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Sheer lunacy

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Life is a sexually transmitted disease and the mortality rate is one hundred percent. RD Laing 

 

In the bloody water the woman's head was immersed. As they drove the iron through the skull, a technique called trephination.

She let out the roar of the damned, thus confirming trephination's efficacy, and their suspicions. 

Yellow bile for mania, black bile for depression, we need to teach her a lesson.

This innocent touched by angels, blessed by God, left to scream and scream and sleep on shit and straw.

Do you know how very much we do not know? No?

Hysteria,  a plague of females, brought on by moonbeams and menstruation. Lunacy a disease of the womb. Live too long, die too soon.

Poor villagers would take mentally handicapped people into their homes and treat them like children. The church disapproved.

Some of the troubadours, travelling musicians, poets sang of tragic love madness. The mad were blessed. The church thought otherwise.

William Blake, poet and artist, talked to the spirits who he saw everywhere. They inspired 'Songs of Innocence and Experience', he painted them too. He was locked up for sedition. 

You go to the doctor with symptoms of profound grief and they push an antidepressant at you. 

Psychiatrists label unconventional  forms of behaviour as medical to treat under the guise of a curative medical intervention: RD Laing said: "Madness need not be all breakdown. It may also be break-through. It is potential liberation and renewal as well as enslavement and existential death."

The diagnosed ill are subjected to treatment which is a violation of their basic human rights and a profound attack on their common dignity.

The water gurgles and whooshes under the bridge. He's tried to kill himself twice. Third time.....?

 

 

◄ Burnham Beeches, with Anna 1985

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Comments

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John Marks

Mon 20th Sep 2021 10:49

Thank you Stephanie and Stephen.

The only people for me are the mad ones: the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who... burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow Roman candles.

Jack Kerouac

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