Monthly Archives: October 2013

Hells Angels

G wiz, currently, in a psychiatric ward. Not much else to say other than the admission that the internet no longer holds much appeal. We thought that if we made this blog, offering an insider perspective, and internal information on institutions, that we might provide useful, updated data, and yet, we are not sure if we are that bothered at this very moment and yet, with this latest admission, we have more to chat about. Firstly, although this post was published some time ago, we are actually writing this on the 23 of October.

To be honest, upon moving ward, we felt somewhat like Brooks when he held a knife to Heywood’s throat for we were finally settled; we were taken care of, and like the characters of the “Village”, we’d taken our “fast car” and “found love in a whole new place”, able to engage in the “unwinding of eternal rage”. We felt we would have to improvise rage in an effort to ensure we stay on the ward as with people like myself, “intelligent” of at least, those with the aptitude for seeing through deception and discerning falsehood, professionals often feel threatened by us. We are fault-finders, and question answers in addition to being agenda setters, hence it was the case that for at least two years, essentially, we were barred from the institutions of community service, and essentially forbidden from being given a conclusive or substantative diagnosis; something that might open the locked doors to which the wellbeing practitioners and psychiatric gatekeepers, held the keys.

“These prison walls are funny. First you hate ’em, then you get used to ’em. Enough time passes, gets so you depend on them. That’s institutionalized. They send you here for life, that’s exactly what they take. The part that counts anyways.”

Having been here for a while, we continue to wonder why many of the patients are in here. Four ourselves, we are reclusive mmisantrophe’s and cantankerous curmudgeons. We are critical cynics who are fed up with the outside and its oppression (victimisation) whereby those “unlike the British” are pathologised, and yet, even inside, you must deal with the repression where one must be “made to suck dick.” You will not find the deceased David Noble (Breaking The Rules) who reportedly gave students an A at the start of semester, and suggested that in order to pass classes, they “kiss ass.” Here you will find those who want their “bums licked.” We cannot homogesnise the cast as there is great variance, as is to be much expected, although, we will say that we necessarily remain suspicious of staff who, we imagine, operate in accordance with a set of rules and procedures that we as the patients are not privy to. Maybe, unlike myself, the information needed is th reason for admissions, whether informal or sections. Yes, some were breaking the police, or perhaps picked up and identified because they were in a foreign place, wandering , and once found and checked, it was discovered they had a history of “contact” and yet, beyond, beyond these talkative types, and loud mouthing peoples, if we were psychiatrists, we would have to do lots more enquiring before suggesting these people were to be “diagnosed” as “unfit”.

“for patients incapable of understanding the nature, purpose and likely effect, of their medication proposed…”

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Rewarding Defiance

firstly, we know that today we celebrate the earthstrong of both Bobby Seale (Self Defence Party) and Arsene Wenger (Arsenal Football Club), as we are zombified by day 1, round 2 of the UEFA Champions League. Moving along…

exhausted today

and yet, I imagine I have more energy than a ward acquaintence who recently – rather, just – informed me that he is off medication…and on a fortnightly injection. I was horrified, and yet, he has been willing to entertain this, for as he describes it, his religion is confusion; from what we can gather, like us, he seeks that elusive authenticity which Erica Carle warned, was being lost to our generation of anadoned and neglected children.

we were violated once more by a hospital tradition of ignoring patients. On the ward, in order to exit – once you are granted permission to “have leave” – you must wait for staff to open the door and yet, this often entails virtually begging for their attention, if they are seated in the office. For some reason, as a ward joke suggests, in order to work in the back office (immediately behind the front desk reception), you must be partially blind and partially deaf. We say that, as it is truly a tradition, but beyond that, it is a process which is, evidently, dehumanising to the extent it strips you of dignity:

All my life I had been looking for something, and everywhere I turned someone tried to tell me what it was. I accepted their answers too, though they were often in contradiction and even self-contradictory. I was naïve. I was looking for myself and asking everyone except myself questions which I, and only I, could answer. It took me a long time and much painful boomeranging of my expectations to achieve a realization everyone else appears to have been born with: That I am nobody but myself

The female ignored me and so, after calling and waving, I went hysterical and begun to “chimp out” – we krump, they clown. I begun to yell, and why? I had made arrangements to meet someone at 6:30; it was 4:50. I had been being ignored for five minutes and got fed up, but worse, when I was protesting this injustice, the female has the audacity to attempt to impose her psychopathic racial personality upon my being by coming out and suggesting that if I asked nicely, she would open the door. Moreover, as sick people do, she wonderously asked why it was I was being so forceful…again, this here is the sickness promoted by the supremacist mindset which creates sickness before denying the sickness it manufactures and so, with this women, after the insult and injury came the provocation of feigning “innocence”, and it is this “innocence” which does the damage to the degree it distorts and deforms through confusing and confounding.

I desperately complained, and yet, it was at this point The Team took over, and the repression was heightened.It suddenly became an issue that I was unwell and therefore, not fit to be released outside in case I would injure my self, and generally be unsafe. Worse still, her colleague came and drew me in to her game of “steady shuffling .” She played the role of the missionary here to appease you and rationalise the psychological damage that is being imposed upon you by attemptign to have you submit to the domination and see it as agreeable. Also, her role was to justify the repression by urging you to confer and relay information which would then immediately be used to advance and support the suddenly constructed notion that you, I, was unwell. It worked liked fetish. She went on to say that based on what I was saying, as we were on a treatment ward, it was agreed between the Team, her colleague and herself, that I was having or udnergoing an episode which meant that they did not feel I was fit to be released into the public.

Outraged by this patholoigical ponerology, I burst into the doctors room and protested loudly; the ward manager agreed that I had “leave” and yet, it was never contested. It was never in question; I had leave. There was never an issue but as Bobby Wright writes of, the psychopath realises reality but refuse to relate to it. Suddenly, there was a consensus between the backroom pairing that I should not be granted leave, and yet, what was most incredible was the two aspectsw of it; firstly, that the primary culprit was not in charge of the decision making even if she happened to be, at that moment there, operating the door. Meanwhile, her colleague so effectively collaborated and colluded to support her fellow “professional” which is the point. We are to remember, at all times that as nice as the professionals maybe, when it ocmes down to it, with their families, mortgages and cars, etc, these are people with careers who predominantly pledge their first allegiance to the party, even at the expense of reality. It is sad, but the essence of a hierarchy of domination where people can be financially liable for failings and the like.

They watch each others back and cover for each otehr. All of a sudden, no matter how “cool” and “friendly” they may have been with you, they are people with spite, malice and sickness. Our objective then, must be to address the deficiencies of this mentality, and we say mentality as this is not a mere “persoanlity type” which manifests its aspects across a general spectrum, amongst all peoples, to various degrees. It is a sickness created by people who have a first loyaslty to a system of violence; the system protested against by the likes of Marimba Ani, James Prescott and James Gilligan, whilst being touched upon by HTaylor Gatto in his lecture “The Congregrational Principle” where he talks of people who might go quietly insane when a vision is forced upon them, and their coice is constricted. In these circumstances, with my routine obliterated, adn with that, my reputation challenged and threatened, there was a backlash, and that was rightful rage directed at the purveyor of malice. The issue was her and yet, in order to conceal this, like all people who must mystify issues, she had to jump up to imply she was rational, and ready to be reaonable when reality had demonstrated that such a position was not her expressed desire.

Yes indeed, she was in contradiction with the reality she had just exposed. Better yet, looked upon through our overaching framework, it was a case of a sick lady trying to get others to be as sick as her so that in the absence of a comparative mechanism she would not have to look at herself, much like the character who has his looking glass self and believing mirror shattered in Pirandello’s “One, No One and One Hundred Thousand.” For this reason, and reasons alike, we do not even entertain minor “pathology” such as that referred to and conceived of as “gang crime” for we know that “black culture” is simply code for “British culture” and gang violence, a code for market forces for these are corporate values. If you wonder then, in the end, the main consultant released me from the office, perhaps intuiting what was going on within these circumstances and realising the scenario – that her “nurse” was having a psychotic episode.

Our main interest however was the usurpation of language; suddenly, I was recategorised. W was a “medical misfit” and yet, when the consultant observed the situation, her interpretation was different. Yes indeed, why is it that people struggle to advocacy preferring to translate? Rather than show the truth, they attempt to prove it! Rather than observe, they tend to interpret, which was, as Krishnamurt – Rosenburg informs us – one of the most difficult thigns to do. Agian, this highlights why we focus on language games and say this is more than mere semantic, linguistics, phonetics, syntax, or any other dismissive notion: “the problem is always at the beginning where we think we know that which we do not know” whilst Krishnamurti remidns us that “Few can really understand the problem, the answer will come out of it, because the answer is not separate from the problem.” Ultimately, will we think in contexzt and operate through perspective irrespective of the circumstance and the restrains of this situation?

“People say again and again that philosophy doesn’t really progress, that we are still occupied with the same philosophical problems as were the Greeks. But the people who say this don’t understand why this has to be so. It is because our language has remained the same and keeps seducing us into asking questions. As long as there continues to be a verb ‘to be’ that looks as if it functions in the same way as ‘to eat’ and ‘to drink’, as long as we still have the adjectives ‘identical’, ‘false’, ‘possible’, as long as we continue to talk of a river of time, of an expanse of space, etc. etc., people will still keep stumbling over the same puzzling difficulties and find themselves staring at something which no explanation seems capable of clearing up […] And what’s more, this satisfies a longing for the transcendent, because in so far as people think they can see the “limits of human understanding,” they believe of course that they can see beyond these” (CV, 1980a, p.15).

http://pubpages.unh.edu/~jds/LWQUOTES.htm
Killarmy – Feel It
http://myloc.gov/Exhibitions/herblockgallery/1963/ExhibitObjects/youre-supposed-to-just-shuffle-along.aspx?Enlarge=true&ImageId=0ae98efd-1e6a-4318-9c49-e397e8a5e590%3Ae9ad7deb-31b0-4450-b367-953479c6bf6b%3A25&PersistentId=1%3A0ae98efd-1e6a-4318-9c49-e397e8a5e590%3A7&ReturnUrl=%2FExhibitions%2Fherblockgallery%2F1963%2FExhibitObjects%2Fyoure-supposed-to-just-shuffle-along.aspx
http://www.jiddu-krishnamurti.net/en/1945-1948-observer-is-observed/krishnamurti-the-observer-is-the-observed-48-04-18
http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/03/03/was-wittgenstein-right/?_r=0

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Voluntary Violence

Been in Park Royal since October 2013 following a ridiculous suicide attempt, which might better be described as a staged overdose.
Begun on shore ward but on saturday, we graduated to Pine Ward.

Last time we were here was April 01, 2011, which was quite a while ago, and then, in August, 2012, we were assigned to the Home Treatment team, before being discharged to the Early Intervention Team, which we might otherwise dub the cost-prevention, life-preservation death-reduction team where we were handed to a care co-ordinator and a consultant psychiatrist.
Last time we were here, we were terrified, and desperate to urgently feign recovery however, this time, fed up with everything, low and defeated, our being lethally denigrated, we surrendered, and resigned ourselves to circumstance.
Surprisingly, we bumped into a number of local characters who were a little less free to divulge their whereabouts when they’re not around.

More importantly, we learnt of the tragic, ongoing violence of disconnect that pollutes te wards. It seems, in many ways, that the patients are those best suited to aid those distressed, which, incidentally brings us to the issue of distress.
In here, there are no people who are: mad, strange, weird, odd, not-normal, deranged, deluded, freaks, sick, ill, unwell etc. There are only those with varying degrees of distress. There is no model of illness; just varying degrees of distress, which reslts in confusion. There are people who benefit from engagement, communication, involvement and ultimately, participation, however, it all revolves around “connect”. Our capacity to “relate” to others. That is the need.

Whilst here, much out of character, we delved into the computer recycle bin and retrieved some canibus and chino xl. Engaging this character, we learnt that he had a curious taste, a shared affinity. Jedi Mind Tricks, R.A. Rugged Man etc. He even had Jeymes Samuels. Lad exposed us to the tracks: Vinnie Paz and Rugged Man – Nosebleed * Canibus Harbinger of Death

Whilst here, we’ve been attempting to learn Portuguese and the like. Twi will have to wait for another day, as learning this verb conjugation, and the context of words, along with sentence structure and word order, is a difficult task. In the meantime, the website usingenglish.com – the glossary section – is fantastic.

We are learning to differentiate between
etymology
linguistics
semantics
syntax

anyway, off close obv/1-on-1, and finally, we were able to go to the activity ward. Not sure how long we will be here, but like Devlin, Mya, and Tracy Chapman before them, we are glad to run and get away…

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Information Admission

G wiz, currently, in a psychiatric ward. Not much else to say other than the admission that the internet no longer holds much appeal. We thought that if we made this blog, offering an insider perspective, and internal information on institutions, that we might provide useful, updated data, and yet, we are not sure if we are that bothered at this very moment and yet, with this latest admission, we have more to chat about. Firstly, although this post was published some time ago, we are actually writing this on the 23 of October.

To be honest, upon moving ward, we felt somewhat like Brooks when he held a knife to Heywood’s throat for we were finally settled; we were taken care of, and like the characters of the “Village”, we’d taken our “fast car” and “found love in a whole new place”, able to engage in the “unwinding of eternal rage”. We felt we would have to improvise rage in an effort to ensure we stay on the ward as with people like myself, “intelligent” of at least, those with the aptitude for seeing through deception and discerning falsehood, professionals often feel threatened by us. We are fault-finders, and question answers in addition to being agenda setters, hence it was the case that for at least two years, essentially, we were barred from the institutions of community service, and essentially forbidden from being given a conclusive or substantative diagnosis; something that might open the locked doors to which the wellbeing practitioners and psychiatric gatekeepers, held the keys.

“These prison walls are funny. First you hate ’em, then you get used to ’em. Enough time passes, gets so you depend on them. That’s institutionalized. They send you here for life, that’s exactly what they take. The part that counts anyways.”

Having been here for a while, we continue to wonder why many of the patients are in here. Four oursleves, we are reclusive mmisantrophe’s and cantankerous curmudgeons. We are critical cynics who are fed up woth the outside and its oppression (victimisation) whereby those “unlike the british” are pathologised, and yet, even inside, you must deal with the repression where one must be “made to suck dick.” You will not find the deceased David Noble (Breaking The Rules) who reportedly gave students an A at the start of semester, and suggested that in order to pass classes, they “kiss ass.” Here you will find those who want their “bums licked.” We cannot homogesnise the cast as there is great variance, as is to be much expected, although, we will say that we necessarily remain suspicious of staff who, we imagine, operate in accordance with a set of rules and procedures that we as the patients are not privy to. Maybe, unlike myself, the information needed is th reason for admissions, whether informal or secitions. Yes, some were breaking the police, or perhaps picked up and identified because they were in a foreign place, wandering , and once found and checked, it was discovered they had a history of “contact” and yet, beyond, beyond these talkative types, and loud mouthing peoples, if we were psychiatrists, we would haev to do lots more enquiring before suggesting these people were to be “diagnosed” as “unfit”.

“for patients incpaable of understanding the nature purpose and likely effects of their medication proposed…”

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Semiotic Sequel

If you wonder about the minstrel; he is in pain. From far, you see a smile, but close up, you see the age; you see the signs of wear and tear; someone worn down by distress and angst; the anguish of existence; the torment of simply being tortured.

“One day I’m gonna bust, blow up on this society. Why did you lie to me? I couldn’t find a trace of equality”

“Any writer, I suppose, feels that the world into which he was born is nothing less than a conspiracy against the cultivation of his talent”

Likewise, I’m fed up with pretending I can’t type fast in here, when in reality, I can loosely touch type – the three publications and two in pending might explain that. I’m tired of having to seem pathological in order to get support, hence, I find myself resigned to searching for those three elusive texts
Dabrowski “Mental Growth Through Positive Disintegration”
Korzykski, “Science and Sanity” (1st edition), and
Wattenburg “The Forms of Power”

I would also like a copy of Cleckley’s “The Mask Of Sanity” (1st edition), but that siply reflects an obsession with antiquity, originality, and essentially, authenticity, and yet, as with many habits and idiosyncracies, as well as routines and patterns, that may not be absolutely necessary. Likewise, perhaps I can just read the much abridged, “selections from science and sanity” and come away with something equally important, and yet, for someone who cherished reading “Yurugu” and “In Search Of The Miraculous.”, I like the idea of devoting oneself to completing a book – provided we’re not talking about “War and Peace.”

To continue, the sadness and ridiculousness of this situation is that just as with depression, in order to remain here, it seems you have to “seem” “okay” “enough”. In other words, unless you seems psychotic,deficient or likewise, you are unwanted property rather than demanded, damaged goods.
People like myself, intelligent, briany, “bright” people are those who threaten these institutions becuase they can record these policies and see through the failings and the fraud. People like myself worry these people as we pose the potential to “write journals” and report on them – who to, I dont know, as expecting a serious response from the ombudsmen, figurative complaints department, is akin to lending somebody a cigarette and expecting it back.
People like myself have to create drama to be “unwell enough” to earn and keep out stay here, as the “hearing voices” routine gets boring, as it loses its dramatic impact, effect and appeal. It ceases to be impressive like a theatre show viewed multiple times.

People like myself ask why patients who refuse medication are threatened with, and sometimes, subjected to “injection”, pompously referred to by some staff as “the needle.” (looks like they’re as weary as the DEPO they prescribe as the outside world remains.) In fact, it seems, as already suggested in a previous post, that this place is content to see us sedated so that they can play pool, chill in the staff room and get paid to sit down and watch television, but that’s besides the point, and also invites trivial talk about the “good staff” who “do their jobs.” The problem is the job itself; it is performed by people with personality types and mood changes. They are as temperamental, volatile and vaccile [update: temperamental] as myself, so what can you expect but failures, and malpractice? Ultimately, no matter how “nice” or “cool” a member of staff is, bottom line, they have their first loyalties – unless we are dealing with a renegade, of Mr 1957 from Twelve Angry Men – people, Mr Gatto informs us, are “permitted” (allowed) to exist, in as much as, and to the extent, they can be pointed at to justify the whole regime and “prove” it works – although, the worked of Jeff Schmidt, “Disciplined Minds” might suggest otherwise as he seems to imply that unless they are particularly strategic as they endure professional training, these people will be transformed, and we are not talking about a transformation called upon by people such as Genevieve Vaughan, Charles Einsenstein, George Gurdjieff, Jiddu Krishnamurti and even Marimba Ani. (Maybe Paul Goodman, R.D. Laing, and others, await a similar transformation, whilst, in the Negro corner, it seems that only those on par with Kimathi Carr share a similar concern for what Joseph Campbell refers to as a “new mythology.” (If Furedi asks where all the intellectuals have gone, we ask where all the [radical] idealists went to, only, through the film “I’m Gonna Git You Sucka,” we learnt that “they got government jobs.”

Kalinga: Now, how may I help you, my brotha?
Jack: Look. I’m here because I can’t stand what’s happening in this community!
Kalinga: Yes!
Jack: Yeah and somebody has to make a change!
Kalinga: YES!
Jack: Now brotha will you help me?
Kalinga: YES … well …………. I wish I could.
Jack: Dammit man, I heard the People’s Revolutionary Army was once a thousand strong. Now what happenend?
Kalinga: They got government jobs!
Jack: What?
Kalinga: You know that Government office building on 21st St?
Jack: Yeah
Kalinga: We went down to take it over … but they were hiring that day. The brothers walked in with guns … came out with jobs. The brothers weren’t MAAAAADDD anymore, heh heh heh heh heh!
Yes … Whitey … is something else!
Jack: Damn.

Maybe ObaSha is concerned with this new vision; Egbert Schuurman surely has seen the need for us to go in a different direction – informed perhaps by the ominous musings of the now deceased, Jacques Ellul – and yet, apart from these three (Kimathi Carr, Oba Shaka, Marimba Ani) who else, currently living, still has the vision. Vision was, after all, the single phrase to capture the essence of Woodson’s epic, “The Miseducation of The Negro”, and yet, whilst “The Crisis of the Negro Intellectual” and the 1948 retraction of Dubois’ appeal for a “talented tenth”, we are left with only John Brown Childs concerned about the radical implications of these technologies of total dominance and total control.

In 1962, Aldous Huxley was 50 years ahead of his era – to speculate, whilst in 1967, Stokely Carmiechal was 50 years behind. As early as 1913 Lord Birkinghead was talking about technology whilst earlier, H. G Wells made anticipations akin to those of Edward bellamy in 1888. As James McWhorter, followed by Clarence Walker might say, someone here is losing the race, and yet, who in their “correct” mind even dares identify with blackness.

The Black comes into existence through white: “white” depends for its stability on its negation, “black.” Neither exists without the other, and both come into being at the moment of imperial conquest.”

I do not want “unity” – unless, we are thinking along the lines of Amilcar Cabral and supporting it with struggle. I want, like many contemporaries, “excellence.” Mr Fuller seems to want “The United Independent Compensatory Code System Concept a textbook/workbook for Thought, Speech and/or Action for Victims of Racism (white supremacy) ” and yet, we only ask for a basic mode, and new strategy for dealing with vigilantee gatekeers, which we might otherwise, better refer to as “zookeepers.” (That “oppressor” rhetoric, not only seems outdated, but inaccurate. This new repression is endorsed by a psychopathic personality type that has had any semblance of essentialism dangerously eroded by this toxic climate.)

As Cascada might say, “I need a miracle.”
As Kirsty Hawkshaw might say, I need someone to assure me “I’ll be sincere for you.”

As for us federated people, there is a need to shift emphasis and turn in the direction of “identity politics”, or more precisely – if that computes – a need to appraise a new way of dealing with eahc other, as Ashanti Alston might propound! Yes, the issue of power remains of the utmost importance, but there NEEDS to be a rediscovery of Wittgenstein, as an appendage to, as Kimathi carr reiterated, “What Must Be Done.”
There needs to be a new understanding of language, but better still, there are still assignments for federated people to attend to and eventually complete.
We are not talking about affirmative action but the alternative resistance and challenge to repression: we are referring to our objectives; our assignment

Marva Collins “pedagogical principles”
Carter Woodson’s “Visionary WORKERS”
Asa Hilliard “Ten Issues”
Chacnellor Williams “Committee Plan”
Kimathi Carr’s “Collaborative Economics” (perhaps guided by James Prescott’s “Trust Politics”
Marimba Ani’s “New Relating” (perhaps informed by James Gilligan “On Violence.”
Eugene Rivers “Trust Funds”

There are others, but if for so long, the federated peoples have ignored these giants whilst simultaneously begging for answers then we must make a point and ask a question

firstly, “you cannot wake up someone who is pretending to be asleep”
and second, we must again ask the people “are you trying to win or just look good losing”

We are attempting to engage intersection:
When Stokely Carmeichal was at the conference along with the likes of R.D. Laing, perhaps we should have attended but beyond that, we might want to explore the discourse of Guy Gaird and pursue Linguistics, Semantics, Semiotics, Communication, and on the whole, LANGUAGE.
We might want to ask why Marimba Ani references so many of his sources despite her work being much earlier than his “presentation” and we might want to finally explore this intricate relation between psychiatry (natural science) and anthropology (social science) long with linguistics (humanities), whilst, all the while, remaining weary of “The Great Deceit”.
Maybe we might want to read Erica Carle’s urgent appeal, “Give Us The Young”, additionally concerned with why this book was reprinted, meaning, it was written earlier – as The Hate Factory – and we might want to ask who is serious, realising this emergency, appreciating the need for a new reality, and ready to respond with the urgency this situation demands, as Minister King was evaluating in his last days.

‘guidance

On that matter, and returning to this article a day later, Dr King urged us to abandon these stagnating “bourgeoise” values which stifled our dignity, even if riveting “ambition.”

Shifting emphasis, we might want to attempt to reinvent technology itself and, through redefining it, realise that technique consists of technology and new method; we would surely gain from a new means of communication, which, in our view, would be our great asset. We must, as Korzyski and Gurdjieff have attempted to do, like Ngugi wa Thiong’o (Decolonizing the Mind), re-examine the basis of our words, for, as Wittgenstein would remind us: “the problem is always at the beginning where we think we know that which we do not know.”
Maybe if we did that, top talent like myself would be headhunted, in the pursuit of excellence, so that I might be in a more suited and appropriate position rather than being resigned to the only safe place there is: a patient ward where I’m safe from the persecution and victimisation of being referred to as : strange, weird, deranged, deluded etc.
Aladdin was surely onto something when he, with Jasmine, dreamt up “a whole new world”, and yet, if the limits of our language are the limits of our minds, and perhaps world, maybe a re-evaluation of “TERMS” – entendres intended – is due (much like those library books we “borrowed” five years ago.)

Right now, people like myself “prefer” to be “sick” – rather than pretending – for we are offered safety in this contract; we take medication (experimentation) and we are granted asylum from a hectic world which dares to refer to us as eccentric, and normalise themselves at the expense of pathologises those “unlike” them, or “those unlike the British”.

That said, we revert to histrionic, hysterical, excessive, exaggerated, pitiful performing, all to the applause of non-existent, quite inconsequential patients who may revel in the delightful contemplation which realises “he’s too smart to be here.” Sadly, such appreciative admiration does nothing to enhance our standing never mind “radically transform our circumstance”, for surely, that mission will only be accomplished by the acquisition of “substantial resources which immediately and significantly improve the quality of our lives.” Sadly, “talk therapy” will not accomplish this, even if it is better to have words outside our heads than inside them; its better to have a revolt than a therapy, and yet, we must first protest against that policeman.

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Pine Ward

Last week Saturday, without warning, we were transferred from the assessment ward to a “proper” ward. Maybe the catalyst was the improvised “wrist slicing”, which followed the “knuckle-crunching” (wall-punching.) It is a difficult tale but one worth telling

I was in the hall way, in the morning, waiting for someone to call me for breakfast? why not just ask? In response, I wonder, why do doors have keys. I am, after all, writing today, October 19th – the day they will be holding the anarchist book fair in East London, St Mary. To continue, as a child, I had issues with “disconnect”. It persists today. I have always had this issue with enstrangement; with being marginalised, rather than rhetorically, “misunderstood.” It is not that; it is that I am beyond lost; I am OMALONE1, 0/O – which 1? M. Alone: “the strongest man in the world is he who stands Most ALONE. So that explains the backcronym. To continue, one day, a long time ago, I recall remaining in my bedroom, awaiting mother – or someone – to call, or at least check on me. I waited in that room for what seemed like hours until it finally occurred to be that I had been abandoned. I was not wanted; I was not regarded; I was not taken seriously as someone to respond to; I was a joke.
Throughout my life, this has left a lasting impression, and formed a legacy; one of disinterest and disconnect.
I guess, somewhere along the line, I withdrew and gave up on people sensing “books” (objects) were just more reliable – they were the only “subjects”, with topics I could trust.

I could only tolerate people who made a serious attempt, and dedicated effort to involve themselves in my life – other than that, I have been much like the Script’s man who could not be moved.
This has meant that for many years, people have been insulted by a mixture of being overlooked (invisible) or being ignored. Added to my underdevelopment, and cognitive obsession – which has meant I was the centre of the universe – I was very much, an annoying oddity.
I left people with the impression they were not important – or that they did not exist in their world, and yet, reflecting on experience, it only reflects the experience of learning that I did not exist in theirs.
Just as Seymour Fischer explored in his classic “Understanding the Female Orgasm”, abandonment is a difficult, lonely road.
Even in one episode of Tracy Beaker, I recall one of the “adoptees” proverbially “misbehaving” – a word I am bitterly against, just as I am against the words “naughty”, “rude”, “respect”, “unity” and other associated sophisms. Towards the end of the episode, jumping ahead, the girl “took initiative” and packed her bags, ready to supposedly move on to another home; that was until her journey was interrupted – girl, interrupted.
She was informed that at the home, they did not just give up on people like that. They encouraged the girl by implying it would take a lot more to be abandoned (expelled), and yet, what didn’t sit, is that one of the house members said that the children all had “chances.” This disgusted me. Just as Napoleon Hill MIGHT advance, you cannot play a guessing game with a child. It has to go beyond a commitment and be a DEVOTION. After the child, all bridges must be burnt, irrespective – or at least, perhaps that would have worked with me.

As you might imagine, after a schooling incident – one in a long line – I was eventually “expelled” from the home, at the same time I was “suspended” (expelled) from the school. I went to live with my mothers friend for a few months before I somehow managed to smuggle myself into my fathers home, in an “exchange” (stay) which lasted for at least four years. (At the time, there were custody issues I was later to learn as well as financial issues of child benefit which were in dispute.)
Coming home, better yet, shifting emphasis, to continue, I have had issues with disconnect which has meant that I have needed people to “reach out” to me, to “intervene” through “outreach” and “pull” me in, which is why, when I was not called for “food,” my world fell apart as “psychosis” erupted.

I was to go beyond: to search for meaning; to attain that freedom from the known
Eventually realising I would not be called, I decided to rebel against this death sentence; against this life imprisonment, and so, I “concluded” I needed to go beyond PAIN!.
I recalled all the talk about “training”, and drew upon my semi-catholic upbringing which espoused the virtues of “discipline” (self-mortification.) Thinking back to the Jean-Claud films, as well as Karate Kd 3, and a recent chat with a cousin and a friend, I committed to blood.
Blood had been the issue throughout my life. I was afraid to cut as I did not want to bleed, and yet, without blood, in this climate of death, with its obsession with necrophilia, the only people who seem to be recognised – apart from single, pregnant females – are those drug and alcohol addicted, as well as the suicidal, severely, and chronically depressed who express their malady as , and when, they bleed!
I realised that I would only be taken seriously, and RESPONDED TO, once I let my wrist bleed, and so I said, “there must be blood.”
At first, it was a small hit, with a few seconds recovery, but it gradually developed into five hits per hand, then ten hits, until, as you would imagine, I was informed I was causing a disturbance by creating too much noise, and yet, by then, I had my mind made up.

I went back to my quarters and became “destructive” viciously striking the plastic encasing which covers our cages and allows staff to spectate, and be voyeurs, checking on their circus property, at an hourly rate – or to serve food to us wild beasts, when we are in semi-seclusion.
Eventually, however, this unthinkable happened. No, my wrist did not bleed, but I had a small cut. The staff member who had earlier threatened me with seclusion changed his mind when I ceased this obsession and ran to the front desk begging, pleading, and nearly grovelling to be placed in the seclusion room. Instead, all they could suggest/offer, was the alternative of the “de-escalation room” – with all its dreaded, and criminally torrid/repression connotations. I didn’t so much decline to the latent horror, but insisted upon the staff members initial threat that I be placed in the seclusion room. Eventually, the female a the front desk refused, and became obstinate, prompting me to commit to remaining at the front desk until I was placed in seclusion. I lay on the ground, insisting I would remain until I was placed in seclusion, to which she initially was fine with, only, once I lay on the ground, her tone changed, and she claimed I was being a “baby.” (Expect this verbal torment from “care-givers” in NHS institutions; the very institutions which function so “effectively”, they are officially delegated, and attached to an IMHA (Independent Mental Health Advocate.)

It was quite strange, for, like Szasz, I have many objections to this term, and the whole concept and perception of “children” which is implicit within our largely coded language, and which creates, a situationist phenomena we might “maturely”, as adults, refer to as “non-specific, object-seeking, language-functions.” Better put, as the senator did in Bulworth, NSOSLF refers to “indirect speech” or “evasive communication.”
Shifting emphasis, to continue, it was decided that I should be plastered, and yet, the first victory had already been achieved. I had bled.
It was time for the next move; to destroy, and so, the mirror was torn from the wall – unfortunately, there was not a camera behind it – and the wood was pulled from the wardrobe. Suddenly, they realised I was, someone requiring urgent intervention and care damaging hospital property.
Their response was to turn my wardrobe around so that i could not hurt myself on the expose nails, but it only left me with a better idea? Improvised Cutting!

Using a tool I had crafted and conjured, I slashed myself across the left wrist. The first time this had been done, however, having mustered and discovered this new courage, I was brave enough to take this trivial commitment. These first impressions were not very committal, however, when I turned to the right arm, “I went in” and did a left a considerable mark! I then returned to attend to my left arm, and left a scar which up until now, is still engraved. (Maybe I will tat’ over these battle scars.)
Mind you, the attention did not come, but, that aside, I went further, and theoretically pulled the wardrobe “over” me. A staff member came and lambasted me for this, however, the same “professional” was to finally RESPOND when he came in much later and “caught me” in the act of a filmed/staged execution.
Using another improvised device, and having appropriately aligned my video camera, I wrapped a cord around my neck and made various, difficult attempts at self stangulation. It was very difficult as I needed to get it around Mr Adam if I had any chance of “blacking out”, however, at what was probably the 5th attempt, staff arrived, dashed in, sounded the alarm and “intervened.” At last, there was a connect.
I was moved to close observation/1-2-1, which meant that I was to be followed for a week. (In prison, I think, they refer to this as “suicide watch”.)
Eventually, when I “convinced” the staff that I was “well” enough – meaning, less suicidal, – I was taken off close-up, and soon after, transferred to a serious, or at least, “proper” ward. (I’ll leave you, the reader, to guess its name.)

Here I am, writing today, having forgotten the initial purpose of this post, but taking this new opportunity to report on my silence.
I am a selective mute, as might be better explained by the reality I am a cantankerous curmudgeon, a neo-nihilistic anarchist, and critical cynic, as well as a menacing misanthrope. In revenge, I devote myself to terrorise, traduce and torment people – those I want to suffer to the extent I have been damaged by a world of idiots incapable of realising my elite talents – consequentially, I, philosopher king, see no “problem” with Noble Lies, for as Manly Palmer might similarly contest, some people are just so incompetent, they are not worthy of honesty.
I must therefore hide my true thoughts from the world, living a life of masquerade, of performance; of hysterical histrionics; I must profile, front, “stunt” and “feign.” I must be an image; a living disguise, for when I am not a recluse, I must “tolerate” the outside world, and smile along with their radical victimisation.

Yes, there are few of equal/similar intelligence, and yet, the drop off is so radical that I must surely be forgiven for my paternal condescension and veiled contempt.
I despise these imbeciles, and morons, and only wish I was part of that elusive bourgeois that would enable me to be appreciated, valued and recognised, if not only rewarded and compensated for all these years of independent, autodidact study, and academic devotion, along with this aptitude for scholarship. Maybe a sponsorship is due, and yet, barred from that echelon, and condemned to the banal mediocrity and sheer folly of the common plebs, people like me will always be victimised, hence, I find myself here, and hence, I often prefer to go through the day just marvelling at the other circus spectacles, and imaging, as Mr Maddox says, if these people were birds, they would be flying backwards
I was stability and permanence. I was guarantee. I want status. I want to travel and move. I want autonomy. I want my own home. I want something of my own, buy instead. I am left with nothingness

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