There is no vending machine for love

You cannot find a vending machine for love

you cannot pretend it’s real love

My heart is on fire

is it a liar?

is all love is smoke and mirrors

if so can I forgive her

I check my change

you are everything I desire

my hearts ablaze

but is this only a phase?

love maybe a chase

but not a vending machine case

I haven’t the money to give

to choose the love I need to live

you are a beautiful woman

but I will never have you or own your soul

at least Love is fair in that respect it’s not out of control

I can put my money into the machine

but I will never be your dream.

Songs in psychosis Bio 1

Chemical brothers

Setting sun (setting – grave yard 2003)

Delusions sometimes come in the form of songs. This Chemical Brothers song “Setting sun” takes me back to the September of 2003. My father had been admitted into a psychiatric hospital after a painful (for all concerned) separation from my Mum. I have been facing my own battles as I had been diagnosed schizophrenic only 2 years before. it was a hugely stressful time for me and I had also fallen out with a friend and potential love interest.

In the early September the sun was still shining and is still warm but the leaves were starting to change to a brown tint the promise of autumn chill was on it’s way. All the stress of that and the fact I had with my Psychiatrist’s consent looked to come off my medication. Made me not only depressed but in a rapid cycling spiral like one of those leaves rising and falling with my mood like that leaf upon the wind. There was no way to escape the onset of psychosis and I hurtled towards my fate like a steam train with no brakes speeding towards a signal which was coloured neon red.

In those days I lodged with my boss Dave who had taken me in after my various troubles and dramas with my illness. Anyway he had his Mum staying I remember waking up to strange smells probably forms of smell that were delusions I believed i had heightened sense and my messiah or Jesus complex was rearing it’s ugly head. My Psychosis took me out on Sunday afternoon stroll to the graveyard on the hill by our old victorian gothic style church. Me being me decided in my psychotic state decided that me being Jesus should raise the dead from their graves. This was after I saw that some of the graves had been vandalised. I remember lifting one the head stones back on to it’s other piece I have no idea how I managed to do this. Maybe it was the adrenalin or the chemical imbalance in my brain and body.

I prayed to father God to restore these spirits to their bodies. It of course didn’t happen and made me feel even worse. When you are ill you cannot tell the difference between fantasy and reality. Maybe I was being tested. After praying many times I gave up and laid myself in the corner of the graveyard out of the way from the passers by. I thought I was Jesus and that lead me down the path of being extremely paranoid of being found out and killed. I believed that anyone with the powers of God would be a threat to governments and the people and they would try to suppress or kill me!

I laid with my left arm clutching my stomach and my right arm holding a blade that I imagined in my mind. It felt like my world was ending and I wanted to die. Thats the type of mental pain psychosis brings. The cavernous lows of being buried in the cave of your mind so soon after thinking you have super powers and can raise the dead. I had real reasons to feel this way having seen my Dad struggling with psychosis as well and being medicated. There is nothing worse than being trapped in stressful situations only that of being trapped in your own unkind mind which vilifies you for not being good enough to be human let alone a god.

I had nothing left to give life and the people I loved but the sacrifice of my body and soul I would lay on the grass still dry from the summer sun and die…

However some one answered my prayers to God his dog was the first to come up to me and he gingerly followed. His name was Jon although I believed he was the devil come to tempt me. He asked me who I was and I swear to you even through the years that have passed one of the things I said was “That my body was young but my mind was very old” this was in line with what I had been taught mostly at Sunday school at my local church. Jesus was after all the word of god and had existed throughout time. Maybe if you read the lyrics at the bottom of this blog you will see that lyrics show the devil saying that rather than Jesus but maybe Jesus and the devil are in fact one and the same after all lucifer and Jesus both are bringers of light and gods favourite sons. Anyway I digress.

Me and John talked for a long time and I had visions like the song said. Maybe when you are mad or in madness there can be seen some truth in the insanity that is the world we live in. He I soon realised was very drunk and when he took me to his house down the road to get some help for me his partner who was a nurse and was very drunk also they offered me some alcohol. They didn’t know my back story and thought I was high on drugs.

Eventually Dave and Phil (my friend and neighbour arrived after they managed to get me to remember Dave’s home phone number but Jon and Liz thought there was something dodgy about my friends maybe it was the fact that I was acting so irrationally and that the situation was out of hand. But I am thankful that after an hour of speaking to Phil and Dave they let me go with them. I am also thankful to Jon the good samaritan for his help that day because If he hadn’t of found me I don’t know what would have happed later on with me in that state.

However this part is probably down to Jon being drunk but her swore that he saw a black blade in my hand when he found me and thought that with me clutching my stomach that I stabbed myself…

You’re the devil in me I brought in from the cold

You said your body was young but your mind was very old

You’re coming on strong and I like the way

The visions we had have faded away

You’re part of a life I’ve never had

I’ll tell you that it’s just too bad

You’re coming on strong

You’re showing your colour

Like a setting sun

Where do I begin

Sunday morning I’m waking up

Can’t even focus on a coffee cup

Don’t even know who’s bed I’m in

Where do I start

Where do I begin

Sunday morning I’m waking up

Can’t even focus on a coffee cup

Don’t even know who’s bed I’m in

Where do I start

Where do I begin

Where do I start

Where do I begin

Sunday morning I’m waking up

Can’t even focus on a coffee cup

Don’t even know who’s bed I’m in

Where do I start

Where do I begin

Where do I start

Where do I begin

Ghost FM

The radio booms on speakers

it’s enough to wake the dead

zombies re attach their heads

ghosts clammer for attention.

What’s this dissenting dismal story

breaking from the ordinary

it must be the radio news.

This towns a ghost town and we are out of sight

dead ravens take flight

like they have been reanimated by Edgar Allen Poe

the word nevermore repeated.

Disco lights dance in the dusty ghostly radio station studio

the presenter moves his skeletal hand

and slides the controls to the peak setting.

his voice a long forgotten recording

playing jingles old songs and adverts

for a town where no one is around…

Inside the mad man

The clammer of the overthinking overwhelmed mind

chattering away with itself like a overused hard drive.

Hope, but she is a caged bird waiting for her master

faith but all faith is enslaved in disaster.

A sonnet of despair, a song of solitude

a monologue of filth and the rude

a innocent boy and a prude.

A crazy overbearing self talk squawk

a chalk drawing of heart that’s been erased.

A penis looking up at the sky

A black dog biting its owner

A loner waiting for the strength to cry.

Freedom from attachment

but a wanting to be engaged and attached

Discourse divorced a face scratched.

silence like a scream

a dream turning into a nightmare

a blank stare

a daydream being expelled.

Hell carrying on into a lonely hello

An eye open that cannot be shut

a slut shutdown clown

love becoming only a noun.

The mirror (possession)

The mirror

The antique mirror which was your late great aunts
Stands before you and plants, an image in your head
A frozen image of woman not unlike yourself but with white pupils
Without an iris just a spot,like a dot of ink on a page
The image shimmers until all you can see is you again although you are feeling strange.
But you look again and your eyes have turned
White, your body your frame is racked with pain
As you feel nails break and black claws burst free of cuticles
You lose you balance and fall grabbing your stomach
You don’t know what happening an your terrified not just flummoxed
Panic sets in as skin and bone crack
Metamorphosis is not holding back
As your feet and talons burst through your dainty high heels
To reveal huge hideous monster toes and claws on show
Your legs are growing too not showing signs of slowing either
As your breaths become more and more sudden
You roll about the floor
Your clothes tear at the seams
You’re becoming a monster like in those horror movie scenes
Legs break and bend like an animal on tip toes
Your back arches and cracks as your spine shows
Then your spine extends as you scream
A tail has formed writhing and waggling out of control
Animal instincts start to take over your soul
Horns sprout from your skulls temple
As your screams become mental
Your teeth grow sharp your tongue extends
Your face becomes a muzzle you growl
You can smell every scent in the air
As your nickers tear
You howl a lustful howl as hairs stand on end
and grow into fur as you roar a beastly roar
Cursed you want more
Flesh lust and craving
No one is safe from your beastly self
We are all meat to you on a consumers shelf.

Nero

At war with everyone
I watch our futures burn
Playing the devil
Sinking into the flames
Graveyard games.
Blood stains, not as much as a broken heart
the vultures tear apart.
My happiness is a distant memory
lying broken in the cemetery
I see ghosts of my future in my past.
I am aghast, a man of midnight
sackcloth and ashes
gashes and cuts
I loved myself, not enough…