The past isn’t prologue, it’s nothing¹;
Nothing but seemingly haunting.
Bitter and daunting,
An evil marauding
As a whisper pursuing your core.
Do you see?
Could you see?
Would you be willing to see
Me? Or what I see
At least;
Released into terror by oculogyric crisis².
Drugged through terror by human devices.
Twisting and retching,
While violently fetching the key to inner’s door–
The subconscious General Store
Once was run by Mom and Pop
‘Til Pop popped Mom and then popped Pop.
They left alone a frightened soul
Not bitten by culture, just swallowed whole
To churn in bile, corrosive fluids,
While dreaming of Jesus and ancient ruins,
And hiding amongst the early druids
Until crucified upside down,
Next to a verb-like noun.
“Don’t be different, different’s scary!”
Different’s something quite contrary
To the ordinary norms,
Beware the deviant storms,
They always come in hoards,
Making less, their deviation–
Debates do cause frustration.
Judging, judging, judging folk,
Labels shoved straight down the throat,
Rebounding back from stomach’s turn,
Regardless of how firm or stern
Society may be,
But you say, “I’m free.”
Think again, and have a swallow,
First you jump and then you follow,
Right down the path of madness,
Which isn’t really madness,
It’s really more than madness,
Because it isn’t madness.
This madness brings on sadness
Of the masses charged with madness.
And on and on and on it goes,
Cyclical wonders and ancient foes,
Meeting up and shedding blood,
Building arks to bait the flood.
Innocent victims and their worth
Are dollar signs all bathed in mirth;
Brain shock and lobotomy.
Hey did you just follow me?
I was just . . .
I was just . . .
I was just . . .
. . . somewhere . . .
What was I saying, ah, zap me right here.
There, that’s much . . .
That’s much . . .
That much I know.
Where’s my Haldol?
Cures: they fix, they mend,
They break.
Sorry, our mistake.
Just remember (bad priorities,
All the money plus the glory):
The past isn’t prologue, it’s naught.
No wonder we’re all so distraught.

¹”The past isn’t prologue, it’s nothing,” is a quote summing up a statement by a misguided (in this author’s view) psychiatrist who denies that childhood experiences affect the personality of the adult. Note: Peter Breggin authored the book, but wasn’t the voice behind the ignorant statement.
Breggin, Peter R., M.D.Toxic Psychiatry. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1994.
²Oculogyric crisis is a condition where the eyes roll back into the skull and lock into place; associated with the use of Neuroleptic drugs.


If you enjoyed this poem, you might also like some of these other great ones, too!

The Grand Show

Without a Plan

Lonely Horseman


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.