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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
bob@dr-bob.orgShown: posts 1 to 5 of 5. This is the beginning of the thread.
Posted by Atticus on December 5, 2004, at 22:03:30
Blue-Flame Propane
Flickering licks of
Blue-flame propane
Light eye-socket rockets
Fixed on the N train,
Feel warm and fuzzy,
It’s fun being insane,
Ideas like fire ants
Swarm across my nest brain,
Manic magic mojo’s workin’,
Sacred and the profane,
No sharp sweet sliced
Raw-as-sushi soul pain,
Don’t want to hear it,
Not my cup of red rain,
On the excess express
Dressed up in the inane,
Head’s topped off with
A spiky punk lion’s mane,
Ain’t a g*ddamn thing
From which I’d refrain,
Got no blues to lose,
Got everything to gain,
Harley-booted burnin’ bush
Jerkin’ on the Moses chain,
Make my own fool’s rules
’Til only fools remain,
Tap dance up subway steps
Into the sooty sun again,
Flaring bright, neon at night,
Urban comet, soon to wane.
-- Atticus
Posted by Jai Narayan on December 9, 2004, at 16:53:12
In reply to poem ... Blue-Flame Propane, posted by Atticus on December 5, 2004, at 22:03:30
I could totally be wrong but
I don't think I have every been manic.okay sometimes I feel just a little jealous
I hope you forgive me Atticus
Jai
Posted by Atticus on December 9, 2004, at 17:15:01
In reply to Re: poem ... Blue-Flame Propane, posted by Jai Narayan on December 9, 2004, at 16:53:12
I've tried to capture what the depressive cycle of my bipolar disorder feels like as it's coming on and once it's here in many past pieces. A lot of other posters who are unipolar or bipolar have done the same. But this poem is the first time I've tried to capture lightning in a bottle and express the crackling energy of one of my hypomanic periods. I just have this need to do, do, do, and move, move, move, and create, create, create. The dance up the steps from the subway to the surface is meant to be symbolic of the psychological rise I feel when this happens. This one literally came on overnight. I do have to try my best to watch myself so I don't do anything foolish or dangerous. This is a period of absolute fearlessness and a need for constant socialization. On the good side, my disability check came today, so tomorrow I can buy oil paints! The canvas (3 feet by 3 feet) is all gessoed and set up on my easel and ready to go! Ka-blam! Ta. ;) Atticus
Posted by Jai Narayan on December 10, 2004, at 7:49:31
In reply to Re: poem ... Blue-Flame Propane » Jai Narayan, posted by Atticus on December 9, 2004, at 17:15:01
I remember when my mother and sister were manic.
They were on fire.
Everything was heightened....
my mother described her experiences and it made me think of mushrooms and acid.
The only difference was she couldn't come down after a short amount of time.
When she finally came down she'd crash.
It seems one follows the other.Atticus, it's so gooOOOOoood to have you back on writing babble.
jA*
Posted by Atticus on December 10, 2004, at 10:30:37
In reply to Re: poem ... Blue-Flame Propane, posted by Jai Narayan on December 10, 2004, at 7:49:31
Yeah, if I were of a mind to be concerned about anything right now, it would be that. I see falling into a depressive state as akin to tumbling into a 500-foot deep pit. I see falling into a depressive state from a hypomanic state as akin to falling into that same pit after tumbling out of an airplane traveling at supersonic speed above the clouds. Landing hurts a lot more. Atticus
This is the end of the thread.
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