052520

"L’homme est malade parce qu’il est mal
construit.
Il faut se décider à le mettre à nu pour lui grat-
ter cet animalcule qui le démange mortelle-
ment,
dieu,
et avec dieu
ses organes."

-Antonin Artaud.

The world of doctors develops normally outside, silencing the so harmful, so terrible imagination. Because they long forgot to dream, long forgot what is dream; It was said that imagination is larger in kids, greater in value and joy than that of the docile human adult, this however, turns to be false. Children do not posses larger imaginative capacities than those of adults just because these are adults, its their docile character what causes this great schism, beacuse a world that doesn't need to picture itself, that doesn't question its inner workings, surely does NOT need to dream.

This all disgusts me, but what doesn't?

Year af

ter year, the world just

keeps        getting

worse.

After the body dreamt, after it stopped dreaming and left the mind to partake in it, after the mind torn itself apart from logic and rational systems and after these systems responded, the disgraceful society of doctors, that which with its infectious ABCs and nauseating 2+2 have stabbed to death imagination and with it, stabbed right in the heart the very purpose in life.

W

 h

  a

   t is this purpose?

To object reality to its core. To damn the black sheep for still believing in sheeps. To argue against God in defense of divinity.

To comprehend the real world, synthesis of dream and alert. To be on-top-of-the-real, suprarrealists. Surrealists.

Many have the doctors condemned. Not only did violence happen but we happened to walk upon the bloodiests centuries in Earth, experienced and watched the misery, the destruction, the lead, the bone desert that we humans feel so safe within, because when confronted between the infinite outside and the minuscule inside, Man chose the inside, he built with bone, ash and steel, damning the dirt and burning the wood. Those who chose the stars and the inner colours of the Being were disgraced. The doctors categorised them -as their vomit-inducing logic tells them to- and sent them away to the big manors of old, called them demented and left them to their luck.

But me? I who lived through a thousand lives, who walked a million miles and who choked on hundred smokes, I give it a different name.

Doctors will say I'm crazy -how I hate that word-, will say that I suffer, Borderline, Anxiety, Depression, Dementia.

For me? Apocalypsia.