(the Catcher in the Rye): Dear Doctor Thomas Jacob
I saw my Psychiatrist this morning. he told me I am not crazy.
I guess not crazy like you say, but emotionally deranged.

(The Great Gatsby): Jaques I couldn’t stand. In my dreams i had a different life
a rich home, and fine clothes, handsome men at my beck and call.
– but in my real life that life was but a nightmare.

And now I am in an asylum for madmen, waiting to be either put away
or turned into another of your dreary photographs of society’s desperate
– Moaning my one complaint as they passed by as sad creatures
passed by, wherever they have gone I don’t want to be seen by
any human being ever again.

They passed by (Eating Raoul’s Chicken Dinner):
Was it something I said? Could it be it?
That what I’m doing now is merely a sequence of scenes from my latest movie?
Did I pass my exams in this life on account of my ability to put
the good word “Valentino” in every sentence I uttered, and every image I created in my mind?
(Flower Moon): What do you mean, crazy? I had just lost my head, and everything I had believed in
had flown out the window, (Rising Sun): But I was crazy.
When I read the story of Mowgli’s lost tribe, I was so moved I picked up my spear,
and chased the beast into the jungle. (The Great Gatsby): It was, I have often thought, the highest form of flattery,to be told one is mad by a madman. And to go home to one’s self, after such praise,
and believe one is mad as well, and that one is really just a hunter-gatherer, a plant eater, a mother who has eaten a boy. That is what made me become a hunter-gatherer, and carry the name of a one-footed old man. I see no difference between the man I am and those I read about.

I am a madman.

(The Catcher in the Rye): Where the slant of light has fallen across the room tho’ it is darker than I have ever seen it, I see in the mirror how scarcely a sliver of a blade of light is stained across my eyes.

Not a single drop of brightness shall ever overtake this pain.
Not a single mirror-speck.

– To Sleep, Perchance to Dream : Oh, but your own scars are blood,
your brother’s anger-stained sword and from the smoothness of your skin
your mother’s tired face.

They say that all those who are born and survive that war-zone, have only the vaguest
imagination of what it really was like (The Great Gatsby): And there you were
almost wounded, so unwounded that you had your curiosity burning bright, burning to know something,
of all things, about yourself.

And then this fateful rain sparked a wild fire, which it seems, you were the one to conjure
when you opened your arms wide, Your wild fires lit the world.

(Germain’s Rondo):

She never left my side
during the year
she died
and I always slept like a fool.

Her candle, always warm,
was the only light I had.

My only one.

That is what I remember, that’s what I remember most
of her.

I, Have Quoted Jaques:

I had no tears for my father.

(The Great Gatsby):

She told the six, and they did not move
or speak a word.

I guessed at their thoughts. – and I knew I was the one
on whom the act was done.

And I was not proud.

– To Sleep, Perchance to Dream :

I had no tears for my father.

– To Sleep, Perchance to Dream :

I had no tears for my father.

:: 02.28.2022 ::

About EPRobles

Writer, Artist. I like to paint abstract acrylic images onto canvas. I love to read everything, and I especially enjoy science, philosophy, and the arts. I'm new to the blog experience and I very much enjoy it! I hope to learn as much about all the features that WordPress offers and thank you -- my visitor -- for taking time to read my words. Peace and love... View all posts by EPRobles

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