The dread set in upon opening my eyes, as i swing my legs to the right side of the bed and stand. Slightly stumbling i make my way to the bathroom while adjusting to a waking state. I flip on the light, wincing my eyes in a sharp electric freeze from the back of my head, and while recovering, i pull the shower curtain away from the showers pull ***. Pulling the *** out slowly twisting it to ninety degrees as the water turns on, i am reminded to feed my plants before leaving the condo for the day. I step into the shower dipping my head under the warm stream of steaming water while resting my hands against the wall, as images of all the women i had saw the night prior begin shuffling through my head and a partial ******* forms. I imagine their eyes filled with tears, as i shove them down to my ****, and finally the Rolodex of faces stops on a Starbucks girl with piercings all over her pouty face that i had encountered on a lunch break a few days ago, and i begin stroking my **** with my right hand whispering "you ***** ****" over and over, as her eyes look up at me innocently, Mascara running down her face, until suddenly i hear my phone vibrate atop a pile of pocket change in the bedroom which promptly kills the moment in my wonder of the importance of a 5:00 AM jingle, which slowly fades, while i proceed to apply Ax shower gel to my Ax body scrubber that i had received as a gift in a Holiday work raffle three months prior.  Vidal Sassoon extra volume shampoo plus conditioner, "All in one," proudly printed on the label, as i apply a handful to my shaved head in a smooth dripping lather, that i do not rinse until after applying a pink ****** scrub that's label has worn off, and i am unsure, and not concerned with its origin, as I squeeze a blob of Colgate paste onto my toothbrush from the rack overhead, and scrub in a slow circular motion, while i rinse off the shampoo, shower gel, and ****** scrub, and then reach for my Listerine mouth wash, and swish for 30 seconds before spitting the burning mixture into the drain, while putting the brush away. I tilt my head up, and open my mouth wide under the water, taking in a mouth full, which i gargle for 10 seconds then spit, and turn off the shower reaching for a tattered towel left over from a breakup four years prior.  I dry off while still standing in the shower, and gently lay the towel on the floor before stepping out onto it, and grabbing a stick of Degree antiperspirant from the counter.  I apply 3 long strokes to each armpit before capping it, and putting it down. Two sprays of coolwater cologne i apply from a 1 foot distance, misting my chest and lower neck, before i put it down beside the deodorant, and walk back into the bedroom, grabbing a pair of boxer shorts from a drawer not caring which pair i grab. I slip them on, and walk over to the mirrored closet where i flex a few times, point aggressively, and in an authoritative tone repeat "I don't give a ****.", three times before sliding the closet door open and grabbing a pair of Marc Echo blue jeans that i had purchased online two years prior with a gift card from a local pub that i may have frequented too much to have received.  Reaching for an Infliction black tee shirt with ghostly gray swirls cascading to its base, i become completely still, left arm clutching the shirt still on its hanger, i am paralyzed for two seconds before looking away, and saying  "I don't have any plants" inquisitively to myself, yanking the shirt from the closet, and walking over to my phone atop the dresser.

Picking up the phone almost eagerly, i click the screen on in a light squeeze, and swipe my finger from left to right across the display to unlock the device, to a missed call from an unknown number, a voicemail, and 3 missed text messages. I tap the voice mail icon, and enter my pass code upon the automated prompt, "1234." The voice mail immediately clicks a few times before hanging up which assures me of its automation, and i assume its the power companies robots attempting to collect the monthly charge again. I tap on the missed text message icon, disconnecting from voice mail, and see that all three are from a girl named Haedies i met through a roommate long ago that i have recently found over facebook. A "How are you!", "I MISS YOU!!!", and a picture message of her with a wax figure of a trollish cartoon character i cannot quite place, both looking very serious, and i look at her **** pressing out from her white tanktop, ******* clearly hard, and her neck, long and attractive, its definition, thins my blood, and her dark black medium length hair loosely dangles just above her shoulder, causing me to partially smile, as i close the message paying it no further thoughts, and slip on my tee shirt, as i head for the kitchen. I open the refrigerator and grab a plastic bottle of 5 Hour Energy, and twist it open, tip my head back, and take the whole drink down in one swallow, throwing the empty plastic shell back into the fridge, and swing the door shut with my bare left foot, before i head back to the room to put my socks and boots on. Once my black combat boots are fully laced up, i put my wallet, change, and keys into the appropriate jean pockets, and head for my jacket hung on a hook beside the door. A black leather windbreaker. My mini trench that allows for a high level of concealment, and pocket space made possible by Wilson Leather. I run my hand over my face satisfied with my slight stubble from not shaving today, and reach into my left inner pocket of my jacket and pull out Sony earbuds, and plug them into my phone. I select a Pandora station based on the black metal band "Burzum", and walk out the door, locking only the dead bolt behind me.  5:25AM

in my once apathetically empty chest, i now hold her broken heart, and as all concerns for the phobia of psychiatry, the one phobia psychiatrists have with regards to their patients is when a patient expresses empathy for others; ‘discharged!’ and they do so with a fidgety eye.

in the windy roads of rise park, an affluent scrape of
essex grime, a man alone, walked
impromptu bob dylan command to use the ballerina
footprint for a bit,
well, so he walked and thought about throwing pepper
at his shadow in anticipation of jungian shadow concept
detachment from orthodox cognition down the road
from descartes... oddly enough the ‘throw pepper at your
shadow and see shadow detachment in a convulsion of a sneeze’
didn’t happen... happy me... happy shadow...
so you see where this is going, it’s going by way of -
            *what is lucifer
            an emperor with no clothes
            no skin, no flesh, no heart
            an emperor!
                                   (jack spicer, my vocabulary did this to me).
well not really, it’s going into psychiatric theory,
esp. after the ending of this zombie princess in a psychiatric
hospital with arabic music snipping off further director’s cut
assertion for revision in the film: side effects.
got me peeling an apple that film did, better than gone girl
i thought, but enough of that:
isn’t this oddity welcome to be written?
if i use a blank page as a metaphor of an attentive “soul doctor”
in secular society, i.e. a psychiatrist / not a shaman e.g.
no woo woo ha bah ha bah ha bah take this naturally growing plant
and dance naked around a fire... i’m using it not as that
but as a patient, because upon return i’m looking at a blank page...
and i use that as me, who’s listening to the reverse of mirror realities
is impregnated with by an almost anonymous voice within
the framework of patient-doctor confidentiality...
but like i said, i had a theory on top of this... no i didn’t...
oh yes, i had: so in the talk of spectrums,
with dementia being as much deconstructive as constructive,
what about the spectrum of depression?
‘well, you’re right to point that out,
deconstructive dementia is a condition that affects older people,
they have a well known and established self,
so when dementia takes to the elders
the self is deconstructed and people stop
recognising a familiar face,
but the thing about dementia praecox
is that it’s not deconstructive but constructive,
it’s not really about dogma of the anti-psychiatry movement
envisioned about whether this self is true or false,
the optimism is that it’s constructive, and that’s positive,
because deconstruction is negatively attributed in
casual vocabulary.’
so what about depression, and how it’s akin to that, as i was saying?
‘ let’s say modern society is filled with professions that are
all about pencil pushing and photocopying the amazon
to assure the antarctic it will be filled with 2-d trees,
what sort of physical exertion is there in those professions
of skyscrapers and cubicles?
very little... depression in older people who have already
established themselves in these professions have very little
physical strain, not like the roofer or all builders in general,
there has to be compensation, an obstruction,
depression is like the strained muscles of carrying a gas bottle
that weighs 25kg... or rolling it across the roof slanted
weighing in at 75kg... or carrying a heavy roll of felt or
one of those tar doughnuts (permaquic / hydrotech),
so imagine if there was no depression, would these featherweight
commuters to the office spontaneously turn to aether,
loose limbs and turn into soul matter, moving through walls?
they have less physically straining professions,
and because of this there is the phenomenon of depression,
it affects a lot of people because a lot of people have never
used the scythe in a field of wheat, so they use antiperspirant
to loose the armpit blotches in air-conditioned rooms,
it had to come, this en masse depression...
but you know what i despair about? the spectrum of depression praecox,
it’s not a phenomenon in children, it’s a noumenon study
that requires a kantian investigation, it’s totally bewildering...
i can understand depression in older people
who do not have strenuous physical jobs...
but what if some of these kids only have a project of being plumbers
and not office workers?! what then,
they won’t be allowed the luxury of depressive obstruction
while fixing plughole wormholes of ****,
they won’t have the luxury of a desk job feeling “low”
but actually having felt too much ease before the low, which
inevitably came because of the ease.’

It's time that we relax
so I won't shave today
or remove my ear wax
and let my nose hairs grey

I won't trim my fingernails
or use antiperspirant spray
I won't weight myself on the scales
but throw that thing away

and maybe I won't brush my teeth
or my last hairs comb
but just stay all day underneath
our blanket's where we're home

another morning
another chemical coating
another narcissistic lathering
soaping my hair, face, body
antiperspirant, lotion
sunscreen, hair gel, eye drops
toothpaste, mouthwash

there’s nothing real about me
I am fake, head to toe
plastics, aerosols, fragrances
trying to preserve the real real
or mask it or hide it or fix it
as the mirror snickers at me
in 2d flat-screen mockery

I’m a stranger, a hitchhiker in
a borrowed body, a rogue

uncovered, this facade
bared down to its natural
stench and style

is something unpublishable,
something never in vogue

another morning
another chemical coating
another narcissistic lathering
soaping my hair, face, body
antiperspirant, lotion
sunscreen, hair gel, eye drops
toothpaste, mouthwash

there’s nothing real about me
I am fake, head to toe
plastics, aerosols, fragrances
trying to preserve the real real
or mask it or hide it or fix it
as the mirror snickers at me
in 2d flat-screen mockery

I’m a stranger, a hitchhiker in
a borrowed body, a rogue

uncovered, this facade
bared down to its natural
stench and style

is something unpublishable,
something never in vogue