I wish that I could shut up
Should be in a lock up
Decay of mind and spirit
Not quite with it
I am the portal to insanity
For my mind is my only true reality
But my heart is almost free
So lay your head on my chest
And listen to the beat,
Beat, beat me
Into a pulp rhapsody
Which broadcast from me
Like white noise from a turned off TV
Open your pocket
And place my heart within it
Like a time bomb of a watch
I shall tick against the skull of your belly
Until you tell me
That I have saved you
From sanity’s padded cell of luxury
And the concept of materiality
Louise M. Hart
In exchange for my mortality
I was sentenced to purgatory
Shunning the luxury of life
I escaped the descent of death
Yielding no being no body
No voice or breath
Today I stand on insentient land
For I would rather be insentient
Than subject to death on demand
O’ children of life I banefully cried
And parted the sky
And whilst the goddess above
Beckoned my love
The demons below
Seduced my soul
Torment chose their eyes
Like the stars
Above which she knitted
A complicit pattern of survival
Awaiting the world’s arms
Lay a shadow of dreams
Supporting humanity’s potential
For spiritual need
A need forever on the periphery
Like an infinite why
Conceived from the loins of a materialistic lie
And nurtured in the garden of truth
The awakening time is here
This life is queer
I do not purport to be a great poet, or even a good one. I aim to capture the unpredictable ebb and flow of thought as it intersects with text on my laptop screen. For writing not only reflects the consciousness of the writer, but her soul. Thus, when someone reads my poetry, they access part of me that is forbidden to the eye.
In my new poetry collection, I have stripped myself bare. Like discarded garments, my outer layers reveal the surface of my intent. Beneath, I am as vulnerable as a child. I shiver in the presence of pedagogues, those who truly understand the poetic form and fear that my amateurism will be exposed.
After 20 years of writing poetry, I am still a virgin; not penetrated by the sharp pen of scholastic formalism,
I am merely myself.
Truth is pretence.
A Life Reborn by Louise M. Hart is available from amazon, barnes and noble and most respected retailers.
For updates, please follow me on twitter. @shunterthompson
There is a scene in the film, Stardust Memories, in which Woody Allen sits alone in a train carriage, populated by people whose faces reveal angst and despair. He looks through a window and sees into the carriage of another train, positioned parallel. In the other carriage, the passengers party, their faces alive with joy and pleasure.
For me, this scene is a perfect visual metaphor of the life experience. Its meaning transcends the image of Allen as the outsider, looking at life from the inside out; it embraces the duality of the human experience. Joy and despair are presented as polar opposites, the associated behaviour codes are mere coping strategies for reacting to the madness that is existence.
Allen’s existential angst reflects a universal truth; life is a glorified coping mechanism. When we watch the scene, we realise that we are not alone.
Today, I posted the second part of a series I am writing for artifice comics. My mission is to create the world’s first bipolar superhero. To those affected by this dangerous and often, destructive mental health issue, the correlation of mental illness with superpowers may seem, at best, to lack credibilty. I, however, believe that bipolar disorder can encompass positive aspects.
There has been much discussion about the link between mental health issues and creativity. Employing the old chicken and egg analogy, one could ask which of these factors precedes the other. Whilst most people affected by mental health conditions are no more creative than the rest of the population, creative expression, undoubtedly helps heal and identify sources of distress. I, myself, employ writing as a means of self-expression and am frequently surprised by the nature and content of my writing and what it reveals about myself. Thus, for those feeling lost, but, still able to write, I say let it out in words.
To return to my superhero, she is female and gifted with perceptual abilities, which transcend even words. Omniscience is a power we would all, secretly, like to possess, but how would we apply it to our lives? The possibilities are endless and thus, are the tales I intend to tell. Goodness versus bad, happiness and the sad. If you are interested in reading my tales, part two of Luna’s Way, Our Friend Electro (convulsive treatment) can be read at, artificecomics.com/short-story-lu…or could follow me on twitter @shunterthompson or @artificecomics
I hope that Luna’s Way will be as much fun to read, as it has been to write. All fun, however, has a serious side. Tell every one to read it and watch the world become a better, bipolar place.
Hitherto rejecting the central tenet of postmodernism which professes the demise of metanarratives, my former selves embraced the grandest of narratives. Over the years I have identified as many kinds of “ists” and supported numerous “isms.” Driven by the search for meaning, I regularly argued with eloquence and conviction that it was preferable to follow a belief system than walk the path of nihilistic individualism. I am, now, beginning to rethink my position.
My huge, death defying social conscience has always influenced and, I hope, will continue to influence my attitudes and beliefs about the social whole. However, I have begun to question my sub-conscious motivation for clinging to certain prescribed ideas and ideologies. Subjectivity is lonely when one does not fit-in. Was I imprisoned in a crowd by myself, yielding like-minded others to enter? Was I committed to social change, or merely at an earlier stage of a mission to change within? Maybe I am a bourgeois individualist with thin skin. Whatever the truth and which ever side of me wins, I reject all labels; I am no longer an “ist,” I am LOUISE! Read my words and hear me breath.
Inspiration has left me, I am a shell of my former nut. Lost for topics I would like to discuss, I have decided to write about the only subject in which I profess to be an expert, myself!
Born in 1968, a year in which chaos threatened to enter the love shack of 1960’s ideology, I was always a problem; a problem to my Mother who, has always loved me with the ferocity of a lioness, a problem to the world, which seeks to compartmentalise even those, like me, who resist and defy labelling but mostly, a problem to myself. I survived my acute shyness and intangible fear of life and grew-up to be a student of philosophy, English and mental flight. My world of fear was replaced by a voice which rang out loud and clear. However, after two years of studying for a degree, my voice broke.
I spent the next twenty years of my life as a patient, a user of services, a label without a name. I was mad and secretly blamed myself for my inability to survive life and retreat into psychosis. During this time, my consultant psychiatrist whom, I was subsequently to perceive as my sworn enemy and the embodiment of evil(!), made a statement which has always remained in my memory. He said, “You will always be Louise.” To many, this statement might seem trite but anyone who has been unfortunate enough to be affected by mental health issues and the savage fists of the mental health system, will understand its meaningful intent.
Silenced and sentenced to the periphery of life, I have, finally, found my voice. It speaks in the truths that I write. I wrote my first novel, not only as therapy but because I had always wanted to be a published writer, I wrote to affirm my identity and re-claim my life. I know that The General Paralysis of Sanity will make me neither rich nor famous but it has begun a process, writing is now my life. I am…Louise and welcome you all to join me in my discoveries.