Portrait of an Autist.
I only write well seated on a bed of nails. With sharp stainless steel tips skewering my hirsute buttocks, I receive the required impetus to immortalise rambling notions upon virtual sheets of paper, and the requisite discomfort to attain heightened awareness allied to pure focus. Self-abnegation is the method I am now addicted to. Too late to reverse the trend or seek alternate paths of conceptual discourse. In fact my writing demands more and more excruciating tools of self-inflicted harm to be able to function at an adequate level. This development does concern me. I do not consider myself in particular a masochist; at least not in a sexual or emotional connotation. However I must accept the conditions Calliope the Muse places upon my pain-wracked shoulders if I am to bequeath anything worthwhile to posterity.
Alas, though imbued with a sense of divine purpose I have in a moment of creative hubris set myself an unattainable goal. One that once invited into my gullible cortex, is impossible to shake loose. By trying to descibe the ineffable- that which by its very esoteric nature cannot be enversed in wordage - I indulge my innate capacity for delusion with a mean task. Sleep-deprivation, severe malnutrition, emitic purges, extreme temperature fluctuations, all these tools and more are vital in enhancing the neural stimulae self-flaggelating endeavours provide. And where will it end?
I dread the day to come when I no longer respond to physical suffering and I am compelled to explore deeper avenues of psychic torture and ever more debilitating areas of agony sustainment to shock my comatose soul into temporary wakefulness. Its the link you see, between the corporeal and ethereal- wherein lies the spectral key to unlocking secret chambers within the subconcious pleroma and attain the inherent spark of gnosis that binds us to the Godhead.
I am not mad.
Not all lunatics belong in the asylum. Its demoralising to imagine how many countless visionary mystics have been lobotomised physically and metaphorically throughout the ages by their ignorant peers. Seekers of hidden meanings and covert truthes must travel many intangible trails; tangled, twisting and transient. These do not abide by sane rules. So neither can we if we are to undertake a journey towards the distant lights of spiritual illumination. During times antediluvian when tribal communities still interwove fledgling fates, wholesome individuals, who were born to tread the invisible flagstones between dimensions, were inducted into shamanic brother- and sisterhoods. They were placed beneath the guiding wings of an elder mentor and taught the disiplines essential for delving into shadowy realms wherby they could aquire intimate knowledge of sights unseeable and thoughts unthinkable without imploding their initiate minds.
Where are the shamans of today?
And what befell their mentors?
Walking the Path alone entails scourging the flesh to inure ones delicate psychic predispostion against slipshod forays into forbidden zones skirting the sanity-equation. Scarification consecrates the requisite talismanic wards shielding the soul - which must, by any means conceivable, retain excruciating impressions long enough for their transcibed prodigy to grace a page with puissant, pursuasive prose.
Efficacious execution of this salient ideal does, however, invariably lead to the cathartic art of autism and even less avuncular shades of hermitology non-conducive to the desired level-headed proto-awareness essential in today`s domestic cum familial cum societal context.
I am not mad.
Just another cuddly, woolly, eccentric self-excoriator dangling with a fingernail grip - hung suspended by threads stretching between heaven and the Akashic Hall of Records.
If madness be the key, dare I cross the threshold?
Author notes
My apologies to my worthy peers for the prosaic form in which these thoughts appear to excell in their inherant inadequacy.
If I ever find the missive link, what then??
Comments
1 - 13 of 13
-
thumbs sideways
The road of excess leads to the Palace of Wisdom; or is that the Paralysis of Wisdom? Who has never asked a rhetorical question? is the Q. John Hollander asks to begin a wonderful article on questions. Pregunas? Threshold is an extremely important poetical subject/object. Door #1 or Door #2?. Rewarded 6
-
-
The Palate of Quizdom
can leave a very nasty smear upon the roof of ones maw.
Leave the body and the mind will hollow...
I´m pleased you were able to relate to the alchemical bunsen burner whose gaseous wick in certain unfortunate cases burns at both ends.
Not all my poems conclude with rhetorical gobbledegook by the way Xenophon just in case you thought...
Hey where´d that door spring from?
Must be another liminal threshold.
gG?
-
-
Wow.
Very detailed. Very descriptive. I can understand it, strangely. You're extremely talented. I will definitely be reading more of your work. Such a could topic and dilemma... I could feel the struggle in it. A clear, interesting beginning. Again, an interesting middle. And the end leaves you hanging in that good "I want to know what happens next" way. I mean, I'd really like to know the answer to the question, in context of the poem but also in life in general. "If madness be the key, dare I cross the threshold?" I will be awake tonight coming up with my own answer to this. Genius. Great job!. Rewarded 8
-
-
Cheers Oxymoron
Sorry I took an eon to reply to your stirling comment. Thanks for the generous critique and elucidating your own thoughts along the way.
This piece attempts to bewail the price payed for delving into dark spaces of the Self to gain creative insight (or at least cure writers block).
The rewards increase incrementally the more intensity a challenging task requires.
What happens next?
I wish I knew.
But then thats hermeticism for you.
I m glad you could relate to this Adie, but not so surprised, especially as I know you face tough challenges through the affliction you ve mentioned before.
If YOU discover the answer - please clue me in!
Regards
gG
-
-
Insanity is the driving force behind all things modern, be it words or science.
another breathtaking gG piece. Maybe one day you will write something mundane.
And then we'll be blown away by its lack of characteristics.
-
"We are not here to solve a Problem but rather to Serve a Mystery"
So said Lawrence Hyde. And y'know what? I agree with him.
We play ourselves in our own very individual styles searching for answers within our relatively tiny lives. Yet we're set against a backdrop of huge theatre and lives intertwine through birth, marraige, love and hate.
And a small individual may die, but even the smallest breath from the tiniest creature will have changed the world, the universe even - beyond recognition and in some cases beyond repair. Some for the good, some for the bad; metaphysics in all its glory and so the theatre continues to play the longest running show. You have changed the world in many ways; many ways for the good of others with works of such excess and beauty that a mere mortal like me can sometimes only stand back and admire.
You're unique gG - a master of your craft with an ability to express your innermost feeling with such artistry that I am all too often left gasping for breath. Personally, I couldn't give a shit if your words may sometimes appear more as prose than poetry on paper, as when read they are most poetic indeed.
It's a pleasure as always to take out time to study your words gG and this one affords the reader an opportunity to get under the author's skin and understand a little of what makes this man - you - tick; the lengths to which an individual will go to serve their hunger for perfection - clarity of expression - and the use of words and of language to convey the most articulate message in a manner which befits the subject.
An excellent work!
Mart
-
-
Wise Words
from Larry Hyde and you, Mart.
I am abashed by the generosity of your praise, mate. Oh and abject apologies for not answering earlier. My hiatus was one I couldn´t avoid I´m afraid. My seasonal occupation as Santa´s Elf (I´m the one supplying the coke) detained me this yuletide to a regrettable degree.
I have a friend, another instructor of kravmaga in the south of Norway, who´s well into piercing his person (including a certain prehensile appendage) and apparently I made a deal with him at our xmas party, to be hoisted up horizontally with metal hooks pierced through my skin. It s a kind of Sioux sundance thing and might engender an out-of-body experience.
I reckon it s one of those trials that sounds much more painful than it actually is.
If not.
Then I hope I leave my body behind asap, to trip around the ether for a bit while the daring deeds are occuring.
At the least I hope to kill this slightly arid patch I´m stumbling through at the moment.
Yeah and I don´t relly give a shit about the prose contra poetry equation either, Mart, but I´m glad you mention it.
I owe you one, mate.
Global warmest regards
gG
-
-
MADNESS AS A KEY
lUCIDITY, MADNESS, DARKNESS, ILLUMINATION,WHO WE THINK WE ARE TO TELL WHAT IS TRUE?WHAT IS REAL?WHAT IS WRONG, WHAT IS RIGHT?....WHO THE HELL WE THINK WE ARE TO POINT A FINGER TO A PERSON AND SAY IS CRAZY?
the more we think we are right the more mistakes we make.The more stupid we get the more High is our ego.
The more ration we are proud off the more confuse it all gets.
Oh my! we re by the door opening to a complete change of conscience, dont get so quick to name it "illness"
OF COURSE HE IS NOT MAD, OF COURSE YOU RE NOT MAD ,OF COURSE I M NOT MAD...WE RE JUST AWAKING.....
Always happy to comment you re work.
Ludmila607
. Rewarded 4
-
-
Awakening is it, Ludmila!
You got it. Spot on is all I can say. Thank you so much for your comment. I owe you a couple now.
Warmest regards
gG
-
-
You are not mad..
..you are a poet though. And such are the thoughts of the true artist/autist I believe.
'between the corporeal and ethereal- wherein lies the spectral key to unlocking secret chambers within the subconcious pleroma and attain the inherent spark of gnosis that binds us to the Godhead.'
just to be able to express such an idea is huge tribute to your mastery of this tool we use called language. But to realise that such a notion must be dealt with in some way, in any way, marks you -brands you perhaps- as a real artist. Only artists will undetstand this - and you.
You cant write stuff like this and not have people wonder about you. You know that and yet you have the daring to lay it out. You must worry are their worries ill-founded or not. But you dare to ask the question just the same.
Self-flagellation takes many forms these days. Many sportsmen push themselves to unbelievable lengths for what? Medals? Accolade? Too many no-hopers at it for that I'm afraid. We all seek the grail somehow. But few of us recognize that that is what we are doing.
I do worry about the stimulus of pain as a catalyst here. Physical excercise has many truly beneficial side-effects and can be used to induce pain and endorphin release to hallucinogenic levels if required. I simply can't strive that hard myself. But I applaud your own resolve and self-introspection.
Being a fucking genius has its drawbacks. There simply aren't too many people who can understand you. I don't presume to do so as a peer might do. But I think I at least know what I'm looking at. A brave poet. Respect, My Friend. >W<
. Rewarded 4
-
-
Worthy Windhover - Cheers!
Again for your uplifting and hugely generous praise I must thank you, mate. My cerebellum is ballooning and threatening to slip and break my neck like one of those African ladies with multiple neck-rings who suddenly has them removed by an irate husband.
I fear I may be embellishing my own less than illustrious role in the writing game yet it is fun to try and get to grips with extremity if only through the writing of it.
Ok, I guess a certain bipolarity of wit does seek extremes now and then, to the detriment of my suffering surroundings, especially when I ostracize myself and slip into (semi!!)-autist mode and all Modus Operawinfrey (where th fuck did that come from?!) focuses on attatching my pirennial gland to eclectic spouthings squirted from The Akashic Hall of Records....
Yeah well you know what I mean. I flesh out the quandries of such selfish behaviour to Nienna below.
Which brings us to pain...
An interesting subject. There are many kinds of pain for a start. Moreover only a sick idiot would actively use to further insight, right.
At times I´ve been a sick idiot.
I do however wholeheartedly agree with you O Worthy Bird, concerning sporting adrenal rushes and their obvious beneficial effects. Cycling must be great for both stamina building and meditating on poetic thoughts and with a comfortable seat doesn´t chafe the scrotum so much I wager.
I´m an instructor (lower-level) for the Israeli close combat martial bollox of kravmaga whereby I can entirely legally apply fisticuffs to coppers and other uniform individuals. Of course there do occur many instances where I´m on the receiving-end of pugilistic forays, but being a magnanimous bastard I simply turn the other arse-cheek.
Pathetically I wear my scrapes and bruises etc like badges of merit, but then it keeps the old ticker tocking smoothly and any hint of beer-belly is swiftly punched free of portly pretentions.
I would never purposefully inflict pain on another creature also the reasoning behind my veggieism) but like many would-be creators (ahem!) I do have a decidedly self-destructive element to my nature lessening with age and dare I say maturity (!) but which can be a pain to my nearest and dearest. Nuff said I reckon. for now at least, John.
Thanx again.
gG
-
-
Wow, gG, powerful stuff.
You know, reading the first stanza I was reminded of something my good friend told me after she pierced her nose (and I decided I needed a piercing): "For some people, the pain of piercing their body is addictive...isn't that strange?". But isn't it the same when it comes to pleasure? Who's to say that pain and pleasure are not really mixed up in our minds and one is right and the other wrong (although I know that argument is totally invalid as pain leads to worse things)? Your poem puts all of that into sharp focus for me.
For me the beginning of the third stanza pretty much sums it all up...though today it is not particularly harmful, what happens when I must go further?
As far as the style and the form...I thought it worked rather well. Though it does not immediately strike the reader as "poetry" poetry, there are still enough incidences of consonance, assonance and repitition (tangled, twisted, and transient) and your allusions are magnificent...the only thing that disappointed me was calling Calliope "Calliope the Muse". Personally I would have liked to have seen that just "Calliope", but I cannot give you any specific reason why.
Great gG...
Nienna
PS But what of this title? What do you mean by it? Perhaps I have the word confused and it can be used multiple ways? (Autist I mean)
. Rewarded 4
-
-
Hi Nienna!
Sorry I havent replied before now to your interesting comment. Xxxmas and all.
First. I´m certainly inclined to agreeing with concerning the redundancy of "..the Muse.." but I wish to avoid any misconceptions to the "uninitiated" as it were. Greek characters can often do that nowadays. It must´ve been groovy back in the day when ancient Greek allegory served as the metaphorical glue for poetry and erudite prose alike. But generally speaking it is no longer so ( and I won´t pretend to have aught than a cursory knowledge of Greek though reading mythology is a hobby of mine.
With "Autist" I´m referring to the state where we scibblers require isolation - a cutting off from the world so as to pursue sensory diction without distraction. Not an easy endeavour with friends family responsibilities et al. And if you´re not a planner of these periods for when the muse grips your privates and demands access, then they invariably come at inopportune times. Then you have the stark choice of "beam me up, Scotty" or "Away wi ye, ye demon o´ the pit!".
Usually I cut a fine line between them.
Which brings us to pain.
My query isn\t so much about physical pain but the mental anguish one sometimes seems almost to purposefully spark in a wierd self-destructive way so as to write from experience. Too cowardly to imagine it, perhaps?
Of cousre physical exertion as Windhover refers to is certainly a boon. I usually get this through krav maga, an extreme close combat martial thingy where I can hit cops (as instructor) without getting fined or put in the stripey-hole.
Piercing is a hobby that some do get "hooked" on it seems. I know a few, but personally I wouldn´t mind trying branding - seems more organic than a tatoo to. I daren´t procure an indelible ink-mark since i fear ending up in a concentration camp where I´ll be lampshading before two ticks.
I will be doing a sundance in January/Feb so that should wake up the endorphins. Great as always to hear from you, L.
Warmest regards
gG
-
Adding your comment:
1 - 13 of 13
