The Sanitarium is surrounded by a fence and thick walls.
Inside regimentation…mealtime, medication time, television time, sleep time.
All are fed watered washed, medicated…
Sanitary environment in the sanitarium, so crazy is kept happy and healthy, at least physically.
The outside kept out, the inside kept inside, not that the inmates would want to exit, unless they were crazy.
Which they are.
Strict rules about leaving the premises of crazy-town.
Crazy has to protected from its own insanity, for reasons only the staff knows.

Inside they are protected from the outside.
Inside they are protected from other inmates.
Inside they are protected from themselves.
The crazy protected from carziness.
In time they grow bold and arrogant.
Only rule is to not destroy the institution, and not to threaten the staff, or any other patient.
Another is never to call another crazy.

Inside the crazy-house each patient can live in his own insanity, his own craziness.
Subjectivity they call it.
freedom form their sanity, insanity. Freedom from the outside, where their crazy would quickly be corrected.
you are free to continue existing in your craziness if you do not disturb the other’s kind of crazy, or destroy the premises or attack the staff.
The doctors that give you the medication to keep you calm, the orderlies that intervene to stop other crazies from intruding upon your own crazy, or intervene to prevent your crazy from hurting you.
It’s crazy but it’s true.

In this insane asylum words are magical.

the only rule, other than following institutional regulations, is that words can communicate crazy to other crazies.
Other than that, words can be placed in any sequence…sentences where words can take any position.
you can use consciousness preceding life, and value preceding self, and being preceding existence…

This is creative crazy, or crazy creative.
Of course outside the walls and fences crazy is dealt with by an indifferent reality that does not intervene to protect crazy form itself.
There words matter, because they have severe consequences on the one suing them.
words have gravity…which incidentally is the only reality the crazies acknowledge as being objective, nutil the crazy house is built in outer space where even gravity will be a matter of subjective craziness.

When crazy is sheltered from crazy, infinite possibilities become equally probable.
No cost to the benefit of insanity.
In the insane house a sane person would be considered mad.
Who would not take advantage of being crazy when crazy has no cost, no dire consequence, no great risk?

It’s just crazy!

Crazy becomes bored in the asylum. To occupy its crazies it measures itself against other.
It must construct a seductive kind of crazy that would make all crazies want to participate in it - this is called power in the crazy-house.
Insane power.
Superpower, for a crazy believing he is superman.

No limits to the freedom of crazy in the crazy house, other than the ones mentioned.
It’s so brilliant it is crazy!!!

Outside the “magic” of words no longer works.
It’s effect is internal, where crazy lives.
By manipulating crazy with words of magic the crazies can be directed to have an external effect, but to get into it would be insane.
Outside the idea of each crazy living in his own insanity is ludicrous, which is exactly the point.
If you place a crazy outside, he will perish fast, in a world that is not institutionalized nor obligated to protect crazies form other crazies or from itself.
Outside using words as toys for insane boys, and girls, would result in the inevitable.
Best the crazies stay indoors in the crazy-house, where they can live in their own personal craziness, with no outside disturbing them, or forcing them to pay attention and to use words correctly.

So “free” to explore their craziness the fools inside will be
that they can reconstruct reality
at whim, and to conceal
a part from here, and a part from there, arranged at whim, to create creatures only a crazy man would think real,
free from sanity
Too much real can make you crazy

Arrangements not following any standard, for this would be a restriction on their liberties to remain insanely happy
Who needs an outside world when from memory one can build a new one
horn from here and torso from there, placed in any direction and configuration
like words in sentences
only sanity would use such standards, seeking clarity
but here the goal is to remain safe and sound, unbound in crazy
and so lazy
and if the outcome does not relate
blame it on hate

to anything at any time what does it matter for a crazy, when he measures himself by how popular and how many crazies he can attract and convince them to abandon their own private crazy and adopt his own.
The power
the sense of accomplishment
to sell a crazy craziness, by telling him or her what they wish to believe is true
the brilliance the godliness
to have such talents to confuse those already lost and torn in two, in three
those who think words are peeks into god’s mind
their own kind, as if god himself were more than crazy
when taken literally by the illiterate luminosity of insanity

Safety guaranteed makes for fun and games in the mind.
But children need playmates, and madmen will not remain alone in their craziness.
Misery may love company but so does insanity.
This is why the institution has rules, limitations to the unlimited form of crazy, the infinite possibility of insanity.

Controlled madness, not madness controlled.
You can’t deal with crazy seriously. You must lower yourself to its insanity, and speak to it in its own metaphorical methodology.
To break through the crazy wall of self-absorbing madness, you must scream at it, maybe slap it to get its attention and then speak to it using the imagery in its confused, chaotic mind - its fragmented consciousness.
No healing is possible, no rehabilitation…only medication, or directing its madness, helping it express it and relieve itself of it.

Consider the effect it would have if you took away its toys, like words.
The madman would go into rage, having become accustomed to the words it uses to express its madness.
When it’s a matter of life or death no reasoning will do,
Take Christians as an example.
Madness, there, admits that without the narcotic of God, and the metaphor of identification in Jesus, they would revert to their natural,state: violent, decadent, out of control animals.
They distrust those that do not believe, like Muslims as well, like Jews also.
They take themselves as an example and cannot believe someone would remain sane without their crutch, their madness.
They cannot understand why someone would not begin killing and hurting, without their narcosis.

Without the fairy-tales built on words, a Scripture, full of oracle like innuendos and metaphorical imagery taken literally, or as literally as required to quiet the voices within, how would they cope with world?
Christianity has its own “logic”.
To try to exit it would risk madness, or worse.
They can’t justify their beliefs rationally, so they resort to word-games and emotional appeals - accusing the unbelievers of hating God.
Have you heard that one before?
Yes…here on ILP over and over, mixed in with those casual mentions of the holocaust whenever race is brought up.
It need not make sense, in the ILP sanitarium, only that it triggers emotions, an orgasmic release of stress energies kept hidden.
All are here to be caressed until they cum.

Crazy houses are populated by all sorts of freaks and geeks.
Messiahs, historical figures reborn, inheritors of vast wealth, famous names from history, those looking for salvation from a past they cannot escape.
What can survive of philosophy when the rule is self-help, sympathy not only empathy, feigned respect no matter how loony the other sounds?
Madness is infectious, particularly when there’s no severe cost attached to it.

One that has discovered the meaning of everything, another in numbers reading god’s mind, another claiming to be a heir of Nietzsche, another that deserves sex, the only one that does so, another who runs in verbal circles chasing his tail, declaring victory every time frustration returns him to isolation in his crazy subjectivity, another dreaming of the end of the world he will survive and rule over the dust, a personal vendetta against daddy and mommy, another MENSA member repeating the same shit average crazies do everyday, those who in quantity find quality, in popularity find identity, in belonging finding peace.

How many crazies are in here?
The gates are open…they only exist to keep the outside out, but few leave the premises…and those that return.
Crazy is addictive.
Like children playing in the yard.
A study of human psychosis in our modern times.
How with words reality is covered up and forgotten…or is it ever forgotten?

Words representing noumena (abstractions) detached from phenomena
are converted from tools of survival to toys for stunting retaining the mind is a perpetual state of adolescence, or worse, keeping it child-like in its innocence.
It is seductive to the weak that seek that return to infancy.
Protected, in the asylum what is severity good for, when all can play with their toys, within their inner world, their madness, knowing the institution will step in if their crazy becomes dangerous?

In the crazy-house words are medications, poison to cast away the demon of reason.
Why would anyone try to be stringent in his application of words, when nothing too bad will ever happen if there is error?
A child protected form the world by an adult can explore his fantasies, with no reservations and no preoccupations. one day he is superman and the next batman, and the day after a teacher, an emperor, a scientist a pirate.
Self-identification is easy when past/nature have been dismissed, freeing the mind from the determined and determining.

Nihilism results in infinite possibilities.
One replacing the other, with no li9mitaiton, just as long as there is a structure present to protect it from itself, or if it contradicts itself, selectively.
Like christian do repeatedly.
Like Moderns do.
Word does not care about your emotions and your preferences…and to endure within it you must contradict your world-rejecting romanticism, and selectively abide by nature’s laws, before retreating back into your inner crazy.
This is why Moderns are hypocrites, constantly lying to themselves and to others.
This is why they consistently contradict their own principles and ideals.
To be loyal to them and their “logic” of absurdity, would mean a certain end to the fantasy…so they will speak those nice words, with genuine conviction, and then contradict them with actions.
Those few who did follow through with the ideals they held as ideal, are called saints, or terrorists in our time.
Their fate well-known.
Admired by the hypocrites they left behind, with the same ideals but not the stomach to live them through, authentically, genuinely, because in the end they are Nihilistic - anti-life, anti-reality.

Through the natural agency of man, words acquire magical power.
Words affecting psychology, human weakness, desire, fear, emotions in general, motivating him to then act, to become active in relation to those emotions.
Emotion exploited by liars, with their own emotional madness.
Words have zero impact on world directly.
Their “magic” dissipates in a cloud of symbolism, sounds, geographic lines, shapes.
Words only have an effect on man, in relation to a world he feel vulnerable within.
words are the magic, activating the nature of man through his animal simplicity.

Only through man, by manipulating man, do words have power upon world.
No surprise that philosophy has become about cultivating man, politics, psychology, rhetoric of conviction – it has become religious in the Abrahamic sense.
Not to engage world directly, but to engage man, exploit his ignorance, his natural dispositions, and direct them.
Power, for Moderns, goes through man: quantities of minds amassed to form a synergy of agencies, becoming one. He measures his value by the amount of minds he can seduce, and direct to impact world, which would, otherwise, be indifferent to his wording.

The charlatan, the gifted liar, the manipulator, the politician dressed as priest crave such “power” over others, and they stand forth as “leaders”, using symbols, words, to seduce and exploit and manipulate.
In time believing in their own lies.
Through others, and not in comparison, they see themselves as something above.
Their gift to use symbols, metaphors, to control and infect in the end also infects itself, through reflection.
Selling self, money the representation of their appeal on the marketplace, how they evaluate self.
They could be the simplest of minds, with a talent, a charm, an inborn ability to transmit excitement, hope, love, to feed into weakness and assimilate it with his own.
The neediest of minds, producing socioeconomic, cultural, ambitions, all going through others, using others.
The resistant to his emotional turmoil a “useless” one - narcissist psychosis.

These ambitious wannabes find in Nietzsche an effect over young minds they covet, wanting to imitate it, and use it as their own, and for the same reasons Jesus is admired and emulated, suing the same message to reproduce the same effect - sampling, artists with no creativity, adopt what has worked.
they do not wish art for its won sake, but art that sells well - fame and fortune in the motive, not clarity, not lucidity.

If this thinker and this saint would have had a fraction of the effect he appears to have on young men, in modern times, lost and seeking masculinity, they would show no interest in the thinkers thoughts.
Their appreciation begins by the effect, and works backward to justify it.
They would never appreciate the thinking on rational criteria, or their connection to world. It is only because of this thinkers impact, that they crave, that makes him attractive, and attracting to snake-oil salesmen
The technique and not the meat.
They parrot, changing the words around, hoping to compound with parlor tricks, for docile hicks.
Through the impact of needy minds, the weakling dreams of inflating his powerlessness with hot air- increasing his girth, his mass.
The thinkers effect they adopt, using words here and there, and anywhere, to imply, with ambiguity, allowing the listener to fill in the blanks, digging into his own guts.

In the house of crazies
it is a rule
each lives within his own world
When he speak it is of self
when he flatters or degrades it is always emotion that grades

In the house of insanity
where all is subjectively defined
all opinions are personal tastes, and all perspective self-aggrandizing flattery
or methods of coping with what confronts and insults
and does not bend to crazy words in insane heads

In the inane asylum all are presumed equally mad
taking it for granted
they construct their
having nothing to measure reality
other than their own insanity

Crazy innovations, insanely creative simulations
when nothing is present to correct and force a high price
all are “free” to be
as crazy as they wish
infinite mutations, with no culling
to reduce the numbers and weed out the unfit
All deserve their existence
love, happiness, and sex, no less

As long as crazy remains safe within his craziness
there is no threat
trouble begins when he attempts to use sanity to describe his insanity
thinking it is profound wisdom
when it is vanity

Then, the depth of his crazy is exposed, and all can see it and will know
even other crazies will taste the depths of depravity

This is why crazies prefer to remain ambiguous, using vagueness, words with no definition, implying rather than explaining
Like a Pollack painting, the onus is placed upon the seeing eye
and if it fails to see then the fault is in it
Because the trick is to make the other see whatever he or she projects upon insanity
the chaos made ordered by the observer and if it cannot then
shame on him
rather than the artist

instead of clarity, the Modern artist, insane and crazy, simply splashes paint on canvas, and then convinces many that it is hiding genius
and this is his only talent

Birds of a feather eventually find themselves together.
Crazies bump into each other out there.
Where can one go to study insanity but in a place where all the crazies gather?

Maladjusted neurosis, unable to cope with the world, needs its own to find understanding.
Seeks in esoteric escapism and inventive terminology, a new mythology, to explain themselves, to excuse themselves.
To comfort themselves.

The one who is the only one who deserves sex, inevitably finds communion with the only man who can claim to be able to have any female he wants, and not blush.
Insanity has no shame, particularly when it finds itself among its own kind.
Each crazy, in his own craziness, supporting their crazy-creativity.
Feeling pity for those who live in the mundane dullness of reality.
How banal.
How sad, for them.
They must be “crazy” to not want to be as crazy as them.
So much uncertainty can we dealt with in subjective, inter-subjectivity.
that’s what crazies call their craziness.
Insulting and hurting feelings is prohibited, here.
Mental cripples need not be exposed to what they are.
That would be inhuman.

All within the safe confines of the asylum where crazy never has to fear nature’s indifference…her culling ways.

Finding their way on the periphery is normal, for crazies.
It’s inevitable.
They call it being “special”.
Special Olympics, special schools, for the special kids.
Nobody wins or loses here…all are winners, when all participate.

In a herd the weakest ones are pushed to the outside, where the predators lurk, the strongest, most able, jostling for the middle ground - the safest part of the herd…in the eye of the storm.
The coveted position of middle-ground is social ambition, in the economic, social human context - social climbing is pushing your way to the center…of attention, of popularity, of admiration, protected from the world outside.
Similar to fish schooling.

The crazies are the outcasts.
On the edge, mentally and physically…some by choice, most because they cannot find their way to the center.
They are, sometimes, the ones that direct the herd in a different direction, cutting loose, until some break to follow, causing a tidal shift.
The trend setters, the rebels, the revolutionary ones.
Most are simply weak and unable, sacrificed to the predators so that the herd may survive.

Insanity knows no depravity.
It has no scruples, living in its own reality.
Assimilating other weaker crazies into their crazy alternate world, is how they fight off reality, surrounding themselves with players in their theater of madness.
The ambitious crazy’s primary ambition is to assimilate as many crazies into their personal one, forcing them to abandon their own private insanity and become part of theirs…a one.
This is subjectivity, denying objective reality, assimilating as many subjectivites into one.
A community of inter-subjective, like the one metaphorically depicted in The Matrix.
An artificial reality where many participate as if it were the real wold.

Each safe in their private cubicle, connected via an institution, to one another - networking.
The asylum is their connecting nexus, and each crazy plugged into it, creating a web of insanity - a matrix of lune-ecy.
With no cost to crazy, each can be as crazy as they wish, if the entire structure is not threatened.
Likes kids in a playground. They can play any game they like, as long as they do not hurt each other, themselves, or damage the toys.
Remaining disciplined to the rules and regulations governing the asylum, each crazy may dedicate his time in constructing a insane alternate reality, so crazy, so crazy-creative, that the other, less talented loonies, will want to be part of it.
Toys, like words, are stimulation for fantasies…for extraordinary kid games.
The insane are also given games to play. They need a pastime to vent all that energy.
Words games are a favorite game for many crazies.
They can rearrange words, into bizarre creative sentences, like lego-blocks, building all kinds of fascinating plastic structures.
There’s no world to discipline how to arrange them…no “right” way.
No price to pay for building a bad structure.
It’s all fun…and games.

In the loony-bin there is no need to engage reality.
Which remains outside…way outside.
The only thing to do is remain true to the rules and regulations, and to pass your time in your crazy, engaging in harmless activities with the other inmates.
See, most of these crazies have faced a period where they broke the rules and were placed in isolated confinement, for their own good.
In the rubber-room.
They did not like that.
Crazies like the public spaces where under strict supervision they can let their fantasies go wild, without hurting others or themselves.
The institution makes sure they do not hurt others or themselves, freeing the crazies from that concern.
There is no limit to what a crazy can do here.
He can declare himself god, or cry out “the world is ending”, or call himself the heir of royalty and of greatness, or proclaim himself Napoleon or Caesar, or some alien life-form…or any insanity he can imagine.

Let’s switch imagery…
This metaphorical herd, is not out in the wild.
Not really
It is in a zoo.
A farm…because they are milked, and sheered, regularly.
Fed, watered, housed, fenced in so that no predators come in.
Taken care of.
The zoo keepers take care of the herd, stopping any internal turmoil so no herd members get hurt.
In here, they can fornicate, play, eat, sleep, drink, sleep, and nothing will disturb them.

Any mutations that comes up and is unfit, is inconsequential in the zoo/farm.
No natural selection here.
The herd settles on hedonism…endless feeding of needs, pleasuring itself in innovative ways, to deal with the boredom.
No worries, no fears, no need to be aware.
No world to limit the extent of what they can think or do.
Endless adolescence, with the usual experimentation, carefree carelessness, playfulness, you know kid stuff.
What use do they have for philosophy, except to find meaning in this confinement, and safety, taken for granted as a right.

Words that were meant to facilitate survival, becomes playthings.
Which kid will invent the most exciting game, so that all the kids will want to play with him?
How popular he will be then, in this zoo/schoolyard.

Slipped in another metaphor.

To recognize crazy you must find the ones who think backwards…top<>Down thinking.
They begin with a conclusion, and then justify it by trying to find examples that validate it, or by asking you to suspend reason, and simply feel the “truth” in their words.

A crazy’s words are always detached from the experienced world.
Linear time, out the door.
There are no rules in crazy-land except, as noted, not to disturb the other crazies and not to threaten the asylum protecting crazy from itself.
the world outside the confines of the asylum is just a source of inspiration for crazy-town.
It is not allowed to limit the mind of crazy, or its innovative ways of coping with its insanity.
no, the asylum staff will not permit such disruptive, to internal harmony intrusions, nor anyone who dares to bring the outside world inside…into the esoteric drug-den of insanity.

If it were not for the fact hat the asylum has to be built on a planet with gravity - perhaps a temporary limitation - then even gravity would be left up to the discretion of the lunatics.
For the crazies, freedom from sanity, means liberty from past/nature, which is distressful, cruel and intrusive, and most of the time unflattering.
In crazy-town each inmate can wake up, every morning and decide to be another organism, another self, another anything.
The sky is the limit…no crazy is the limit.

Words, of crazies, reflect this liberation of sense…making them toys of senseless game-playing…rambunctious toying around, fidgeting, impulsive rearranging.
You know how kids can get.
crazy doesn’t have to define the words, nor even connect them to anything perceivable. He can use emotion, his own delusions, the voices in his head, as anchors to tie down words.
With no world to decide which delusion is best, the crazies use each other as measuring standards. the more crazies believing in a delusion, the truer it is.
The more fun a delusion is, the better it is. The more inmates included in the delusion, the more brilliant it is.

This is how crazies evaluate good/bad…and sane/insane.
Inanity itself.

For crazies the more ambiguous a word is, or van be made to be, the better it is, because then more crazies can use it, incorporating it in their pwn private lunacy.
All are happy, then.
It’s a wacky fun pack of verbal diarrhea…the staff can clean it up later.
Let the crazies have their fun…let them tire each other out, so they can go to sleep, after they finish their supper, wash their hands, and say goodnight, like good boys and girls. We must have rules, even in crazy-land.
Social etiquette I a must, when internal turmoil is the norm.
Pretense of civility, to compensate for esoteric primal energies.
Platitudes, feigning care, when inside indifference and repressed violence.
Faked altruism to make-up for viciousness of mind.

Crazies must be kept in line with strict regulations on their behaviors.
The liberties allowed to their insanity must not be translated into actions.
Crazies contradict themselves, because if they do not, they would face the inevitable.

But this is so for all nihilism, all modern, no?
To speak the right words and then contradict them with actions.
To say you believe in God, and eternal life, but then not commit suicide to get to heaven faster - crazies are given excuses to adopt.
To say love is divine and then act as if it were no more than lust.

Shit like that is common among crazies.

The gift of psychotic resistance
is its undying persistence
self-flattering as it goes
straight over to the land that blows

patting itself on the back,
finding in every glance
a positive note
to preserve its stance
and continue to dance

drawing eyes as all fools do
it places itself among the few
molder of men
the boy dreams of then
enhancing its talent to pretend

every response a validation
increasing its motive and perpetration
no event or space or time
can escape the dark hole of its mind
gravity sucking the world within

implosion comes slow
grinding in blow by blow
the symptoms present and revealed
in behaviors it cannot conceal

Those who want to hide their insanity, their confusion, their retardation, in symbols, are the most desperate to preserve the magical mysticism of words.

With them they can construct the viability fo their personal subjectivity, when the error in their minds is shelter, by the powers that be…to milk them as they see fit

Why make a cow afraid when a content bovine is the most productive, and when her cow brain need not be taken seriously?
Let a cow think what it wishes, if you receive her cow lick kisses, content as can be, in the madness of her thick skull stupidity.

The mind, you see, is most free from the limitations of reality.
An Abrahamic deity could only have been a slave’s master, when linguistics had been artistically applied towards husbandry.
You can see it now, everywhere you turn, how words, declaring, proclaiming, evading, covering, confusing…all is buried in a sea of verbosity.

How wonderfully they plant a seed, in a brain that needs, with intentional suggestibility.
As if magically, if clarity does not unmask its depravity.

Imagine the pride a hick would feel when in his adopted “genius” he exploits and cultivates a cow.
How, like a God, such a pathetic hu-man, would feel.
Imagine the “creative genius” of repackaging, re-discovered anew, as when one first sees morning dew, after a clear night, wondering how it came to be.
Imagine the sick-ness of such a one, who uses these mundane tricks to exploit needy, ill, fatherless, desperate, souls, to satisfy some infantile goals.

Here, let me describe the scene, of this desperate dasein…

A creature so desperate for attention, that it manufactures mystery to cloud itself in a shroud of implied “power”, seducing the neediest and feeblest, and most lost.

Clarity, as in philosophy, is not its aim…this it disdains, though it professes to admire in its contrived more.

With insinuations and poetic metaphors it masks how simple and weak it truly is.
When it is about to be dis-covered, re-vealed, it struggles to conceal, accusing the other of failing to grasp its magic, its mystical profundity, its promise of power and beauty, and all tings positive.

In between the empirical and the mystical it weaves its trap…sometimes on one side, sometimes of the other, always evading the light, always maintaining linguistic shadows to imply its wonders.
When entrapment approaches from the light, it is in darkness it runs; when it comes form the dark, it is in the light it seeks a defense…its pattern revealed you will find it is about constructing its own mysticism…
In both cases it is this challenging other who fails, not he who thrives on games of shells; it is this other, who does not surrender, that is at fault…is the failure.

Oldest, fuckin- game on the block…not Apollonian but of Dionysian, feminine, stock.
A wo-man thinks herself clever if she manipulates a man, and exploits his sexual desires…and this is not much different.
Find weakness, out there…in abundance n our age of Nihilistic inversions, and then inflate your feeble ego by dominating weakness, and exploiting it as you would a domesticated animal.

What impact you failed to make with those you respected, and were intimidated by, you compensate for by exploiting weakness and stunted development, and…femininity.

How quaint.

Exploring the genetic by-products of nihilistic memes, is the study of human interventions, and the pollutants produced by them.
Because these compounding mutations need not concern themselves with the world outside human environments, their viability is dependent on the continuing exclusion of nature. Identifying self is only limited to within the boundaries of human contrivances, which are dominated by linguistics and all forms of cultural symbolism… and nothing else.
They acquire a magical aura, when this symbolism becomes so detached from past/nature, and abstract ([size=85]metaphorical[/size]) that each individual has an almost infinite variety of mythological caricatures to pick from, or (s)he can invent one on his/her own, flexing creative muscles liberated from the natural force of gravity – creative craziness, or crazy creativity.
What does past/nature matter to a mind that knows of no time?
What would stop it from constructing its own linearity?
Past, present, future… all colourful, shiny, marbles in its small hands.
Smooth, round… perfect… and delightfully useful, for a child at play.
Roll another round and round, place it here, and then there, and why would you care?
The game is protected from up-above, in its continuing fun.

At this point the apparent is insignificant, or a source of idea(l)s, symbols, metaphors, to draw from, combining them in any which way imaginable; organs cease to have a natural function and are left up to the discretion of the “creative” self-identifying “idiot savant” – this is crazy creativity, or creativity gone crazy ([size=85]surrealism[/size]).
[size=50] MANifesto: Science – The Rise of the Idiot Savant
MANifesto: Art – Modern art – fArt[/size]
Fashion, and what is most current, most Modern, becomes applicable. The “creative genius” is simply the one who can combine symbols, fabricated appearances ([size=85]image[/size]) in the most inspiring, to the buyer, ways.
He acts as the fantasizer, the guru of imagination (spirituality) of the common mind, unable to be creative on its own, or imaginative in a way that taps into mass psychosis (being part of a popular trend validates the creation; being the most current, is to be ahead of the curb, the trend setter) – to be marketable and unique, in that it samples from the already created, but combines it in ways that hides the source.
[size=50] MANifesto: Art – Creativity – Fashion [/size]
Subjectivity overwhelms objective reality with its freedom to hope, and imagine, and create unrestricted, uninhibited, calling self anything it wishes, and anything that makes it feel good ([size=85]a high[/size]) – shamelessness slowly gains confidence, finding itself among the shameless, and when reality no longer embarrasses it ([size=85]there is no great/grave cost to the fantastic benefit[/size]).
[size=50] Objective/Subjective[/size]

Daytime is not the friend of a madman.
Under the sun his madness is more pronounced - every wrinkle, every twitch, every mannerism, exposing inner turmoil.
The subtle details kill his vibe.

It is in the dark where insanity thrives.
In the play of light and dark, the shadows moving, over surfaces, confusing the eye, stressing the senses to their limits, forcing confessions, engaging imagination where sensation cannot go.
There it can fabricate its surreal, reality, its “sanity” of in-sanity…sanitized profundity.

In the light it is no more than a feeble, pathetic, clown, with painted face, and gear, and exaggerated smile… but in the dark, with the shadows moving about, it can pretend to be a monster, or harmlessly funny, or a deep spiritual entity, or whatever it wishes.

These clowns are no philosophers.
They are the opposite of clarity, illuminating world, no matter what.
They already have decided that the light, will reveal beauty, and fabulous wonder, for one and all, but most particularly for self, and so artificial lights they find, to create the scene of their morose discourse.
Electric light can be controlled and moulded and folded.
Though they claim to be “beyond good and evil” it is on the side of Abrahamic goodness they lean, as if they’ve foreseen, when they’ve gleaned, by feeling inside of them, the desperate desire, of the hungering lean, delicate, spleen.

How sad it is to have an ambition so lowly as to only wish to be like Frank, when nothing he said was new, but older than old, going back to Heraclitus and beyond… to ages unknown, Aryan.
to only desire to be his successor, and no more than to feel the popular adore…but none of the suffering that made it more.
Hush, say no such words of dark magic.
To be affected by the master’s psychological insights, you cannot repeat, settling for astrological impressionability…for artistic effect, covering a defect.
To be so feeble and needy, that even the slightly above average would fill you with an impress…a feminine distress.
“I do declare!”
As I swoon, beneath the impressive moon, when the sun has fallen beneath the horizon, and all is bathed in mysterious gloom.
So dramatically romantic.
No Apollo, at all.

Your God is one of the lowly low.


A Mad-man will repeat his past behavior with religious faithfulness, resulting in the same exact, outcomes, Time after Time.
In his madness he thinks himself too chaotic to be comprehensible to be understood, to be diagnosed - a mystery tom himself…but he is a pattern that consistently repeats itself with near-perfect predictability.

It is his inflated and convoluted sense of himself that keeps him predictable and too “proud” to know himself enough, honestly enough, to see how he is repeating the same old pattern, over and over…and over, again, and expecting a different outcome.

I broke in, and then
Broke out
and in between
wiggled all-about

I peeked in, and then
poked out
and in the midst
provoked all-about

If healing other,
is not your aim
and gaining their admiration
is not a gain

Then what is left
is all the same
except for the game
using shame
as a prelude to fame

Mental, martial arts in the asylum of mind-farts:

Use the others presumed strength as a weakness to exploit
Use his momentum of pride to shame
Use what they are most certain of,
as a way into what they do not wish to expose
as what they are most vulnerable in, they suppose