A chronic disease? A social construct?

burned my teeth
with kitchen matches
struck on stone.

Alienating? Liberating?

Janus head
it’s said,
will give good door.



Pain is not alone.
P-a-i-n is n-o-t alone.
Pain is not a-l-o-n-e.
P-a-i-n i-s not alone.

P-a-i-n i-s n-o-t alone.
Pain is not a-l-o-n-e.
Pain is not alone.

Pain is not alone.
P-a-i-n is not alone.
Pain i-s not a-l-o-n-e.
Pa-i-n is n-o-t alone.

Where does it come from? Social pressure? Paranoia?

Kon showed us a pop idol-turning-actress losing her sanity due to societal expectations.

Who are you?

Who are you?

Who are you?

He then showed us a society becoming insane due to its people putting all their personal issues onto an imaginary criminal.


What defines it? A biological excursion?

Or a matter of sticking outside the norm? Outside the system?

There’s the television. It’s all right there – all right there. Look, listen, kneel, pray. Commercials! We’re not productive anymore. We don’t make things anymore. It’s all automated. What are we “for” then? We’re consumers, Jim. Yeah. Okay, okay. Buy a lot of stuff, you’re a good citizen. But if you don’t buy a lot of stuff, if you don’t, what are you then, I ask you? What? Mentally “ill”. Fact, Jim, fact – if you don’t buy things – toilet paper, new cars, computerized yo-yos, electrically-operated sexual devices, stereo systems with brain-implanted headphones, screwdrivers with miniature built-in radar devices, voice-activated computers…

Who gets to determine who’s what?

[…] what we say is the truth is what everybody accepts. […] I mean, psychiatry: it’s the latest religion. We decide what’s right and wrong. We decide who’s crazy or not. I’m in trouble here. I’m losing my faith.

There’s no right, there’s no wrong, there’s only popular opinion.

For better or for worse?

Oh, wouldn’t it be great if I was crazy? Then the world would be okay.

Can it be intentional? A way to rebel against social values?

Away! Away! The spell of arms and voices: the white arms roads, their promise of close embraces and the black arms of tall ships that stand against the moon, their tale of distant nations.

“James Joyce chose to live in exile: to strengthen his artistic calling. In an eerily effective way […], Joyce started a quarrel with Ireland and kept it alive in order to maintain the absolute opposition to the familiar. Ellmann says that ’every time the relationship with the fatherland threatened to improve, Joyce came up with a new incident to fortify his implacability and once more confirm the correctness in his voluntary absence.’ Joyce’s books are about what he once in a letter called to be ’alone and without friends’. And even though it is rare to choose exile as a way of living, Joyce completely understood its endurances.”

The howtosayto itiswhatis hemustwhomust worden shall. A darktongues, kunning. O theoperil! Ethiaop lore, the poor lie. He askit of the hoothed fireshield but it was untergone into the matthued heaven. He soughed it from the luft but that bore ne mark ne message. He luked upon the bloomingrund where ongly his corns were growning. At last he listed back to beckline how she pranked alone so johntily. The skand for schooling.

Should one embrace it? In order to get away from alienation?

We don’t know what madness is. They’re troublesome, inconvenient, we refuse to understand them. But they’re certainly closer to the truth.

Domenico may have been a holy fool, but it was his foolishness that helped Andrei find peace to his soul.

There are no great masters left. That’s the real evil of our time. The heart’s path is covered in shadow. We must listen to the voices that seem useless. […] If you want the world to go forward, we must hold hands. We must mix the so-called healthy with the so-called sick. You healthy ones! What does your health mean? The eyes of all mankind are looking at the pit into which we are plunging. Freedom is useless if you don’t have the courage to look us in the eye, to eat, drink, and sleep with us. It’s the so-called healthy who have brought the world to the verge of ruin. Man, listen! In you, water, fire and then ashes. And the bones in the ashes. The bones and the ashes.


Unity between the healthy and the sick, the sane and the insane, the familiar and the unfamiliar.

Only then can we reach paradise.

Only then can we belong again.

“There is a thin line between genius and insanity. I have erased this line.”



screaming all around,

Filling up my life,

screaming all around.




Everywhere you turn,
                          bunkers of rubber hoses pronging
          off the city’s floor.

           chime, clambake,


Hej do, hej do

Jutland is crooning
narcotic Lorilies.

No ear, two tails,
one eye, three
No ear, two tails,
one eye, three
No ear, two tails,
one eye, three

This has been a response to a nomination sent by allthefujoshiunite for the Free Spirit Award. I thank thee greatly, this was fun to do.

The text has contained fragments from the following works (in order of appearance):

Lyrics by Scott Walker from his 2012 album Bish Bosch.

Satoshi Kon’s 1997 movie Perfect Blue.

Satoshi Kon’s 2004 series Paranoia Agent.

Terry Gilliam’s 1995 movie 12 Monkeys.

James Joyce’s 1922 novel Ulysses.

Edward W. Said’s 1984 essay Reflections on Exile.

James Joyce’s 1939 novel Finnegans Wake.

Andrei Tarkovsky’s 1983 movie Nostalghia.

Quote by Oscar Levant.

Lyrics by Scott Walker, same album.


One thought on “Insanity

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