Saturday, December 5, 2009

Letter to Natalie Merchant

Often some news or videos or opinion will trigger a river in my heart and mind, a flare and here is one of the last ones! That flare mind you often has some directional problems. :)

Dear Nat

In response to

Dear Maniac

I do understand your resentment and in part I agree with it.

I've always mumbled about the idiots worshipping the likes of Jim Morrison, Bon Scott, John Bonham and so many more.

The moronic idea of dying young and leaving a good looking corpse is one of the most idiotic things I have ever heard considering that corpse usually turns into a pack of gagging stench maggot shit in no time.

But, and there is a but here, yes Americans are weird regarding the James Dean and Marilyn Monroe and such, and yes it does seem unfair for the

survivors but their victory maybe just that, surviving.

But somehow I consider Jack Kerouac as a special brother in arm and I resent your resentment on him.

Jack is, for lack of a better word, special.

As a bipolar myself I relate to him in so many ways.

Parenthesis here, Marlon Brando died old and fat and with some bad record but his work is still considered the best.

Jack Nicholson is old too and still a living legend.

Anyway back to Kerouac your little comment reminded me of one of the first sentence in Phantom of Paradise.



That's it.

The music to open the Paradise.

-I've finally found it.

-That creep to open the Paradise?

No, not him. The music.

Listen to the music.

What do I do with him?

You'll think of something.

LISTEN TO THE MUSIC. His words, yes the man is human and frail and has plenty of shortcomings besides his mental illness but yet he was and still is a giant among us. I love the creep myself and relate very much to what he did. Bukowski had a similar lifestyle and yet lived much longer.

Your resentment comes across to me as some bitterness for being yourself a minor constellation and not coming close to the light of Jack's star.

In a hundred years from now you and the 10 000 Maniacs might be forgotten but not Jack The Maniac Kerouac.

No one can see the face of God and live.

Exo 33:20 And he said, Thou canst not see my face: for there shall no man see me, and live.

When a man gets too close to the fire, too close to the sun, too close to the Light, too close to the edge, he HAS to protect himself and numb his senses or wear some sort of alleviating gear: welder’s mask, sunglasses, asbestos suit, alcohol, drugs, anything will do.

The Quest for Truth will drive anyone MAD, because the so called sane are really mad and one has to become unmad therefore insane to the sane.

Soldiers are insane. Religious leaders are insane! World Leaders are insane! Greed is insane!

Why should I be like them?

SENSE! SENSIBLE! SENSITIVE! All lost their meaning. Truth lost its meaning.

If being sane is working from 9 to 5 at a meaningless job with greedy bosses that chew you up and spit you out, if being sane mean taking a gun and killing innocent people because my government says they are bad (lying through their teeth knowing full well that all this is for the profit of a few at the cost of many) if being sane is walking humbly like cattle to the butcher never questioning the farmer then I am MAD and proud of it and will stay that way.

P.S. It’s also insanity to work in any part of the killing machine... the man who makes the trigger on the gun is as guilty as the man who pulls it.

In this metaphorical firmament you are either a quasar or you go unnoticed.

Not too many Siriuses and Canopuses out there.

I am unreliable and have nothing to offer but confusion because whatever fire burns hot and bright now, whatever flare goes up, in a short moment I will be a broken down jalopy of a man I left behind.

Praised be delusion, the ripple -
Praised be the Holy Ocean of Eternity -
Praised be I, writing, dead already and
dead again -
Dipped in acid inkl
the flamd
of Tim
the Anglo Oglo Saxon Maneuvers
Of Old Poet-o's -

Amalgamation of two old beatniks: Kerouac and Waits.

If there was no bipolar disorder we wouldn’t have such poetry.

I just realized, a little more, the depth of it today.

Dead already and dead again meant to me before some sort of spiritual metaphor about the afterlife but I believe he was talking about his actual real life.

He knew by experience that the fire that was burning in his soul was dead already and that the next fire would be dead again basically he is just repeating this.

“I like too many things and get all confused and hung-up running from one falling star to another till i drop. This is the night, what it does to you. I had nothing to offer anybody except my own confusion.”

“My fault, my failure, is not in the passions I have, but in my lack of control of them.”

I understand because I am this man.

I have nothing to offer because I am a dead man. My fire of today will be of no use to you tomorrow when it dies off and I can’t help it not dying, I am powerless over this I have learned the hard way like an alcoholic. I love the fire of today and I will love the fire of tomorrow but it won’t be the same fire and YOU won’t love it.

Plus we both will really hate the long apparently necessary darkness in between.

So THAT’s what it is to be bipolar, to feel like a mutant, a pilgrim on a planet of normal strangers.

Maybe the true meaning of EXHAUSTION: burning all the oxygen out of the system in a huge ball of fire and then leaving nothing but stinking exhaust smoke.

P.S. For the sake of CBT.

Ok I can reluctantly lower my mountains and flatten my valleys, as one high on LSD or Crystal Meth “really” wants to come down, come back to earth....NOT! But even if, the valleys have been too scarring and bruising and even if I lower the spectrum of my life still it will always be a spectrum and the next wave will be as useless as the previous one. I am only reliable to myself really but to no one else in this world.

A poet? A philosopher? A bohemian? A bum? A failure? Who knows?

Maybe all of the above.








CONFUSION will be my Epitaph.

Don’t start the writing on the stone just yet! :)

Us Bipolar Mutants seemed to be blessed/cursed with multiple epiphanies! :)

Disillusion is good right? Since Illusion is a lie and therefore not truth.

Not sure if Jesus himself or Buddha or Ghandi or... would or could be considered disillusioned or cynical in any way. I find it harder and harder to “love my neighbour” and “love one another”.

I can empathize and weep at their ignorance but somehow vaguely understand a need for some sort of Limbo or Hell even. Nihilism just doesn’t seem to be fair but then again we all know Life is Not Fair!

Nihilism says that Jesus and Gandhi and Hitler all had the same fate. Can’t be right!

Not mentioning the millions of other atrocities happening every day and that have happened for thousands of years and the good deeds as well.

But Justice for certain is NOT in this world at the present moment. And truth and virtue are murdered every day. Beauty is scarred and marred and Light is called Darkness and Darkness Light. Good is called Evil and Evil Good!

And Freedom well the Eagles said it it’s just a word, a word left for nothing left to lose, a word used and abused and tortured and racked, twisted and deformed beyond recognition.

So where is this Paradise? Need it, can’t wait, want it.

But as them same American birds just said if you call something paradise just kiss it goodbye because man will ruin it.

Absolute guarantee!

P.S. Old Proverb though Better be a Live Dog than a Dead Lion!

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