Courage My Love
Always See Everything.
Do you ever get the feeling that you should be able to fast forward 5 or 10 years into the future and see how badly you’ve fucked up? Sometimes, if I’ve done enough acid, I can see the future… then I become depressed.
There are definitely times I do think I’m crazy though. Like last week for example. I was at this party and some pretty little dove comes over and starts chatting it up. It’s not every day that a good-looking bird shows some interest in a guy who won't accept that the dark and mysterious look died with Jim Morrison. So what does yours truly do? I start laughing. It starts out as a normal, hearty laugh; which is strange in itself since she had only asked me my name. But the more uncomfortable she gets, the louder I become.
It’s not long before tears are streaming down my face and my maniacal laughter has attracted the attention of half the party. The pretty dove quickly flees the room and I suddenly can’t remember what was so funny in the first place. Tears of joy can only keep their name as long as the smile stays on your face. I definitely didn’t have anything to smile about. Poor little dove… it’s not you, it’s me… I’m just a little crazy.
Hey, how do you know if you’re insane? I mean, do crazy people know they’re crazy? I'm pretty sure I don't actually believe I’m nuts…but I did believe that I was a character in some unknown movie for a while a couple years back. I had just seen the film with that funny fellow, you know the one, he's got all the funny faces (now there’s someone who should be able to tell us if crazy people know they’re crazy!) Well, he did that film about being on a 24 hour a day TV show and it made me wonder whether someone had used it to give me a clue. So later that day, I walked right into the middle of Broadway Street thinking that the cars would either stop or swerve around me.
I don’t remember being hit by the car but the cast on my leg proves it. They say I was lucky to have gotten off so easily and to still be alive. Meh… I got free morphine out of it so what the fuck. But I’m still not convinced that I’m crazy… though being locked in this white padded room is making a convincing argument. It took me 2 fucking days to get these assholes to give me a crayon and some paper. What the hell do they think I’m gonna do, paper cut myself to death? But for the most part, the doctors here are alright, they say that I just had a little nervous breakdown, due to all the drugs and what not, but that I should be able to go home in a couple of days; so that sounds promising.
Then again...I heard them saying the same thing to some old fat guy named Earl who thinks he’s god.
…I think I might be god.
(Note: Although this novel is a work of fiction, many of the storylines I plan on using will be influenced, at least in part, by the tales I heard from 2 British mental-hospital security workers as we drank our way up and down the Australian east-coast.)