Posts Tagged ‘crazy’

hunter

‘I hate to advocate drugs, alcohol, violence, or insanity to anyone, but they’ve always worked for me.’ Hunter S Thompson

When Hunter S Thompson ran for sheriff of Aspen, Colorado
He was going to make all the business men wear clown suits
And only bust drug dealers if they gave shit deals
He was going to gather together all the freaks, geeks and weirdos
And take over the whole damn town
Hunter used to breakfast on cocaine, wild turkey and a big fat joint
And generate more drug-fuelled crazy mayhem
Than any ten average freaks
Every mother-fucking day
Hunter wrote scintillating shot-gun-demented prose
About drug-fuelled crazy mayhem
Politics, culture and how to bring down Capitalism
He always used to drop acid before he started writing at midnight and wrote till six
He befriended Allen Ginsberg because they had the same pot dealer
He let his freak flag fly
A life as incandescent as magnesium flame- burning and burning and burning
After he blew out his brains with a shot-gun his friends fired his ashes into the air with a canon
He sure was one badass
Motherfucker
I’m not sure if I have the constitution
To keep up with him

Salvador Dali

Posted: January 11, 2015 in poetry
Tags: , , , , , ,

persistence_of_memory_1931_salvador_dali
Look at Salvador Dali with his waxed and pointy moustache
The artist as madman paranoiac
Look into his googly asylum eyes
Everybody loved him
No matter how crazy he became
In his paintings watches are soft like cheese
And everything is dreamy and strange
He was forever stalked by the corpse of his dead brother
Who has the same first name
His painter’s eye a psychedelic amusement park
The only laws were the logic of dreams and the unconscious
These hidden laws, this phantom logic
Which mystifies us when we wake from dreams
Is greatest law, the purest law
Pure confused free association
Dogs can be God one minute and invisible the next
In a pit of tar is hidden key of a door forever locked
The primal black stuff barking at the earth
A subtle substance worse than dirt
While women break into chunks then guts,
Then melt down the side of phallic columns
By cartoon statues made of wax
Up or down? Yes or no?
The answer is both, non-duality, pineapple
But the ordinary lunatic does not have admirers waiting for their every word
The freak talking to himself on the train is totally alone
His eccentricity is poison to the sane
And they flee and leave him in the prison of his random rickshaw brain

crazy
Are you a tear dropper?’
‘What does that mean?’
‘Do you drop tears from your eyes?’
‘No, I’m not a tear dropper.’
Did you know you can cure AIDS by shooting up Ajax?
Or that dead people sometimes speak to the living in the late and anal night?
Did you know that you are being monitored by CIA thought control drones?
They hover over your room at night collecting dreams and send them to the central database which controls the masses.
Did you know that Masons are behind everything and that they worship Satan?
The world government of Masons is coming soon and they conspire in the cabalistic night to unleash a conspiracy which will pervert all that is good.
Did you know that little chips in all our heads record our furtive thoughts and relaying them to the Masons?
Did you know that J Edgar Hoover tried to hypnotise the nation into cross-dressing?
Did you know there are secret messages just for you printed in X-press magazine?
Did you know agents of power-crazed authorities may knock on the door at any minute?
Did you know that this is all total hokum and bullshit?

2013-11-01-image
In ward D4 cigarettes are chain-smoked till the air is fuzzy blue dynamite and new friendships are born of shared suffering:
We have no time for social skills or etiquette in ward d4- you are who you are, however crazy that may be.
Real emotions and real language is found among the sanity-impaired, we speak our twisted truth without impediment.
Someone’s just come back from shock treatment and she looks pretty dazed.
She looks like she has just seen God and he was not amused.
Her brain has been scrubbed clean of memories with medicinal electricity- bright and shiny new.

Playing my guitar in ward D4,
A contorted kind of celebrity accrues.
Play us another one so we can sing along,
To songs about CIA mind control tornados and arcane masonic conspiracies .

My mates bring me fragrant cones in ward d4
But I don’t get caught because everyone is on such vast quantities of drugs that one more doesn’t make much difference.
Secret ganga rituals in ward d4 – bucket bongs are delivered to the fence and inhaled:
The place is pretty amazing when you’re bent.

Sometimes there is romance in the ward D4,
This is a disco for the psychiatrically disturbed and dysfunctional.
New heavily medicated couples snatch moments of amour in the bathrooms,
They pledge eternal love in the face of psychiatric obstacles and the objections of the staff.

‘Medication Time! Medication Time!’
Such a multitude of multi-coloured pills.
Who gets what?
It’s like getting a big bag of lollies when you’re a kid.
The Benzodiazapines are usually the best- you’d have to be pretty lucky to get morphine.

Chain smoking with the beautiful nurses in ward D4 is fun,
Some of us find it a luxury to have a pretty girl listen to our problems and savour each moment.
So they listen to mixture of inspired and uninspired story,
And give harmless advice because they pretend to care in ward D4.
There may be no hope but there is always advice.

My roommate says that there are messages for him in Xpress, and on the TV, and on his Steely Dan records-
He is convinced of this. The messages are all similar and tell him to kill himself.
A strangely self-centred delusion in which everyone wants to talk to him – he is the apex of a vast conspiracy.
I can’t think why anyone would want to send him a real message-
It would only freak him out.
The CIA, the masons and God are very busy sending personalized coded messages in ward D4.
Next time, I’m going to complain if I don’t get one.
A message with the key to life composed of revelatory syllables of back-masked wisdom.

schizophrenia2
Poison in the TV’s glow,
Poison in the fly spray,
Poison in the radio waves,
Poison in the bread and the beer
Poison for the son of David,
Poison on the farm with DDT and Deildrin,
Poison for the sake of love,
Poison when you eat,
Poison when you breathe,
Poison in the trenches of your psyche,
Poison in your pre-frontal cortex,
Poison in the marshmallow uranium clouds,
Poison in the macrobiotic organic health food.
Poison in your petrol fuelled, smog-pumping prophecies.
Poison because God told you.
Poison from the voices in your head.
Poison in Agent Orange or mixed with your orange juice.
Poison in the endless streets of your childhood imaginings.
Poison up a tree,
Poison in the valley,
Suck it up baby it’s all there.