MelancholyPoet's Blog

The police hand-cuff me and sling me in the back on their van.
The van speeds off, I struggle to breathe and they don't give a damn.
Us damned, so-called demented souls have practically no rights-
Though it might seem right, it is however self-defeating to put up a fight.
Battling for air I try to reason with the chimp behind the wheel;
Wheeling around and around like a rat in a cage of steel.
Stealing is still illegal, but kidnapping has become a societal norm.
Normally they all just follow orders like those Troopers-Storm.
The storm through my nerves a tempest swirls, ripping my soul to shreds.
Get lucky I'll have shreddies for breakfast, but mostly just more meds.

-fin.

Please check out my recently published book entitled 'Madness: a form of love' by Max J. Lewy, available on Amazon in either paperback or Kindle format. https://www.amazon.com/Madness-Mr-M...448070&sr=8-1&keywords=madness+a+form+of+love

Tiny little pill -
Gods within kill

-fin.

.Please check out my recently published book entitled 'Madness: a form of love' by Max J. Lewy, available on Amazon in either paperback or Kindle format. https://www.amazon.com/Madness-Mr-M...448070&sr=8-1&keywords=madness+a+form+of+love

A lunatic, according to its true definition,
is he who is possessed by an amorous intoxication with the moon:
In other words, with the unconscious motive principle of all Life on earth.
To others, he can be identified as he who dances to, what is to them,an inaudible, non-existent tune. In reality, his jig is as inwardly necessary as are the fields of hops at their annual time of rebirth. Meddling with its natural course can cause tidal waves big enough to drown an ocean.

For he still carries the strength, that others have lost, for wild flights of ecstasy, home-brewed by his own gallant imagination. He would repudiate the very dirt we walk on if it stirs not the desire in his breast. But in his proud pursuit of self-realization comes abandonment to self-revelation, to unflinching honesty in a world of war and deception, that makes him the naked-infant-on-a-doorstep target of all well-trained busy-bodies, conformity enforcers. How they long to divorce him from the warm light of Nature's hearth! In his beautiful simplicity, this Noble Savage disregards the wisdom of Christ's time-honoured tale, and asks against the entire tide of human history, against the insipid simulacra of everyday thoughts and gestures, against the stupid, iron-clad rules of the state, against the nonsensical taboos of society, against every bitter betrayal that has crushed the heart of man- simply to love and be loved for who he truly is.

-fin.
​

Please check out my recently published book entitled 'Madness: a form of love' by Max J. Lewy, available on Amazon in either paperback or Kindle format. https://www.amazon.com/Madness-Mr-M...448070&sr=8-1&keywords=madness+a+form+of+love​

Lobotomized The Beast

Since psychiatry came to me,
I drool like a dog in my dreams.
Since psychiatry came to me,
I drool like a dog,
Even in my dreams.

Since psychiatry caged little old me,
Everything is even worse than it seems.
Since psychiatry was let loose on me,
Everything is just as bad as it seems,
Seems in my dreams.

They talk over me, even in my dreams,
'til I'm nearly bursting at the seems.
There is no use for screams...

Once there was a Christ-force that dwelt within,
Now grown pale and ghostly thin.
The kernel has been cored-out!
But it doesn't matter how we shout...

666/ 888.
The devil, the seducer of the world/
The Word, the prince of his own soul!
They're all the same - They're all gods.

They come from within,
Come over us like lightening,
When once we were men -
Not as concrete beings or voices talking in our ear, as they stupidly, self-servingly assume;
On our subtler, yet loftier tongues
(We who imbue humanity with its proper dignity, which stretches to the divine - which, in a sense, is itself man-made or man-killed..)
Such words bespeak impersonal, inner energies, activities
And potentialities -
Just as 'gravity' names an outer energy.
They are psychological principles or archetypes,
Not angels or demons in outward form, descending from the skies which only we can see!
Why use such loaded terms, you say, such as 'angels on wing'?
Because they have poetic force...
And the spirit longs to sing !

Now we only have another type of electrical intercession to look forward to.
What use is joyful rhyme against such contingencies?
In their mean eyes, a dance is a mere fit.
Meditation? An aberration..

To those seeking 'help' -
"Get out before you get caught, and lend a hand to those who weren't so lucky."
For who will help them who need help (to flee) from their 'helpers' ?
Who can even see which way the earth truly revolves here, let alone alter its agonizing axis?

I am just a toy, the least of creatures - begging, barking for dignity,
Dignity in defeat.
Like their forebears, the priests and Inquisitors of old:
The shrinks have carved up my saviour for tea,
To be sold.
For the sake of their foolish feast -
A meal of vanity and greed -
They have even lobotomized The Beast.
Theirs is a religion stunted of both notion and emotion,
Its charisma is like a poorly made wax-work dummy,
Gauche and deathly cold, yet smooth in all its juvenile simplicity.
It would make you too into a mannequin,
An exemplary ticklist of outer inconsequentialities to set beside every barren, burning soul.
For they care about only what they see, they see nothing important,
And all they do is smoke and mirrors. They never awoke.
Because,
Wherever there is a soul burning, most people only see the smoke!

-fin.

Please check out my recently published book entitled 'Madness: a form of love' by Max J. Lewy, available on Amazon in either paperback or Kindle format. https://www.amazon.com/Madness-Mr-M...448070&sr=8-1&keywords=madness+a+form+of+love

Still-born God, biding his time forever in the cold, damp, wombly valleys of Southern Wales, aka 'The Depths Of Despair'. The Final 'Philoserpher' Of The West.
Born crown-prince of Hell, aka the dreary and poverty-stricken South Wales valleys, I spent an eternity in limbo before arising to take my proper and rightful throne. As we were scaling the almighty steps of the empyreal palace, called the Word, a beast most foul and uncouth, in the garb of a physician, cast itself upon me. The chemical-wielding barbarian known to the slumbering masses respectfully as a 'psychiatrist' slew by dint of overwhelming idiocy what a million petty hours of boredom (and computer games) had only mildly arrested. I linger on merely as a memento to this unhappy happening, worshiping and picking over the ever-fragrant corpses of my spiritual ancestors, such as the great and lonely Friedrich Nietzsche, the wily Leo Strauss, the exquisite fanatic Yukio Mishima, and the electrocuted yet graceful Townes Van Zandt.

If you liked this, why not check out my recently published book entitled 'Madness: a form of love' by Max J. Lewy, available on Amazon in either paperback or Kindle format? . https://www.amazon.com/Madness-Mr-M...448070&sr=8-1&keywords=madness+a+form+of+love