Fine Line
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I’ve heard there’s a fine line between genius and madness
But the thing about my madness is that it feels just like brilliance
So I guess that’s the genius of the complexity in all of this
Having me walk a fine line that I’m not sure quite exist
Am I really that mad or just ahead of all the rest
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That's how I can get confused on the difference between madness and genius
Like if genius is showing the world something new that it has never experienced
Taking that which had only been known as false and turning it into fact
If that’s the case then my crazy madness they call mania is exactly that
This maddening mania of mine takes control of me and won’t give it back
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It takes me into the spin where my world becomes manically unhinged
Making me follow maddening clues in my head that I’m unable to comprehend
Taking me on a journey of enlightenment that seemingly has no beginning or end
Where the madness reveals the brilliance in everything all around
Allowing for the genius of the simplicity in it all to be found
Like walking on both sides of an imaginary fine line on the ground
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I’ve heard there’s a fine line between genius and madness
Now you’ve seen how my madness can feel just like brilliance
How there is genius in the complexity of the simplicity within all of this
Having us all walk that fine line that I’m not sure quite exist
Am I really that mad or just like all of the rest
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Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!
Coming Correct,
d01roK
Friday, May 27, 2011
Friday, May 20, 2011
Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 19
I was Facebook stalking the other day (how else am I suppose to efficiently keep track on all my ex’s) when I stumbled upon an old photo which instantly made me start cracking up. This wasn’t necessarily because of the picture itself but more the back story behind it. First thing first though, have a look at the picture I’m talking about:
I have no idea how to properly tell this story so I’m just going to do it by fulfilling a childhood fantasy.
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July 2006 Issue
Dear Penthouse,
I never thought I’d be one of those guys writing into you but I had to share this story. I’ve been dating this smoking hot southern belle who is the forward type if you know what I mean (she grabs my junk a lot in public if you didn’t). Anyways one night we get home and she pulls me through my apartment door and into my bedroom. Before I have any time to react she has my pants unzipped and with the utmost southern hospitality is saying hello to my junk. Well of course I take the gentleman high road and allow her to finish their conversation down there. About half way through she starts to laugh; mind you my junk is in her mouth at this time (awkward to say the least). I asked what the matter was and she insisted nothing and continued on with her thorough conversation. A few moments later she starts to crack up hysterically once again so I look down and say:
“What the hell? What’s so funny and don’t say nothing. I mean my dick is in your mouth and you’re cracking up; it’s starting to give me a damn complex!”
She responds:
“You’re just standing so gay with your hand on your hip, leg straight out, and head titled up to the side in the air, every time I look up I start laughing.”
Needless to say we finished things up lying on the bed and I’ll no longer be trying that standing position any time soon.
Ashamed in Atlanta,
Derek
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You can imagine I wasn’t really proud of this moment in my life at the time and really didn’t want the story to get out. I however felt it was my moral responsibility to at least tell my best friend the story, of course trusting that he wouldn’t tell anyone. What is a best friend good for other than to keep vulnerable/embarrassing secrets right? Apparently they are also good for spreading the word because the next time I visited Browntown and walked into the bar the bartenders, bouncers, dj, and even some patrons were all standing so gay with their hands on their hips, legs straight out and their heads tilted up in the air (see photo evidence above). It was hilarious and I definitely have trust issues with my friends but who doesn’t, I mean they’re just looking out for you. You trust them to not allow you to do that dumb shit again by making ridiculous fun of you.
I wish I had that type of trust issue with my docs now; unfortunately my trust issue with them is simply that I don’t trust that they have my interests at the top of their priority list when we meet. A lot of times I don’t feel like my needs are the ones that the doc’s have the most concern with. I surely don’t expect them to take their work home and dwell over their patients but a little effort once every 6-8 weeks for 45 minutes with me shouldn’t be too much to ask. I don’t know, I’m probably venting a little bit here because I had a real bad meeting last week with the docs. But once again I feel like the new toy feel has rubbed off of me to the docs and I’m just another client for them to routinely treat (it can really make me miss my Dear Penthouse days).
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!
Coming Correct,
d01roK
I have no idea how to properly tell this story so I’m just going to do it by fulfilling a childhood fantasy.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
July 2006 Issue
Dear Penthouse,
I never thought I’d be one of those guys writing into you but I had to share this story. I’ve been dating this smoking hot southern belle who is the forward type if you know what I mean (she grabs my junk a lot in public if you didn’t). Anyways one night we get home and she pulls me through my apartment door and into my bedroom. Before I have any time to react she has my pants unzipped and with the utmost southern hospitality is saying hello to my junk. Well of course I take the gentleman high road and allow her to finish their conversation down there. About half way through she starts to laugh; mind you my junk is in her mouth at this time (awkward to say the least). I asked what the matter was and she insisted nothing and continued on with her thorough conversation. A few moments later she starts to crack up hysterically once again so I look down and say:
“What the hell? What’s so funny and don’t say nothing. I mean my dick is in your mouth and you’re cracking up; it’s starting to give me a damn complex!”
She responds:
“You’re just standing so gay with your hand on your hip, leg straight out, and head titled up to the side in the air, every time I look up I start laughing.”
Needless to say we finished things up lying on the bed and I’ll no longer be trying that standing position any time soon.
Ashamed in Atlanta,
Derek
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
You can imagine I wasn’t really proud of this moment in my life at the time and really didn’t want the story to get out. I however felt it was my moral responsibility to at least tell my best friend the story, of course trusting that he wouldn’t tell anyone. What is a best friend good for other than to keep vulnerable/embarrassing secrets right? Apparently they are also good for spreading the word because the next time I visited Browntown and walked into the bar the bartenders, bouncers, dj, and even some patrons were all standing so gay with their hands on their hips, legs straight out and their heads tilted up in the air (see photo evidence above). It was hilarious and I definitely have trust issues with my friends but who doesn’t, I mean they’re just looking out for you. You trust them to not allow you to do that dumb shit again by making ridiculous fun of you.
I wish I had that type of trust issue with my docs now; unfortunately my trust issue with them is simply that I don’t trust that they have my interests at the top of their priority list when we meet. A lot of times I don’t feel like my needs are the ones that the doc’s have the most concern with. I surely don’t expect them to take their work home and dwell over their patients but a little effort once every 6-8 weeks for 45 minutes with me shouldn’t be too much to ask. I don’t know, I’m probably venting a little bit here because I had a real bad meeting last week with the docs. But once again I feel like the new toy feel has rubbed off of me to the docs and I’m just another client for them to routinely treat (it can really make me miss my Dear Penthouse days).
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!
Coming Correct,
d01roK
Friday, May 13, 2011
Life full of mania with a dash of humor and a slice of normality (those are the secret ingredients) Vol 3 Issue 18
A wise man once said:
“Find a girl that loves to have sex, because then once you’re married she'll still actually want to have sex.”
I heard this quote just a few months after my first (and kind of pathetically) only girlfriend up to that point decided to trade me in for a newer model. I took the breakup not so good and was looking for some solace of some sort. It was the summer of my sophomore year in college and I had always been under the assumption that I was different in some way from my gf (and everyone else for that matter due to my limited exposure) because I seemingly always wanted to have sex and she didn’t.
So of course when I heard this piece of golden knowledge above I decided to test the theory out for myself and hopefully find the solace I was looking for in a physical form. Well come to find out that there are a number of young ladies out there that share a love for sex as much as me (awesome). And needless to say it felt great to find others who were “different” like me; almost like I wasn’t the different one.
So back in Denver when I first awoke in the Porter Hospital Psych Ward I was completely out of it and convinced I was placed in some kind of governmental hiding/protection program (don’t you hate it when that happens). But after a couple days I was able to come out of my delusions and step back into reality enough to realize that I was committed. I’m not sure how someone is supposed to feel when they come to this realization. Would shame be the appropriate feeling? What about embarrassment? Or maybe even disappointment? Suggestions anyone?
But the weird thing was that I didn’t feel any of those feelings and still don’t to this day. I almost felt a calm and peace with the entire situation, like I was meant to be there. I knew, and still know to this day, that those two weeks in the wards will always make me different, even if it doesn’t really make me feel different. I’ve contemplated this for awhile and have been trying to put my finger on why this would happen.
I think I figured it out sometime last week when I was cruising around (Jeep wave) and that reasoning is that the very thing that made me different was what made me the same in there (just like sex did back in the day, see where I’m going with this). My days in the wards (especially in Southside! due to holiday limited staffing) were mostly filled with free time. Which to psych ward patients isn’t always the best thing (I really didn’t need any more time to think, I was all good with my manic racing thoughts as it was) so you end up spending the majority of your time with the other patients. I literally didn’t even see my ward’s doc in The Nasty until the day before I was released and so this inevitably causes you to lean on each other.
I mean who else can better understand what hell you have just been through than the ones who were walking in it along side with you? We only had each other in there to get better because we are the only ones who understood how to get back. So maybe it’s what made me different that made me feel so at home in the wards, because what was different was all around me.
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!
Coming Correct,
d01roK
“Find a girl that loves to have sex, because then once you’re married she'll still actually want to have sex.”
I heard this quote just a few months after my first (and kind of pathetically) only girlfriend up to that point decided to trade me in for a newer model. I took the breakup not so good and was looking for some solace of some sort. It was the summer of my sophomore year in college and I had always been under the assumption that I was different in some way from my gf (and everyone else for that matter due to my limited exposure) because I seemingly always wanted to have sex and she didn’t.
So of course when I heard this piece of golden knowledge above I decided to test the theory out for myself and hopefully find the solace I was looking for in a physical form. Well come to find out that there are a number of young ladies out there that share a love for sex as much as me (awesome). And needless to say it felt great to find others who were “different” like me; almost like I wasn’t the different one.
So back in Denver when I first awoke in the Porter Hospital Psych Ward I was completely out of it and convinced I was placed in some kind of governmental hiding/protection program (don’t you hate it when that happens). But after a couple days I was able to come out of my delusions and step back into reality enough to realize that I was committed. I’m not sure how someone is supposed to feel when they come to this realization. Would shame be the appropriate feeling? What about embarrassment? Or maybe even disappointment? Suggestions anyone?
But the weird thing was that I didn’t feel any of those feelings and still don’t to this day. I almost felt a calm and peace with the entire situation, like I was meant to be there. I knew, and still know to this day, that those two weeks in the wards will always make me different, even if it doesn’t really make me feel different. I’ve contemplated this for awhile and have been trying to put my finger on why this would happen.
I think I figured it out sometime last week when I was cruising around (Jeep wave) and that reasoning is that the very thing that made me different was what made me the same in there (just like sex did back in the day, see where I’m going with this). My days in the wards (especially in Southside! due to holiday limited staffing) were mostly filled with free time. Which to psych ward patients isn’t always the best thing (I really didn’t need any more time to think, I was all good with my manic racing thoughts as it was) so you end up spending the majority of your time with the other patients. I literally didn’t even see my ward’s doc in The Nasty until the day before I was released and so this inevitably causes you to lean on each other.
I mean who else can better understand what hell you have just been through than the ones who were walking in it along side with you? We only had each other in there to get better because we are the only ones who understood how to get back. So maybe it’s what made me different that made me feel so at home in the wards, because what was different was all around me.
Since many of my manic experiences involve music I’ve decided to add random music videos to the blog for my enjoyment and your inconvenience. Enjoy!
Coming Correct,
d01roK
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