Letters: C is for Crazy

crazyI’ve always been fascinated with crazies. I’ve also wondered about being crazy myself.

What kind of guy sits there and comes up with all these wild ideas? It’s easy to say you’re “creative,” or “full of imagination,” but for someone to play the character of a crazy person, wouldn’t they have to understand how they work? And can’t you only understand if you’re crazy yourself?

This is what it’s like inside my mind. Constantly churning. Humming with thought. There are so many questions, so many possible directions, and so many answers, it’s like navigating a world of spiderwebs. And your only map? Something inside you. Call it intellect. Call it gut instinct. I’m not sure what it is. So impossible is the world, and the things around it, not to mention what’s inside us. We know a lot, but still lies the mystery.

Then comes the problem of time. You have the present, which is the base for all thoughts, and premonitions. What is a premonition? It’s more like understanding. For example, when you trip on a rock and begin falling, you know you’re about to hit the ground. Unless you’re covered in bubble-wrap, it’s probably going to hurt. And you begin to wonder: when I tumble to the ground, is it the same kind of premonition as someone who has jumped off a cliff? Do they think I’m going to die, it’s going to hurt, and that’s the end?

Time is limited. We only have so much time in the present, and all time spent in the present fades away and withers like rotten meat in a powerless fridge—the past. And there’s the future, which is something to hope for, but is a leap away into dark fog. We do not see what lies ahead with our eyes, rather, that gut instinct we all carry in some capacity. If you care to go this abstract, you could say we see the world through the inside of ourselves. It’s just as literal as it is metaphorical.

When William Utermohlen learned he had Alzheimer’s disease, he drew self-portraits until he died. Those misplaced features and meandering lines of his final piece… Was it the world as he viewed it? Perceived through a dying lens of flesh? The sensory world would seem more like a waking nightmare, and there’s nothing more horrifying than the slow failure of the biological machinery that keeps you alive. Death of the mind.

Everything I’ve detailed here… That’s insanity. It’s from my own mind, but it’s hyperbolic. Exaggerated. Blown out of proportion to get across the point.

But it makes you wonder now, doesn’t it?

 

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