"Madness has always struck me as slovenly and exhibitionist, and a great deal of trouble for other people. If one had concern for others, one would not go mad.
It seemed to Brigit as simple as that: a moral choice. Instead, she seems to she is becoming weak and callow and sentimental. --Joyce Carol Oates.
The only was out is down. Dante Alleghieri
I have two minds (Ha!) on this.
My computer had jammed, I was isolated from my email friends, there was full moon out, I had maxed out all my credit cards, the cupboard was bare, and I was smoking floor- scraping cigarettes made(almost) in China and sold by happy natives. Five bucks will get you a pack.
Isolation, poverty, baroque rock and roll.
Madness was not a choice now. One was mad, the roiling of ones brain in the wee hours seriosly eying the Listerine, as the liquor was gone. The tremblling of ones hands. And that god-damned full moon. Aw-woo!
Re-entey into Dante's Inferno. Open the door HAL!
Well, happily, Dante's hell was only for one night, though I must admit mine lasted a week, and I'm really seriously considering getting professional help...One is crazy as a coot, and it seems to be coming on a lot. And it's not fooling.
But wait. Here comes the pension check. Might be enough for the new computer and the old car.
....But that searing re-entry into HAL's (Hell's domain?) has left me rattled. A new insight dawned. Or seemed to.
The only way out is down?
I don't think I want to visit that place again.
Seems that it's not HAL, but me that's coming apart.
And I can't ask for help.
Ms Oates says that's slovenly.
Well yes, "A slob like one of us," as the song goes.
Slovenly and exhibitionistic. Well, one is a bit exhibitionistic.
Artist-manque'type...Wonder if anybody else can see me suffering. :)
Gotta stay a bit child-like, the way of all writers, it seems. But not childish.
That is slovenly.