I sit alone rambling to

myself, in thought, word

and deed.


Reality deteriorating before

my perceptions.

I take a walk, to put my

lacking sanity to the test.


Reaching the bottom of the

iron stairs, I find that in solitude

my sanity excels.


The question is whether I am

dying to the world or the

world is dying to me.


Either way, I’ll enjoy the requiem.



The truth is that

there is no story.

None worth telling,

nor worth hearing.


These games of


in absence of

the living.


And the excess


of sanity, as

with each idea

I micro-dose psychosis


Plagued by sane agony

as we seek the

bliss of madness


Abstract time

fragmented as

if it were

lily-pads or

unaligned stepping



That tell

of no direction

And lead to their origin

v. A Cosmic Jape

I thought of

becoming a doctor

at some point


Between the

needles and the

hospital visits, as a child

I guess I never

had the patience


Bipolar one,

Mixed Episode




It’s like your

heart is your skin

Your brain is the

size of Mars

Your head is the

size of Earth

Your mind the

size of Jupiter

And your soul

is Ur-anus.


The difference

between a sane

person and an

insane person

Is that the sane

person knows

that they are insane

That’s why the

medicated artists

become tireless or

lose their creative



(Jape, that word

sounds delightful.)

[I’m going to name

my first child ‘Jape”,

it is unisex.]


And finally, hackneyed

consumerism’s reply

to Asolare.


Tantalized by

the dwindling

dreams of these

my victims


Martyrs without

intentions, our actions

were only to melt

away their symptoms,

for all madness has no cure.