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Err and Grr

by Initially NO

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Taking the rot

Psychiatrist’s parrots –

Scared little things

With clipped wings

Repeating as well

As they can remember

The accumulated brainwashing,

Pegging it out to dry,

To re-wear torn and threadbare.

Sensibly exposing the abuse

Remembering a time

I couldn’t talk about

How psychiatry had harmed me,

Lest someone think that I was ill,

Because I was accusing ‘health providers’,

Of abusing me.

So my mind, in confusion, and overwhelming

Grief at their outrageous denial, took a parallel path

And said some things

That were symbolic of what

Had happened to me,

Hoping that would be understood better.

But those things weren’t. Anything I said,

Got me put in the hands of my abusers.

It did take longer to be abducted, though,

When I didn’t mention psychiatry,

People didn’t immediately assume I was psychiatry’s lab-human

And needed to be returned to their laboratory.

I knew the sort of person I shouldn’t talk to, by then,

But understanding was still absent then, in pretty much everyone,

To my courtroom truths, as well as my poetic truths.

All paths to exposing the abuse were

Blocked into further threats to me,

That eventually got carried out.

That kind of pressure, that kind of denial,

It’s too much to handle and still be sensible.

 

 

(click here to purchase/ peruse image)

 

Deep fried logic

 

Researchers have found

That after inducing psychosis

In rats by feeding them C₁₀H₁₅N,

That if you take

Deep fried chips

And inject that into

The veins of the ‘psychotic’ rats,

The rats become placid.

Scientists advocate,

The use of deep fried chips

For schizophrenia,

Could produce

Promising results.

 

 

 

 (Above image can be purchased or perused further by clicking HERE.)

Seclusion and restraint of the alien

Dragged in, as I passively

Resist – no kicking, no punching

And yet they restrain me

On a stretcher, arms and legs

Tied down in the ambulance

As I am taken to the unit

Where there’s a room

With a mattress on the floor.

They hold me down

And inject me

With Acuphase,

Used on cattle, a major tranquiliser

That causes utter pain and fatigue.

I know they will use this on me indefinitely,

As they have before. I know, I am in for,

At least a year of this drug, or many, many more.

But I still hope, my friends will burst in,

Tell the psychiatrists to go to hell,

Drag the bastards into court, or threaten to

And I’ll be released from the massive suffering

They’ve begun to subject me to.

But at that time, I had no friends that supportive.

Flash back to the muscle-memory of

The nurses undressing me

And putting their ugly baggy pyjamas

On my body.

Then, they locked the door, locked me in.

I, singing and moving around

Until I’m thirsty

And tired from the chemicals

And need to urinate.

I bang on the door,

Demanding what I need, bang for quite a while

Before they give me

A bedpan and a cup of water

On the floor

And the door is locked again

For many more hours.

I can't get away from that horrible feeling easily

That memory of being violated with the approval of government.

If I’d been violent,

I’d be so ashamed

And fearful of myself,

I doubt I would ever

Fight the wall of prejudice

Enough to be heard.

I’d probably agree

To be compliant

With continuing prescriptions

That rotted my insides

And kept me sleepy,

Shamed and disabled,

Hating myself

Until I died swallowing

Their lies and abuse.

My life shortened –

Only two thirds of what

It should be.

My suffering not allowed,

Not given validation,

Made the subject of ‘jokes’,

Of prejudiced accusations,

My life turned into

Someone else’s living.

Their intelligence qualified,

My thoughts and insights

Derided and shut down.

But I was not violent,

So they had no reason

To attack me,

No warrant for arrest,

No crime to be confessed.

I was outraged;

I was protesting in symbology;

I wanted something to shift

In them and me,

So I didn’t feel like an alien

And they didn’t act

Like I was nobody

And tell me what I had to say was nothing.

I heard crap on the radio,

I heard piss on the television,

Nothing but psychiatrisms

Eroding my life with  forced treatment regimes.

But the internet changed everything.

Suddenly gone were the censors

And those who labelled me.

I got to choose

Who I connected with.

I got to agree

And gain agreements,

Even tell my story

And attend a like-minded conference.

So long had my thoughts

Been trapped in seclusion

And actively restrained

By a derogatory word,

Or look from those

Who were not my friends,

That threatened more violations

Should I attempt to argue back.

They could make that call,

They could put me away

Have me drugged

And so scared of knock-out

Anaesthetics and electro-shocks,

Or higher doses of what I was given,

That I’d let them mock me,

And let their voices echo

Within me to make redundant

My bright insightful intelligence

That kicked their bigot nonsense.

I turned into self-hate,

Instead of protesting

What made me furious.

So long had bastards

Been standing on my breasts,

I could hardly breathe without

Thinking if it was okay with them.

But I could not say

I needed to get things

Off my chest, if I did,

I’d be dragged off again.

So many times they did that,

For so much of my youth.

But now I’m speaking

And people are starting to listen.

Society is coming out of its trance.

They don’t all agree

To salute psychiatry.

Protest is being allowed.

Sometimes that protest

Even peeps into television and radio

And the public glean

An inkling of our distress.

It’ll be a long time

Before people stop using

The derogatory terms.

It’ll be a long time

Before people understand

How to assist a person in crisis

Without getting frightened and angry

At the person’s grief, causing more distress.

It has to be soon,

Our government must stop

Allowing psychiatry to abuse us.

They harm us without us committing a crime,

They harm us for one reason –

We are already in distress.

Give us validation,

Give us understanding,

Actively listen

And realise it is in your interest.

We are all different,

But we are part of one thing,

A planet called Earth,

Even if we feel like an alien.

 

 

(image (c) Initially NO, volume 6 of the adult picture book series BEINGS. The CAT team are, a group of thugs who drag people away to psychiatric facilities, drug and electrocute them, and that's not fiction anymore than the above confessional poem. The CAT team think they are 'trained' to be the handler of people, who are in crisis and their torturous handling can be called 'care'.)

My society is suicidal

My society is suicidal

It drinks itself stupid

Bashes its lungs with cigarettes.

It wants to die, not I.

Society is pashing itself

As it’s bashing itself.

Society holds itself down

And calls its lover a bitch.

Society is mostly misogynist.

Society is a prostitute

That doesn’t use protection

Writhing in pain with infections

While aborting its 1000^th foetus.

I don’t have any choice

About my society invading me.

It is an animal that cannot

Be kept at bay by Buddhism,

Pesticides, or cleaning.

Society needs beauty

But it thinks it can manufacture it,

It thinks it can mine it,

It thinks it can buy it.

Society wants to be strong,

But it also wants to be ill

In hope it can get compassion.

Society wants to fuck me up the arse

And force me to say I enjoy it,

But I tell it to go away.

My society doesn’t like hard work,

It would rather swallow tranquilisers

And be a laboratory animal.

I want to be healthy

But my society forces unhealthy things into me

Falsely labelling them as ‘good’ and ‘helpful’,

‘Healthy’ and ‘necessary.’

I am very angry at my society

Because it has violated my body repeatedly,

Then accused me of being insane and complaining.

My society is insane. It eats chemical shit that isn’t food

Then expects me to do the same.

My society is hypnotised by propaganda.

I am at war with its regime.

My society wants to die,

Obviously, it is suicidal

And in need of some kind of help.

My society evicts those who ask for help

And asks other societies to do something

About people who ask for help.

My society thinks people who ask for help

With shelter and food are a problem,

Even when they say they’ll work hard

To repay those who help them.

My society fucks me up

Then tells me I’m wrong and weird.

My society is a slave-driver of mothers,

My society rapes its own children.

That’s my society.

Chewing gum on the pavement

And a gun stuck in my face.

I should probably try to get

To a safer place than this,

Where my ideas exist more

Than this place where society is its own looming death.

My society bashes me, but rarely pashes me.

It says that that is my fault, not society’s,

That I need to be more commercial,

More like others who’ve been successful,

That there’s nothing new worth anything,

Because society prefers the retro, the proven,

The tried and true, antique glossed anew.

Society says I shouldn’t resent it,

Yet it resents giving

Odd people like me anything.

Society says that I’m bludging.

Society says I suck it dry.

Society, it seems would rather

That I die, than pay a living wage for my work

In developing ways to help it.

Society says that I’m a radical

That needs to be ruled out.

Society doesn’t even know me,

But it knows it doesn’t like me.

Society won’t give me a change,

It’d rather play reruns

Of Woody Allen movies

And upset survivors of child abuse.

My society won’t even acknowledge

That I’ve been harmed by psychiatry,

Let alone allow me to say that

On a public broadcast program.

My society is very interested in money,

But it makes suicidal investments

In ideas that have had their day.

My society has an unhealthy interest

In aiding and abetting crime,

Then glorifying it in books and movies.

My society wants to endanger itself.

My society is a sadomasochist.

My society wants to suicide.

My society doesn’t include me

In its pact, because

I don’t want to live fast

Die young and make an etcetera.

My society says I won’t be successful

If I don’t follow in its footsteps.

But I don’t want to follow dysfunction,

So I go in a different direction.

My society wants me to pay entry

Then it bars me from entering.

My society says I’m a jealous gripe

And an ego-head better off dead.

My society would not mourn me

If I were to suicide.

My society would want to dissect my brain

For evidence of a faulty gene,

Faulty neurotransmitters, or something like what

They found in the tortured rats

Who society induced my ‘condition’ in.

My society has one condition

And many exceptions to that rule,

With loopholes to get past a fool

Like me who sticks to laws as rule,

Except when they violate the rights

Of people they’re claiming to protect.

My society likes to pick on me,

Then it eats its own snot

And demands I eat it too!

My society thinks I should take

The blame for my ‘illness’

But I don’t think I have an illness,

Rather it’s society’s ills that

Cause me unrest and put me in crisis.

Society has its regime

And I am revolting to it.

I want to love my society

But it pushes me away

Saying, ‘You’d better not stalk me.’

I’d like society to be more

Interested in what I think and say,

But society wants to remain ignorant,

Turns its back and ignores me.

It says I don’t try hard enough

To get its attention.

Then it says I try too hard

And that makes me annoying.

Society won’t let me win,

Society thinks I’m nothing but

A bad impression

My society wants to kill me,

So I don’t make it think about its problems,

About it being wrong, thereby inducing suicidal thoughts.

Yet my society claims to be peace-keeping.

Society says it doesn’t want to die out,

Yet it smokes purposefully

To slowly kill itself.

My society is addicted to causing

Its own death, but it says it doesn’t want

To suicide, not really, it just does sort of likes harming itself.

My society wants to fuck me up

So it feels better about itself,

So I’m as fucked up as it is.

My society wants to scream for its mother,

Then blame her for birthing it.

My society wants to yell at me

And is annoyed when I don’t yell,

Accuses me of making it look like a bully,

When really it’s a suicidal wreck I should

Have more empathy for, apparently.

Then my society finds another reason

To punch me in the nose

When I say I don’t like drugs.

My society thinks drugs are cool.

My society thinks drugs are pop culture

And that popping pills equates to pop art,

As if swallowing is an artistic act.

My society is heavily drugged

 

But I don’t know how good my society is,

I take it for granted,

I’m spoilt rotten.

I don’t know how bad some societies are!

 

I don’t want to think about

How I’m fucked up the arse I am

By my society anymore.

I want society to stop perpetuating

Its abuse of me when it lords over me.

My society thinks it’s regal

And that I’m up myself.

My society thinks it is a cut above the rest.

My society likes to be a gangster’s gun

Shooting into a crowd.

I think my society is aiming at me,

But it doesn’t even know me,

Or want to know what I’ve done,

Where I’ve been and what I’m up to.

My society turns the gun on itself

And threatens suicide

If I don’t follow its command.

 

But I don’t know how good my society is,

I take it for granted,

I’m spoilt rotten.

I don’t know how bad some societies are!

 

My society wants to be Helen of Troy,

Then complains about the attention

That it sought out, when it advertised

Itself as ‘The face that launches a thousand ships.’

My society is stale old theatre farts

That expects to get more funding.

My society tries to pretend

That it has never threatened me.

My society wants to say that I am a liar.

My society doesn’t know that it’s lying.

My society wants to die and go to Heaven,

It wants to escape the Hell of itself.

My society thinks it’s my superior.

My society enjoys substance abuse

And thinks I’m uncool not to do so,

That I should get with it and just try it

And realise it’s not as bad as I think,

That it’ll make me better, make me fit in.

My society won’t give me a role

Because I won’t smoke backstage with it.

My society is slowly killing itself

And expects me to join it.

My society says I should stop resenting it.

My society would like to kill itself

And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

 

But I don’t know how good my society is,

I take it for granted,

I’m spoilt rotten.

I don’t know how bad some societies are!

 

I’m laughing at my society.

I feel superior to my society.

My society is the delusional  underdog

That has to be cautious

And wary of its direction.

It’s the one that’s suicidal, not me.

My society once tried to accuse me

Of things that it had done,

But I’m no longer under its thumb

And if it expects me to play dumb

While it talks rubbish,

It’ll soon learn to stop

Digging its own grave.

I know society is suicidal,

But it should at least behave

Civilly to those who are

Trying to help it through its crisis.

But my society isn’t happy,

It wants to dye its hair

Until the hair snaps off at the roots.

My society hates its own scent and wants to hide its smell

By putting toxic chemicals under its arm pits

That give allergies and asthma attacks.

My society doesn’t like anything natural,

Wants to remove all its body hair so it

Feels like newborn baby skin.

My society thinks I’m weird

To not want to feel like a baby.

 

But I don’t know how good my society is,

I take it for granted,

I’m spoilt rotten.

I don’t know how bad some societies are!

 

It is hard when your society

Has done something horrible

To you and they still

Want to argue that it’s justified.

It’s hard to love your people

That went along with your society.

It’s really hard to love them totally.

I mean, you can’t, can you?

Not without lying to yourself

That they will back you up

If you were attacked again,

Which they won’t

And you know that.

But you have to love them,

Because they’re your family,

They’re your society

And that abuse that they ignored

Was too widely condoned

By even people you wanted to be friends with.

It’s hard that, looking at them

And what they’ve done by condoning,

Ignoring, or being too frightened to speak up against.

My society is so guilty,

It’s horrible, so horrible.

They’d rather have the abuses continue

Than admit to their wrong doings.

I so want to love my society,

But it’s hard, knowing

The horrible things they’ve done.

I look in the face of my society

And see that enemy lurking.

It’s scary that it’s there

In something I’d otherwise

Want to praise and adore.

It’s a shock to realise

That my society is so against me.

That it thinks I should be tortured.

It is scary when I hear of it being agreed upon

On radio, documented on television

And proliferated in books.

My body ices in fear,

That’s what my society does to me.

Scary don’t you think,

The way my society wants to kill itself?

 

But I don’t know how good my society is,

I take it for granted,

I’m spoilt rotten.

I don’t know how bad some societies are!

 

Nay, it is very, very scary that my society

Has swallowed propaganda for so long.

It bloats with its fill

Unable to think of possibility

That challenges the horror,

Unable to think of the horror,

For what it actually is.

Subdued and hypnotised,

My society heil psychiatry

And call for more screenings of youth,

More tests of youths and marching orders,

To find anomalies in them and root them out,

Force on them sterilising pills so they won’t breed,

And won’t be able to complain because they’re so tranquilised.

My society wants to become a race,

A supreme race of psychiatrists.

My society knows no one wants to protest against

What can be diagnose and dehumanise them

And make them out to be a potential criminal

That must be monitored and managed

And is unfit to be heard

In the clairvoyant psych court

That aims to prove a future violation

That a person might just commit.

In my society, no one wants that life sentence,

Which my society’s superstitious inflict,

When they back up psychiatry

With their supremacist’s law.

Strangely, most abide by society’s superstitious.

See, my society wants mind control, like Jonestown,

Heaven’s Gate and Solar Temple.

My society wants people who will,

Do as they are ordered and die on command.

My society wants to die under its own control,

Ordering itself into oblivion of following its following.

 

But I don’t know how good my society is,

I take it for granted,

I’m spoilt rotten.

I don’t know how bad some societies are!

 

I have a major beef with my society.

For over forty years my society has been

Arguing against what I do,

Trying to get me to sign its suicide pact.

Now I’m finally taking issue

And telling my society that I’ve had enough

Of its polluting fashions

It’s been policing me with.

I’ve had enough of its attempts

To make me feel small.

I’ve had enough of its thick

Doorless brick walls!

But society is the one with the gun

And if it points that thing at me

I guess I’ll want to save my life

By doing exactly as I am told.

Society would like to live

Without ever having to suffer,

But it thinks it needs to cause

Suffering to stop suffering.

My society is an abusive relationship

That I can’t get out of.

My society wants to use me,

Then treat me like a dirty tissue.

My society is the cross between

A baby, a stationary motor car

And a domestic outburst.

My society isn’t going to exist anymore,

As it once did. It will evolve eventually,

When people stop think that society's suicidal urges

Are something to be venerated and followed.

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