User:MathPoet/What It's About

From Wackypedia
Jump to: navigation, search

What It's About[edit]

Warning: This article is trying to be way too serious.

It's about crazy people. They are the true majority. They're just too proud to admit it, usually. Did you know there were so many Gods or diseases? They go hand in hand, you know. So it makes sense that so many of us own cats. I cannot tell you the secret about cats. Mine can weather any psychosis and knows when to hide so as not to interfere with the random violence.

When I met God, I was really an Atari Pong game. I tried not to let a guilty thought get past me. If I did, the consequences were disastrous. Some people find Jesus, some find Benson, others, like me, need a direct IV of holy saline. Those voices settle in like a long winter. When they become true, you can't resist. That's the difficulty. You finally get accustomed to them, and God changes, and you know it but cannot articulate it. No one can. Mine is a large ball of green dots that surrounds me in every direction.

The voices have their place. Watch for the angels and demons to disappear. They will as you reach a new level "crazy". You will no longer need them.

Sanity is so overrated. It's the things you learn after you already know everything that are important. You learn to laugh at yourself. You learn not to cut your own balls off, though you've been well-trained to do so. You learn to fear the shaming from women. And you learn to fear the shaming from men, too. "Reality" therapy, they call it. And I try to stay with it - the "process". But I'm still holding with the secret schizophrenics. (They're the psychiatrists who've come up with all the theory.)

As I said, watch out for the crazies. We are everywhere. We are the Advance Guard in opposition to the attack of the squirrels. You'll see. Someone told me just that, just as the voice told me so long ago to go up to the altar and "pray the prayer". I believed the voice, and that changed everything.

I lose friends. I do not find a home among the sane. I do not find a God that needs others to believe in it. And I have no description for what I do believe, except in terms of what it is not real and what it is beyond real.

It is said that The Son of Man has no place to lay his head (I can't supply the reference), but this makes sense now: the virgin birth, the Magi with their gifts. I understand these things because of the wilderness. Crazy as a loon, and proud of it... sometimes. And it's enough, more and more, these days.

Merry Christmas, get it?