well, if everyone is
   going to be so *******
honest...

   tender, little melancholics
   attempting to punch
   above their weight...

egomaniac? always a superstition,
littered with scatter brains,
broken mirrors
   and: the eternal fire -
no longer a choking smoke...
   shrapnel from some fungus,
or some whizz-kid's experiment
in the Swiss Alps...

initial psychosis?
   oh sure... peppered with
polka dots of hallucinations,
some visual,
but mostly auditory...
   a bit like:
    being forced out of your
own head,
   but not your body...
i could call it:
     being fertilißed...

mainstream: "transgender"
hot topics...
get a load of this one:
all metaphor,
   the closest approximation
of the truth, or subsequent
"feelings"...
      the body is left intact,
the brain though:
   what's the difference
between psychosis
         and osmosis?

an etymological study:
shared suffix:
    -osis
                and that's about it...
but initial psychosis:
for all the fear,
   for all my travels between
London and Edinburgh
and Glasgow,
and Dover,
   and Athens,
   and... Serbia...
              Katowice...
          wherever i went:
i had ants up my ***,
         fidgety ******, i was...
i'm pretty ******* sure,
that if i decided to drop l.s.d.
i would be unimpressed...
compared to my initial
psychosis... which lasted
for... how long was it?
anyone care for the scale,
i just don't exactly remember:
months, years?
  i'd be boasting if i put it
on a weeks scale...

2nd tier psychosis...
ugh... too much Kant...
                 no hallucinations...
just debiliating thoughts,
a chimera of p.t.s.d.,
  depression and the whole
rainbow of the DSM...
    more ****-heads in these parts
than genitals or anti-genitals
or... whatever hormonal... thing...
there's to it...

look closer at
  the orthodox madmen...
and now look at:
    acceptable madness...
we're hardly cripples...
crippling thoughts yes,
in this case,
   a 2 week period of absolute,
unadulterated debility:
no i know where the word
comes from in ****** for
idiot, i.e. debil...

2nd tier psychosis:
it's a noumenon...
    unlike a phenomenon
you might hear about...
when some schizoid can't
restrain himself
and goes off off the tangent
of: perfectly normal
paranoia...

          what? if everyone's
going to be so ******* honest,
i might as well throw my two
cents into the wishing well...
if i write this out,
bash the blank slate,
that's me one step away
from doing it to a punching
bag... which...
i usually associate with:
exhausts the body...
   and the mind was always
   just silent, in accordance to:
elvis... has just... left the building.

i wonder what a 3rd tier
psychosis is...
              and there i was thinking:
the problem with madness,
you can only go mad once...
apparently you can
go mad twice...
   it was never going to be
a terminal illness...
madness is... like...
fluctuations...
   it changes over time...
       and with it: the language...
unless of course
    i'll be restricted,
akin to that amazon show
homecoming
   (julia wobewts:
tongue numb, forgot to trill,
lisp and all)...
   then again:
   memory is a fickle faculty,
i actually don't possess
the will to remember what
i want,
    or what i don't want...
it's almost automated,
akin to:
         the "ancient" rubrics
of pedagogy on a teen level
of exposure...

  as ever: first comes the drill...
2 x 2 = 4, a, b, c, d, e, f, g, h, i, j...
like: who the **** invented
this pointless memory gap,
this pointless rust,
this pointless sequence of
non-events?
        memory erosion:
   right there, in school...
and not even a "menial" task
at hand...
   not even a craft that can be
repeated, over and over again:
for a reason...
  that it can be perfected,
and therefore made, easier...

yeah... 2nd tier psychosis
is too orientating,
thereby not disorientating,
therefore not a phenomenon,
but a noumenon...
therefore a cold-sweat horror...
and not as much
of a scenario of running
a mythical marathon
up and down England to Scotland,
or across Europe
   to Athens...

and there i was thinking...
perhaps one day...
    i might have a curious reader
akin to r. d. laing...
                      one day...

infringement on i.q.?
   who said anything about
an infringement on i.q.?
            well there's the exfoliation
process of...
   ridding oneself of the tuxedo
of social norms, constrictions...
like any old person might
given the notion: **** it,
i'm old, i don't care...
        the paranoid aspect is
associated with:
    youth...
        and the whole:
                   not yet, not yet...
well... if not now, then, then?

          brash, crass...
whatever you want to call it:
hit the iron while its hot...
            and here i am thinking...
so... this premature melancholics
is... the new, "normal"?

welcome to the chemistry circus
of lady pharma:
i always wanted to think of
my brain is either a chemical soup,
or my use of language
as a salad...
   that'll go just fine,
with the main course
                            of jesus christ.

Padal jsem podzemní přírodou
do mrznoucích niter
kde nikdo nebyl,

alejí rtuťových výbojek
spěchal jsem naproti
černému nebi.

"Zvířata zalezla dovnitř
a zvířata vylezla ven,
vsaje krev kámen dřív
než nůžky ohlásí den?"

Spěchal jsem podzimní přírodou
do města mlh
kde nikdo z vás nebyl,

zástupy jiter řinčely
po osmé
a po sté se skrývaly hřeby.

"Mumie zalezlá uvnitř,
mumie žene mě ven,
pomalí ptáci na kostkách
a mezitím tuhnoucí krém."

Hledal jsem pobřežní cestu
v inverzi jitra
kde jako bych nebyl,

s duší a bez duše
křižoval město
zdarma jak úplný debil.

Besame, quiereme, porque soy debil.                       For I am weak.
Abrazame fuerte por favor, porque soy cansado,    Tired.
Cantarme, en suave vibrato,
porque siento convertirse a parado.                         Still.

Y quedate conmigo...                                      Stay with me...
Hasta que muera con mi corazon fuera.        **Until I die with my heart outside.

estoy viviendo una prueba, dices tu
pero mi corazon me duele, mas que tu...
no me dejan dormir todos estos pensamientos
es el amor amor que me causa estos sentimientos?

me gustaria decirte que me dejes en paz
pero tu y yo, sabemos, que yo no soy tan capaz...
tu voz, tu cara, tu amor, tu recuerdo, me entra
espero que este corazon debil no me mienta

te digo, tratare de dormir otra vez,
aunque eso no funciono todo el mes...
porque mi amor, me haces tanta falta
estoy segura que la vida me aplasta

no quiero regresar al mismo terror
cada noche, cada dia este gran tremor
amor, amor, yo se lo que te digo
toda sera mejor, solo regresate conmigo

Cada dia mas, me siento mas lejos de mi misma
Ya no hay pasos adelante , sino pasos hacia tras
Solo hay piedras en mi camino, no hay espacios para caminar sin tropezar
Y dicen que lo que no te mata te hace mas fuerte, pues a mi me ha vuelto
mas debil, sintiendo como mi vida se me escapa de mis manos
ya no se que hacer para cambiar mi destino
Solo existen pocos momentos de alegria y paz
Solo existe soledad ,Solo existen pensamientos atormentadores
y mis replicas de angustia
Solo existen ellos, y yo dejo de existir cuando se apoderan de mi
y mi yo, se vuelve inexistente.

Mis batallas fatales
duermen y despiertan en la noche
cuando mi mente esta completamente
y tristemente debil

Soy alto
Soy bajito
Soy fuerte
Soy debil
Soy poderoso
Soy manso
Estoy feliz
Estoy triste
Tengo sed de conocimiento
No estoy educado
Soy habilidoso
Estoy hambriento
Estoy entendiendo
Soy pensativo
Soy honesto
Estoy cansado
Soy jubilado
Soy rico
Soy pobre
Soy un ladrón
Soy vulnerable
Soy ingenuo
Soy un mentor
Soy un Capitán
Soy un hombre de negocios
Soy carpintero
Soy un granjero
Soy un ranchero
Soy un soldado
Soy un profesor
Soy un marido
Soy un padre
Soy una esposa
Soy madre
Soy un niño
Soy un hijo
Soy una hija
Soy un tio
Soy una tia
Soy una novia
Yo soy un novio
Estoy viejo
Estoy joven
Soy hermosa
Soy un hijo de Dios
Soy muchas cosas, pero sobre todo ...
Soy quien soy.

Escrito por Jason Cheney
Octubre de 2020

god, what an awful 48 hours,
     insomnia without my anti-depressant
25mg pops and
            painkiller: pain-keeper...
**** sicks from the top
  and you get a chance to form a reply,
or rather, a reply comes out
    to the sithering event horizon
                           like... anything might...
i blame the change in climate,
after all an island climate is so much
different to continental climate...
       vaguely, what the hell did i do
for the past two months?
             spent it with my dementia prone
grandfather and:
     a neurotic grandmother...
             watched one act of lunacy that
you probably wouldn't forget,
trying to stop my grandmother
   from calling my grandfather names
e.g. to idiot! debil!
                          while he decided it
was 9am at 2am in the morning,
    walking out of the house in his
pajamas...
             and: lost... an abyss behind the
days... fell, broke his coffee table,
looked at me with bulldog mouth nearing
frothing...
               lunacy theatre...
               but try calming a scolding
woman while trying the dementia prone
old father to go back to sleep...
                      even though i did cook
for them for two months,
   sometimes we'd sit on the balcony on
Sunday and eat, the most perfect
poultry roast, roast tatties and a zingy
salad...
                    and i'm not that bad at
fixing up a kitchen,
    the bare minimum since these aren't
the sort of people who need fancy-fancy
details...
          freshened up the walls in a pale
canary yellow,
     painted the furniture sides and details
white to match up with freahly
bought grey wooden chairs...
       refreshed the floor,
          sure, linoleum... but it was
originally linoleum, and...
            i'm apparently pretty good at it...
        not to mention i did manage to
  to finally finish H. Sienkiewicz's
   nights of the teutonic order (krzyżacy) -
because i had to watch
            the Aleksander Ford film...
only today i remarked to my mother who's
not even 60 whop began walking
with a walking stick,
     matriachal and murmuring under
her breath in the candle:
                             to imagine such will...
(a) not enough teutonic knights for my liking,
(b) the film had to avoid so much
plot embedded in the book...
    (c) why the hell do i identify
   with these knights?
                introduction with conrad,
  i'm guessing,
       and all the fanciful names...
                 e.g. frederick von wallerond...
names as pristine as **** uniforms:
                     you almost want to have them...
but this is a story about the dawn
of the 15th century...
               you have Hastings 1066 in
the west...
               and you have Tannenberg of
1410...
                  maybe because
gott, mit uns! sounds so hard-on
                          while listening to
                an alle krieger by und ein...
or?
            see... speaking english,
                     the "almost" unrecognisable
version of german...
      you... become fanciful,
    with a history...
                    almost attempting to be closer
to home...
         with an intact psyche at least:
not bothered by a tongue per se...
                   werner von tettigen:
                                      kommen auf!      
and that lightning krieg just last weekend?
    public houses in Marienburg...
               angel session:
   ****, forgot my genitals!
                forgot my genitals i said to her,
can we pretend
               i am both the mouth
of Vul'              and the tongue of Phal'?
                          Lusva was born
                          leeches stuck to
        the mime language of hearts.
                             funny you should say...
        **** usually sinks to the bottom
and then back up...
    michael rotondo...
                         we heard that one surface...
but only a week later,
   in a respetable english publication
             that's the times:
   style supplement...
               a certain francesca segal
moved back into her mother's house...
            two children and a husband
  towed...
                         but no... nothing of
the ordinary:
                       mickey was saying:
   i'm like air... sometimes there...
           can't defend him either...
                                  i know, the minor
detail... 6 months in...
            but then there's the oddity of work...
can anyone even comprehend
michael getting the sort of job
francesca has?
                      now all that i want to do
is work in my pyjamas, within arm's reach
of a well-stocked fridge
                            and a hot kettle...    
it's these little intricacies of
the story...
               i'm happy to have "suffered"
past the 48 hours thinking:
                 why did i accidently steal
ten quid from a teenager that
started to mouth me off when i bought
him 40% rather than pissy-juice friendly...
and the moral conundrum is
   with the already drunk or sober teen
who can't keep his mouth shut...
    ****... when me, Peter and Kieraan
were growing up, we'd be buying
      cheap cider from the local indian corner
shop and play snooker at
                 the local youth club...  
   ah man... there's hardly a point...
     there's a psychotic itch, a taunting line
you don't want to cross confined
    to the word:              loo       sir...    
****, that's hardly metaphorical...
                                      low       ner(d)?
                see, already soo'unds better...
****... why did i even begin this
                                               narrative?
oh, right...
                         the fatherly concern for
the oedipus son...
                                      yet the daughter
always has a hard time with
her mum...
                        household grievances...
it would have been a nice theory...
had i not the capacity to look for
          Charon with two coins on my eyes
when i look at a *******...
****... it's like the heart could never be
as pristine as to involve a me
                            in the whole affair...
it must be the whole oedipus complex
inverted-stigma...
                      apart from the commentary
*******...
              i guess i'll have to bury mine...
properly... unlike i buried her cat that
was poisoned by my neighbours...
               poor ******... hope you like
the piece grave i hacked off...
                   don't worry, it didn't belong
to anyone,
      stacked like in a jewish cemetary...
who knows...
          maybe i buried a holocaust victim
into a body of a cat, that now lazes
                        around ha-shem's throne?
i still need to find that teenager
before his "uncle" finds me and give
him back the ten quid...
                     drank the ***** though...
funny...
     michael wouldn't have this sort
of problem if...
                                            grandparents...
but then you wonder about
  michael's parents...
             so... we much of your parents
lately?
                   there's a 1 in 4 chance that
                              one of them is still alive;
     mine was 3 in 4 till about 5 years ago.