Writer’s
Dementia
Story:
Everyone knows the only differences between one who suffers from dementia
and twisted reasoning, and one who is considered sane is the flailing arms
and aching knees constantly reminding the first of the constant
balancing act of trying to remain invisible while walking the thin thread of society's
interpretation of sanity. The latter, quick to be labeled "a writer of fiction"
by his or her pears, is the one of the two who was devious enough to get their thoughts printed for all to
read; saving him or her the sound of piercing screams from their own lips as
gripping fear overtakes them and steals their breath while falling helplessly to
a net of under funded institutions
waiting below. Instead of
seeking help for the poor bastard who has submitted a manuscript which disrupts
the rhythm of a critics breath, these leaches who possesses clinical uniformity,
instead curl in bed with a brandy while staring into the pages of a truly disrupted mind.
The 'published' author is of course, attempting to seek out yet
another symbiotic mind to add
the much needed credibility to his alibi. Credibility
that is, in the form of a critics nod, should questions arise regarding a bent
personality. Unfortunately, many critics in search of the next best
seller possess tendencies you nor I posses; the ability to enter and exit
reality when the situation suits them; hence, they leave symbiotic minds outside their locked
Manhattan
doors. The reader soon finds the
‘slam in your face’ lack of any knee bending in these words.
There is no permission request, no hint of beggars lining curbs on
the wet streets far below the triple glazing.
All snuggly and warm between pale blue satin sheets, she thinks the Matre’ D’s smile must be on the next page.
After all, (she thinks) this rag did find its way into my bedroom and onto my bed; the doorman
must be involved. This is not a book of conformity.
If you need to be beat, chastised, admonished or forgiven by another;
then by all means, go to the barn of singing crows and attend the Sunday
service. The worlds wealthy never get enough followers who
like the heal on their necks, and drop shillings into the basket to be
admonished. Someone once said "the poor will always be with
us", they should have added "the priests who have the ear of the
wealthy will make sure of that". Told they are nothing but
sinners, many think a few coins and a two hour verbal lashing is all they need
to be set free from the bonds of conscience.
In these short stories, if
you see a period or comma which doesn’t fit the format your daddy’s money
paid for, or punctuation that mirrors the teacher’s smile from the front of the room when you
opened your book, be at peace. Interpretation
of right from wrong comes from one of two places.
The first, comparing that which is written here with the structured tripe your
teacher repeatedly tried to put in your head; or second, using the unique cipher
in your mind as you, a human being see and feel looking at these words.
If you cannot slowly fall into the narrow well of difference, where all
sounds and sights surrounding you seem to disappear into a background blur as
you read these pages, then by all means, please put the book back on the shelf.
The only sense I have as I write these words for you to read is the cool
air moving past my lips as I slowly breathe.
Fear not, for these words will not let you bite your lip, nor allow the trickle
of warm blood to excite your senses. You’ll not find perfection in here, please don’t look.
Nor will you find another writer’s style.
The reason this rag is sitting where you found it is because I didn’t
want to force you to join the many that require another's permission to taste
life. You can scrutinize my words
for yourself; you don’t need the ’critic’ who reflects the opinions of one
who needs to be read in order to get paid.
If you need someone foreign or someone who sat
next to you in class to dictate what you should and should not read, then so be
it. If you need someone to tell you how good or
bad something is before you feel safe, then so be it. Only the courageous and
curious have business in book stores! If you need to be led with bread
crumbs left by others you have no business in a store of books; furthermore, you
should flee before you embarrass yourself when found out.
If you need to be led around by your nose, call whoever dropped you off
and quit dogging the pages; you are no more than a spy lacking imagination.
Like a painting, my writing will always have flaws; I promise you.
The constant evolution of our vocabulary has assured us of that.
If you persist, you will recognize me at a glance.
I will always be your familiar. Not
a work twisted and massaged into someone else’s idea of what is interesting
and correct. If the words on these
pages don’t fit your mind’s interpretation of life; stop listening to those
who will tell you what you must do to make it fit their personality, not yours.
Leave the crows sitting on the fence.
Perhaps yours is the only true vocabulary.
Perhaps your interpretation is the correct one, and the rest are simply
trying to keep the job that lets them sit on their asses, perhaps not.
Pity even the fool who does not keep an open mind; although, I was wrong
once last year, this could very well be the starting of a ‘trend’.
Stop biting your lip! All the best to all of us, replete of faults
and ramblings of age.
RJ
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