by simply altering my reality. It’s very simple you see. It’s called, going mad (that's what i would say.) either you lose the ability or you get rid of the need to communicate. (It didn’t go so well to be honest. It requires…strength, faith, otherwise you fall...very very spiralling down forever fall)

The following is a description of such a Mad fall. One that made it very difficult to get back up. I must have written it at some point during my brief, fragmented, incomplete and wasteful saunter with insanity. A stroll that seems to have achieved nothing and yet a lot, for if I were still the same person I was before, which, assuredly, I am not, it would have been a shame. I suppose the bottom line is that, the trip was disastrous, like a prolonged illness that only grows with time. Killing your immune system. Picking on the old white blood cells one by one. And then just before you know you’re going to die, this, left-over group of vigilante white cells decide to go all out. Be brave. Ironically, now it is they who go mad to counter my madness. They stop believing in probability and chance and opportunity and luck. They set out to achieve what they were made for. The concept of defeat is obliterated from within and slowly the madness of hope seeps out and rescues the dying soul. Thus, after a diseased journey, I finally reached my destination. By ‘destination’ I don’t wish to imply that I have all the answers I set out for. Nor do I imply that I have decided to be satisfied with the answers I do have. No. what I now have…is direction. Direction was and is the destination. All I really have to do…is walk the line.

(This would serve no purpose if I don’t admit that only madness counters madness and addictions counter addictions. God-consciousness is the key, the lock, the door, the passage, and the answer. When spiritually diseased, there are no white blood cells to die for you…)

From the diary of a deviant: K-hole chronicles

“Solitude had golden hair, a skin so fair and an unearthly stare that could tear you to pieces. If you like being torn to pieces, that is, stripped of the mortal coil, down to the bare minimum, free, a spirit, here but not here, for there is no here and there is no there.
Imagine an atom. And floating inside it, past the electrons and the protons and the neutrons and all the -trons that there ever were; deeper and deeper inside the whole mess of Existence.

Imagine now a river of pus therein or a pond of stagnation with this large preternatural looking creature with so many, many teeth. He is eyeing you lustfully and has been doing so for eons. And you are covered with the flesh of some primitive animal. Still aware of yourself, or your former self, unable to distinguish between this new form and your old one; memories of a previous life injected quite suddenly into an entirely new and unfamiliar body. Surrounded by a set of new laws that govern your movements, restrict them, confuse them, you can only barely breathe. You can't get it off and you can't really move and you watch this peculiar animal snap at you, getting mouthfuls of your new found outer-layer.

It bleeds and it feels but you don't feel pain. You feel as if the blood being drained is not yours...how could it be yours when this is not you? And bothersome as it is...you just don't feel pain. And you're a thousand pounds heavier. And then you bounce back up to shore. Perpetual change on the edge of a river of decadence...

You’re standing wondering what sort of atom it is that you’re inside right now. You’re thinking about where to go and what to do. It used to be so simple, whenever you wanted to talk; you thought about it and your muscles, with the aid of your vocal cords and what-not, did the job. You were always able to make sound the way you wished to. Or when you desired to move…you thought about moving and the muscles complied.

This new existence is vain; all thought and no brain.
The rules are different here. Up could be down, backwards, tilted or thirty nine. Ambition could mean apathy. Arrogance could encapsulate the concept of walking on your hands and knees and then a quick fall-back into the fetal position. This strange thing that you consider to be somewhat like a hand could just as easily be an umbrella.You open your umbrella, it roars and weeps and you toss it aside. There’s blindness teetering on the edge of your eyelids. You can't open your eyes anymore. You decide that you can't understand this new place. You can't keep on going. You can't struggle. So you just lie down and wait to die.
Dying is not an option. This new world doesn't offer that alternate. In this world you live forever and you never ever get to figure anything out. You must start from within and then move out if you can. Trying is not good enough here.
This bleeding hulk with weightless thoughts of what used to be you, now slithers around in search of a way to flee from Solitude. That is why you are here. That is the purpose of being.

Shall I dive into an atom? Shall I disappear too? Now you've got to get out of this...Solitude...this overwhelming aloneness. Now that you've got your wish...you realize what an idiot you are. Once you've tasted this though, even if you do come out...if..."

.

In the carefree coldness of her spiteful deception
The harshest of winters chasing noonday delight
A fragrance that lingered; encumbered affection
But we lost the skill, the readiness to fight.

.

Inspiration came late with results inconclusive
The ideal was lost, the dream was elusive
In due time however, once they established our course
We stood then in silence and felt no remorse.

.

It preys on the mind and hinders all thought
The residue of resistance a meaningless dot
The option was right but the cause was confusion.
Our own chosen words became our delusion.

.

Then we met again to strongly revise
Alter decisions, the most truthful of lies
The result was immutable as it once had been proven
And so here we stand still grasping seclusion

.

.

At the end of this depressing and vague post I would like to state that the point of it is not to be depressing and vague. actually it's sort of moral. For instance Maynard would say:

.

"I know the pieces fit cuz I watched them tumble down
No fault, none to blame it doesn't mean I don't desire to

Point the finger, blame the other, watch the temple topple over.
To bring the pieces back together, rediscover Communication." Schism, Tool.

.

Followed by trippy music that overshadows the actual message...

.

(dedicated to szm et al, to us, knights of madness)