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Twisting all the bad things into good

Feb 26, 2013

BOOK of TANGENTS: That Joke Isn't Funny Anymore

        A tangent I went off on a long time ago. 
        I guess a little over a year isn't a long time ago.
        Seems like it though. 

"I wonder what Piglet is doing," thought Pooh.
"I wish I were there to be doing it, too."

- Winnie the Pooh”

         I used to laugh at them.

         When I woke up in South County, I was afraid I was one of them.
         I was afraid that I was broken.
         I was only bent.
         All those psychological conditions that I had only used as a joke ran through my mind along with the images of the people who those conditions would be ascribed to when there is nothing funny intended. Is this schizophrenia? Am I going to be that  guy walking through New York City talking to himself and cursing at nobody. Is this insanity? Am I insane? Like legally? Like the guy in a strait jacket in a white padded room. This is crazy. I am a crazy person? Not a "cool crazy" as in "yo, that dude's crazy as fuck". A broken kind of crazy, as in a woman staring out the window in some hospital rec room, who insists on wearing the same seventeen year old dress everyday because she wants to look her best for her husband and two daughters who never visit because she killed them fifteen years ago, but she only remembers the good times.

        This was psychosis. I was psychotic. I was that guy in Florida walking around his neighborhood, having conversations with nobody and telling strangers that his father died.

         I was humiliated by what I'd said and done.
         I'm the joker who became the joke.
         A storyteller who became his own story.

         Somewhere, in another rec room, there's a woman who can't forget, who has been forgotten.
         She was once happy. She was pretty. She was a wife and a mother.

         A man who walks the city streets of his own reality.
         We laugh with friends as he talks to people as real to him as he is to us.
         He used to have real friends. He used to love to make them laugh.
         He came from a real family. He was once somebody's little boy.

         None of them would have chosen this.
         None of them will wake up one morning and be sane again.
         I suffered a psychotic episode, but I made it back.

         They don't make me laugh anymore. It's not funny. It's sad.
         Their movie is a tragedy, not a comedy.
         Let them talk to friends who are not there.
         They can wait for their family until their last day.
         The friends and family they don't have may be all that they have left of a live they once had.
         They don't have to be the joke.
         I can be a joke because I can still be a joker.
         It's okay to laugh at me because I can laugh at me.

         You can laugh at me because I'll laugh with you.

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