When I am most confused,
I can feel a profound sense of happiness,
Within debilitating sadness.
It is the sublimation of emotions.

There's sounds around me
but they're almost muffled,
distant... 
My brain is louder. 
Thoughts bounce around
All too quickly
Like a ping pong ball
in an old arcade game
Up. Down. Back and forth
To every side
Hard to keep track
Of which way the ball
Is going to go next
Swirling around all the knobs 
and fancy buttons 
Faster, and faster, 
Till I can't keep my eye 
on the ball anymore,
Or gather which thought is which,
And suddenly, the ball falls
All too quickly
Through the little space 
at the base of your game
The base, of my brain?
And I lost my thoughts, 
the ball is gone
What was I even thinking..?
But the game starts up again
Right away
Before I have time
To slow down my brain 
Or shut down the game
A new ball
With new thoughts,
Ideas
My fears,
And desires
Too much paranoia 
And fabricated scenarios 
And some other ******* 
that makes no sense
Cause the ball is bouncing again
In every direction 
Pinging, 
and dinging,
With all the flashing lights
And funny little sounds 
That no one else can hear
Cause the game is in my head.

I'M SICK OF IT ALL!
One pull away...
Until i climb up the sky
Because curiosity killed the cat
And taught the dog in me how to act
Washed away my misery with a 70cl bottle of Jack
My Mom always says I'm a good listener
But its always the darkness that listens to me, best
Even though i'm afraid of it
I still feel that it sits close to me
Makes sure i'm good and takes good care of me
The voices get louder every time I sleep
Some laughs sound like screams
And some cracks make me bleed
I whisper and mumble
I don't want to wake them up with my rumble
But I've welcome these strangers
Without them I am weak
I feed off of them
Like an opportunistic parasite
I no longer know, what's me
My reflection is nothing but a memory  
  
I'm numerical with myself
No one else
Only me, myself, I
And the guy , providing this to your eyes.

There are times I feel like my brain has shattered into a million shards of ice
Reflecting the rainbows of the sun's light
Each color a memory that I can't shake free

And there are times I feel like the world is mine
Like every millisecond is a luxury of sights and sounds

Sleepless weeks alternating with weeks of sleep
The handful of pills never quite evening up the scale

Tortured dreams from which I wake screaming or paralyzed
Unable to do anything but fear

But even in the worst days I look back on my lifelong roller coaster ride and remember this:

You can't enjoy the ride if the track stays flat. If your car doesn't sink it can't rise

To my own caution
I will never give into mania again
Still recovering from the last high rise
wracked with pain from the bends
Now I'm all alone
keeping zen in my rock garden
Rearranging thoughts
not knowing how long its been
It caught me by surprise
with no room to vent
choking on I Love You
breaking down from the event
'cause the futures fast approaching
with no idea whats been set
in this moment, at my core
while my garden can't grow anything in it.

He lives his life holding a superstitious breath
And his mania is of other people’s or his death
If ever he encounters a funeral any day
He dives over a wall till it’s passed by his way.

He’ll wander round graveyards and look at the stones
And tell you the nature of the owner of the bones
For if flowers were growing he’ll tell you for free
The bones of a good person lay down underneath.
But if weeds there are growing they’d died in disgrace
For flowers could never take root in this place

He saw a white moth once fly into his home
So straight-away he said that to him death would come
And he totally refuses to call at his best friend’s flat
For he’s driven me crackers and I've bought a black cat!

©Joe Wilson – His weird mania 2014

I sit here and type
while
the sounds of alcohol
dribble in
through the netting
of my screen.
The pseudo-intellectual noise
of the painfully stupid
absolutely
infiltrates.

I sit here and type
while
I wait
for the camel to burn.
For his blue feet
to go up in
small,
mighty embers.
Resisting their
ultimate
culmination.

I sit here and type
while
my cat blinks at the
iridescence of nothing;
glinting
in it's
all-encompassing
emergence.
The invisible fields;
designs of the
archaic.

I sit here and type
while
realities flatten
in lives
everywhere.
Tragedy unfolds
upon more
tragedy;
leaving no
survivors,
no triumph.

I sit here and type
while
the Oroboros
eat their own tails;
solidifying their
eternal return
and
cyclicality.
Serpents,
in movements
of blindness;
displaying their
ever-lasting existence.

I sit here and type
while
domesticated peoples
everywhere
bypass the phenomena
that is,
our humanity.
Giving in to
temporal compression;
eyes bandaged.

I sit here and type
while
nothing in particular happens.
The terminally mad
go mad,
the desperate prisoner
remains imprisoned,
the lipstick stains
the mouth
and we all
go on,
as if we weren't
the wiser.