Progress of Reality of Insanity

By Ron McIntyre

Satire essays on Insanity in general and some spin-offs

26 chapters and a list of macims

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Oct 7, 2010
• ISBN: 9781452072388

Ron McIntyre

40 years in construction engineering field Preparing steel fabrication drawings

Book preview

© 2010 Ron McIntyre. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 9/28/2010

ISBN: 978-1-4520-7238-8 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4520-7236-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4520-7237-1 (hc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010912432

Printed in the United States of America

This book is printed on acid-free paper.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any Web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Table of Contents

Dedication

Credits

Preface

Introduction

CHAPTER 1

Reality

CHAPTER 2

Manic Episode

CHAPTER 3

Madness

CHAPTER 4

Another Day

CHAPTER 5

Insanity

CHAPTER 6

Death

CHAPTER 7

Manic Enemies

CHAPTER 8

Remedy

CHAPTER 9

His Book

CHAPTER 10

Manic Expressions

CHAPTER 11

Progress of Thought

CHAPTER 12

Addiction

CHAPTER 13

Consequenses and Illusions

Tomorrow - The Conclusion

Other Essay’s

Return

CHAPTER 16

The Old Man

CHAPTER 18

Businessmen

CHAPTER 19

Punctuation

CHAPTER 20

The Struggle

CHAPTER 21

The Courtroom

CHAPTER 22

Dogs

CHAPTER 23

The Storm

CHAPTER 24

The Newspaper

CHAPTER 25

Maxims

Dedication

So many doctors and therapists and their total of assistants unnumbered have worked so diligently with today’s oppressed and suffering afflicted families on the nature of insanity, as complete an analysis as the times we live in can accurately grasp. It must be so trying to have your patient desperate in your office, there doesn’t exist any greater sense of urgency, no attempt at minimizing the condition by any simple trick succeeds, managing is the word of the moment, rather than making that so desperate call for help; those calls have occurred at others meaningful discretion - in all things it had to be, it was a necessary part of the all. My family has always been there before I realized any need, their volumes speak mostly of magical-hearts larger than life; beauteous rainbows on the back drift of cloudy disturbing days, they excited in me through it all a gladdened heart wrapped upon rusticated thoughts and actions sprinkled so with soft gentle caring drops; they never stopped to evaluate any reason or cost that carried absolutely no weight: To them I dedicate. Any Promised Land is only reached after crossing a wilderness first: Loyal friends carry your shout for joy God gives the manna; there is no dream in it, there is always revealed among us from heaven thunder and lightning where God rides through the streets and the insane only know. For so many tight friends and God I dedicate. A woman can create a whole new world, disband hired armies; banish ugliness from the streets with her flowered ambition turn plain meadows into beautiful landscapes then pull a man up from the hallows of hell for uses he hardly knew but return his life again. To live with the looping moods of mania; to experience any quick return to artistic ability - one that labors to color every thought and word rashly absorbing – where his flowers will preach to us pleasure, and tell us words in a way we have never heard, then crash and become suddenly afflicted with ugliness in every direction. Through the wildest train ride of delusions and psychosis, where few hang-in it is unbridled and limitless for the most, that then they share the deepest secrets of my soul;

My wrongs, my fears and thoughts, my designs

when unsuccessfully challenged, become an internal war,

and never snatches the reins of relinquished power;

this first the peaceful wife’s ambitious ways:

Happy lot of all that shine in her worldwide bliss

for non-forced compliance, or for zealous virtue,

With this dedication may Nancy live forever!

Credits

Time and space would never be possible to enumerate even the beginning of great thinkers and great writers that have cultured and measured man’s minds, celebrated his struggles not only on paper but in thought, painted his art conducted his music from the grand unnatural phenomenon and gracious in function. Honor was much more tasteful for these seeing that their death sadly all too often at their own hand a thing common among the madly talented and disturbed. These especially do deserve credit. It is from God’s own hand that talents spring, as He is the greatest originator of thought and the exceptional.

Preface

Then, if this author chances to be alive to practical reasoning he will soon observe a divide; the larger part of enlightened society into those who have not really read him among those that read words and make a meaning for themselves; those who have equally abstained from understanding him, but wish to conceal this negativeness and speak of his ‘detestable mindlessness’ with their trust in the majority which always has it’s cheering side. It is not to be supposed that a person desirous to make an agreeable impression on you would deliberately choose to insist to you, with any rhetorical sharpness, on an argument which, in any fact or vagueness, could confuse what he believes in agreement with you; absurd, and with much prejudice. Thus, let it be worse than stupid, to entertain silent suspicions of anyone hilariously turning irrational here, still worst to give it voice; such ridiculous thinking is inconsequential and founded on grounds of highly assumptuous improbabilities and some lies which a little more attention to everyday living as a guide in reasoning would show this to be completely worthless, considerate as a proof; any seemingly deliberate coincidence cannot be held to the flame of a single candle. I caution against the persuasiveness of that weighty device Emotion which might be stirred by public darkness and vain applause; it sturdily reigns over Thought, but will find its vote by defect.

But you can catch yourself entertaining regularly certain ideas and settings created only by words, which capacity to move you mark an innocent step in enlightenment toward a victory. Fundamentally literature has its driving force, a quickness to engage even the common mind, the ability to plow the ground of our very thoughts; it attracts us by what it reveals of ourselves, by how we interrupt it to our thoughts not the writers. Human life should never be driven forward by its dim belief of notions too general for its achievements, nor sloth for desire of where we are.

Introduction

Beginning mornings brings a hard-core boredom, this morning was the same; the mental hospital produced a doctor for my review with one suspender. It was for this that I found a compulsion to write. In less than no time we befriended. Rapport has an all fresh discretionary meaning now. It has been judiciously impressed on my thinking that all things are proportionate; to the degree one lacks the other will compensate until nature finds itself. Looking at my currently assigned doctor elicited in me an imminently encouraging appraisal of my condition. He got my smile.

Subject themes are a playtime; suicide and mania, madness and insanity; fascinate less than the fly over the coffee pot. It was a strange fact that Rorschach and middle school fought for my attention. I found them exclusively intertwined like two dogs over one bone, their mutual embarrassment was frightening. This was not another of the great events in life, however like the others it left me emotionally unmoved, groping for some unconsciousness, and when contemplating it became short of real. Examinations, sir, are mere humbug from beginning to end. If a man’s sanity is questioned, he by now knows it sufficiently, and if he is not excelling for it, leave him alone and he will soon enough be. He need not be told his mental qualities are less than tolerable, who is to say for that moment what the rod of measuring should be? None should volunteer as the universal medium, for great fear, upon observation, would he fall as well. One should not be too severe on the medical profession as presented here they are only a stop-gap of the intellectually practicing. They, not all are, even though seeming so, are shallow people. There must be some loyalty and even, perhaps, some fidelity, who is to say otherwise. Absurdity is not the resolute privilege of the wealthy and political to them. I don’t think. The past is of no importance as long as it remains there. The minds of doctor and patient should never align. If by mischance they should, it could never be healthy. Misfortunes are like dropped balls in outfield, not to happen in therapy. For perceptional judgment to align is less chance than the planets to align. Here, in this harbor is the last refuge of failure. Therapy is without proof, for what it is to prove it fails to understand, not only what it says, but what it intends to say is not worth the trouble of saying. Its claim is entireness and exactness; however, one thought is not sufficient to establish simple reason or unity. It is in general an isolated entity, an axis of innumerable ideas, mostly not interlocked. It struggles to perform singularly and collectively, attempting to give credence by requesting imagination, petitioning the patient to reach deep down to his inmost rooted psychic, a place past his sanity, where his utmost feelings limits the shape of his pains his sorrows and his disappointments. Be very clear, despite what anyone says, this is absolutely, unchartered territory, not to be tampered with, especially by any cosmetic fool, except be it by the hands of God the Almighty himself. Let this be understood, at this point, before continuing; that the recovery of mental afflictions, which arise out of regular and legitimate avenues, and, the more often than not, difficulties associated with them, are essential for us to secure progress, for the personal need, and those of a society as well. Civilization, without understanding, views tolerance as a threat, believing it has been lied to. A lie, of this nature, would make no sense, even in the abstract, unless it felt dangerous. Man makes true what he chooses for his advantage, real or otherwise. Vague is a word our society defers. There are few things more difficult, for a man or a society, than to appraise the health of someone mentally unsound, then, if that is done to anyone’s satisfaction, to next decide, based on something, what treatment to proceed with, if any. As advanced as we are in academics, in mental health we have hardly moved out of the stoneage, that’s offensive. There are then, few things more difficult to appraise, of a man, who suddenly, apparently for no real reason, entangles his mind from achievement to the confusions of death, the tragedies of interruption, delusions of grandeur, to extremes of paranoia and anger. Nothing can realistically be known for his minute to minute. We imagine, for some odd reason, that he is removed to some obscure and distant other place and he is, we just don’t know where. We, however, who have suffered with him, have been to this other place we know exactly where it is and what it is like being there. There is great discovery yet to be made and when it reaches a certain intensity of performance it will shed itself of the shackles’. True, there are madmen, so called, in this world, and I have been privileged to hear and observe more than one at my leisure, possessed as it has been said, with ideas and expressions and lunacy; to my clear understanding, from the very core of truth and beauty, an explicit revelation, nothing more extravagant unless from God. I too, proudly, have existed among their ranks. Where would the world be without the super colossal achievements of those so many, Beethoven and Dickens Napoleon and Van Gogh and de Vinci and Michelangelo? Paper is hardly sufficient; they were the artisans, people who could see past the instant, who could hear in their mind the great symphonies and see the paintings and sculptures, only putting to life, what they already knew. They are the core of insanity, are we to cure their illness? I fear chiefly, unless my passion is not extravagant enough, may not wander far enough beyond the narrow limits of my daily experience, so as to be adequate to the truth of which I have been convinced, that if man does not restep himself sufficiently, in line with proof, and set himself free from this evil pattern of institutionalizing and medicating; restore dignity, remove stigmas, return greatness to those who deserve; we will, without understanding or avail, create, against their want, a horrible end to what the world has extolled; to a long existence of the great minds in civilization, taking away what is shown by demonstration to produce and construct the genius of all times. We must, at all cost and application, conserve what is obviously a multifaceted reward from great God Almighty for our betterment.

Attached are the swirls unforeseen until now. The inside works of a mind condemned to the mad house more often than not. The colors of the last subjects of madness are here.

CHAPTER 1

Reality

Is not limited to what I see out my window, not always tangible or observed, yet mostly. Abstract realities exist by thoughts sometimes formed in our minds by words, ideas, thus graspable observation. Belief systems constitute more than the tangible, however all belief systems are not real. God, a center of a belief system, is either real or not, as is the devil. Other intangible realities which float near us, formless and without words; realities which no one has ever thought out and which, at present, are excluded for lack of interpreters, do, in fact, exist. The accepted definition of real, or what becomes reality, is: That of which it is possible to give an equivalent reproduction. The realism is not only what can be reproduced, but that which is always already reproduced. It is that which, when you stop believing it, does not go away. The reality in life, of thought, is that your perceptions—right or wrong—can influence everything you believe and does influence what you allow it to. When you get a proper understanding of your perceptions, which is a gradual process, you may be surprised how many other seemingly unrelated things begin to fall together, affecting something else in a domino effect, opening doors of realization, with increased recognition. It is generally an enlightening adventure, welcomed with open arms and measured with some degree of excitement. Search for true realism consists in revealing the yet unknown, which blindness keeps covered and prevents us from seeing. We must learn to tailor our concepts to fit reality, as they unfold to us, instead of trying to stuff reality into our concepts. We speak, with surety, of the three corners of visible reality; that which was seen, that which was thought to be seen, and that which was thought ought to be seen. How hard it is, sometimes, to trust the evidence of one’s physical senses! How reluctantly the mind consents to this. Yet, physical reality is less than a portion of all that is real. Both parties continue to expand. As man discoveries and creates, his mind pushes into all directions grasping more, envisioning more, evidencing more and hungering for more. Man has had an eternity of visions, of intuition, of discovery and otherwise, seeking reality. A life where his aspirations clutter with elevated discoveries, cumbersome ideas, noble and ideological actions, where he can reach for what once seemed the unattainable; and now he goes tremendously more beyond there. Here they have tried, with much success, to make imaginations come true. Yet now…we are threatened by a new and particular menace. It is not the menace of mental disturbance, of rash ideology, of improvised intellect, of illiterate bitterness, or religious superstition, though these do now, perilously, plague most of man. It is in the full, at this time, the threat of the reality of man’s death, his imminent end, of those that have brought ruin to his home that is most threatening.

Man spurns himself own; to achieve is by learning, learning by study, yet, study is by achieving; what, by surface appearance, is in fact a circle, and under the microscope, is a spiraling one, upward, that on its own increases his field of his reality, at an ever increasing pace. Increased range of reality; suffers man into untraveled worlds, evidencing new and unshakable laws, particularly natural; challenges and conquest beyond his now known and perceived consciousness. Discovery, of all nature, will fall into the spiral, following and building on others achievements. There will always exist more spirals at his disposal than the first, some are for disguise, some diminutive, yet always existing; no branch of realistic discovery ever completes itself, never turns direction; it will engender spinoffs; even these become a new nature, unique to themselves, new discoveries, following the same dynamic force; nothing new to reality only a new perception to man. Expanding mans reality, no, expanding his concept of reality; merely revealing to him a segment of the complete reality, heretofore he had no concept of; to the largest part, had no imagination of or cause for, and sadly, as though the ages, would have strongly doubted. This thing doubt; it is what stumps the growth of man’s concepts, sternly and forcefully; thus his growth on all faces. Yesterday and tomorrow are as part of reality as this moment; logic and force prove it so; mental faculties reach back to grab recollections of childhood, though they be bitter, and all the more so; like drawing fish from a pool, moment by moment, until, we fill a biography, of one foolish person, who, in reality, is a miniature paraphrase of the billion volumes of the Universal History. It was, yesterday, that is, so full of life, eager to irritate us, provoke and insult us, temp us to destroy or repaint it. The reason people want to be masters of their future is to change the past. The tomorrow; a distillation of all yesterdays, an afterthought, if you will; the result of today’s audition; the ancestor of today’s speculation; the profoundest thought or passion which sleeps, now, in this hour; the thing conceived of as a certain demonsratable force, today, by whose impulses we are guided, the will; that safe and chilly place where recalling today will be as to force open a crammed drawer, to search for today, and not finding it something falls out at the back that is often more interesting.

Lovers come closer to pricking the fierce reserves of the unity of physical, emotional and psyche with their uninhibited finger tips than man with all his threats of reserves of destruction. They descend into the secrets unimaginable, and, by nature, unmentionable; night and morning the hour fits their call, inflicting fire and rage, breaking all known limits, then again; emancipating each other, raising and lowering all flags, careening, with dizziness in a low voice; the avarice by nature; learning to live, expanding their feel for reality, and fulfilling its course; an item, they believe, invented by God; and now with increased appreciation for his benevolence. The reality of man’s basic emotions has, above everything, experienced and cuddled disaster upon itself, person after person, era after era; seeming to be left in the dark, discovering it all over again, failing and failing. We only improve so far, then we expire and the next generation starts fresh. Until there is a noticeable breakthrough; until either an individual, a segment or group can pull themselves up pass the recognized limit can any improvement happen. If that should happen, and history tells us it will, then man will explode the emotion flood-gates; overload him with passions and enthusiasms and experiences unimaginable, or he will simply destroy himself.

CHAPTER 2

Manic Episode

You are in life, yet not an actual part of it, it exist on a far different plane, you seem totally removed and are, you have miseries that the ordinary man has not imagined and cannot and will never know, you’re thinking confuses them, your moods are far outside the extreme levels of fantasy, and it