If I have to endure hearing/reading another interview with a “z list” celebrity proclaiming the cathartic qualities of writing (alledgedly) their own autobiographies, I think I shall experience the qualities of a mental mind flip, my thoughts transporting me back in time to a realm where “Heaven” was a nightclub favoured by boys in white denim and pubs closed at 11 p.m. Were Foucault alive, today, he would, probably, declare the ascendancy of the will to nostalgia to be attributable to the death of post, post, post modernity. I say that the soul died in 1993. I should know, for I experienced it.
1993. I am a philosophy major at a university in London. My head aches with the weight of its own sanity and over-indulgence in alcohol. I am a writer in search of a subject, a delineater of the mind, who sees nothing beyond the bridge of her own consciousness; a writer in search of breakdown/breakthrough. I searched and found, failing to breakthrough.
This was written by me, not a ghost! If I have learned anything in my twenty year battle with bipolarity and lifelong struggle to free myself from the asylum in my mind, it is that there is no cure. Life is an illness, which can only be eased by the pill of self-medication. Sanity is not always worthy of veneration, for madness sees beyond words and walls into truth. I write and madly, achieve a state of equilibrium. Well, almost, but not quite…must be those cathartic qualities.
A Bit About Me
My name is Louise M. Hart I am a writer and a poet. My poetry has been published in anthologies. My debut novel and a collection of my poetry are shortly to be published by Chipmunkapublishing (thanks Jason et al). I like animals, Morrissey and words beginning with the letter “L.” When I grow-up I want to visit reality and give myself to charity. In the meantime, I shall write.