Scarred by the vision

tremors

Scarred by the vision, legs flailing it took ten of em
to knock me out
Drawing strength from God and the serpent's tongue
came round locked up, caged-in, literally, deep in the heart of the city - underground the ceiling a lattice over my head as I looked up I saw the belly of the cars drive on past - cried out upwards for rescue
and I fought them still, clothed in plastic suit drenching in blood and sweat
Handcuff burns on my wrists where I'd nearly fuckin slipped them
Ha that would've defied the laws of physics even more than my fighting
Cage writhed with astral bodies and animations painted on the walls
me the only substantial could see flat things ride the concrete. I felt around it, they watched me. I did limbo dance under their next advance, spirits came freely, the hour opened up for them
Still strength from Jesus only, and the serpent's tongue
And the women I saw, tooled up but there to contain me with some calm
It was true, I couldn't fight them
Down the only exit round the corridor there were rows of hulking men with sticks
Shudder if you like, I certainly did
No escape as the shouting from the inner cells grew stronger weirder. Today I laugh when I hear that was named 'Place of Safety'
I passed out again

And so today I do so relish
the peace and the quiet

pandora

mmm... I'm scared I can see how you could be scarred...
something that stays

awesome great writing t ... imagery was so good and so very powerful
I felt like I was there

tugs at my freedom my need and love for it

well done!

tremors

Thanks Pandi. Writing here does help me to piece fragments of my memory together. I guess a large part of what I have written here this past year would be kinda in the tradition of 'survivor poetry'. I might at some point collect the good parts together, and try and do something with it.....

pandora

tremors wrote:

Thanks Pandi. Writing here does help me to piece fragments of my memory together. I guess a large part of what I have written here this past year would technically be known as 'survivor poetry'. I might at some point collect the good parts together, and try and do something with it.....

Well you'll have a lot to put together...it is all good!

'survivor poetry' helps others who relate, I know you are a caring person and this has
meaning for you.

I wrote a little almost 40 years ago, never saved any of it, wish I had now.

It is new to me to write but I find myself knowing me a lot better and feeling everything that
effects me more. I like that, it seems to be the right thing for me to do, bring the feelings
into words.

JB and the kids are collecting the ones they like ... I guess for when the Mama is dead and gone.

That actually makes me feel really good knowing they will be connected to me
in my feelings and words. They seem to be learning some along the way with me too

tremors

That's great. Enough said

pandora

tremors wrote:

That's great. Enough said

:thumbup:

rollings

tremors wrote:

Scarred by the vision, legs flailing it took ten of em
to knock me out
Drawing strength from God and the serpent's tongue
came round locked up, caged-in, literally, deep in the heart of the city - underground the ceiling a lattice over my head as I looked up I saw the belly of the cars drive on past - cried out upwards for rescue
and I fought them still, clothed in plastic suit drenching in blood and sweat
Handcuff burns on my wrists where I'd nearly fuckin slipped them
Ha that would've defied the laws of physics even more than my fighting
Cage writhed with astral bodies and animations painted on the walls
me the only substantial could see flat things ride the concrete. I felt around it, they watched me. I did limbo dance under their next advance, spirits came freely, the hour opened up for them
Still strength from Jesus only, and the serpent's tongue
And the women I saw, tooled up but there to contain me with some calm
It was true, I couldn't fight them
Down the only exit round the corridor there were rows of hulking men with sticks
Shudder if you like, I certainly did
No escape as the shouting from the inner cells grew stronger weirder. Today I laugh when I hear that was named 'Place of Safety'
I passed out again

And so today I do so relish
the peace and the quiet

that's some experience, wow
and some very good writing
the calm of women
you did limbo dance under their next advance
seem like barely human, huh?
them--of course--not you
or barely human was THEIR scarred vision

I hardly ever see "critiques" offered up here on the forum,
but this just jumped out at me, the part where you say
that your almost slipping them would have defied the laws
of physics even more than your "fighting".
if that "limbo dance" part replaced fighting, wouldn't that be striking?
"Ha that would've defied the laws of physics even more than my limbo dance...."etc.
Since it jumped out at me, I had to mention it.

Wow, though, Tremors

tremors

Thanks Rollings for your thoughtful words as ever. I can see what you mean about the limbo line, you are probably right. I don't think I will change it though, because I was really just trying to capture the essence of the experience, as it came to me and it was the fighting which was most superhuman

The whole thing is kind of an extreme, and thank goodness, not likely to be repeated. In my defence I was actually only trying to defend myself - I never struck a blow, but had people in uniform trying to knock me out, and I've trained in kung fu, so it wasn't a pretty occasion all around.

I keep thinking a lot currently about the 'vision' part of my experience, and how badly society currently can deal with that. I've been thinking about shamanic cultures, severed hand type stuff, the book of revelation..... throughout human history people have had 'visions' - only today, the state responds to them with force and violence. As part of my work I'm thinking about the use of force within the mental health system, and better ways of containing people. It's a difficult one - with lots of sides to it. But violence breeds violence, and if you use force and violence with someone who is unwell, no good will come of it I don't believe - they need care, empathy and compassion. Easier said than done though sometimes. I don't know the answer, but we should keep working on it as a society I think.

mysticweed

tremors wrote:

Scarred by the vision, legs flailing it took ten of em
to knock me out
Drawing strength from God and the serpent's tongue
came round locked up, caged-in, literally, deep in the heart of the city - underground the ceiling a lattice over my head as I looked up I saw the belly of the cars drive on past - cried out upwards for rescue
and I fought them still, clothed in plastic suit drenching in blood and sweat
Handcuff burns on my wrists where I'd nearly fuckin slipped them
Ha that would've defied the laws of physics even more than my fighting
Cage writhed with astral bodies and animations painted on the walls
me the only substantial could see flat things ride the concrete. I felt around it, they watched me. I did limbo dance under their next advance, spirits came freely, the hour opened up for them
Still strength from Jesus only, and the serpent's tongue
And the women I saw, tooled up but there to contain me with some calm
It was true, I couldn't fight them
Down the only exit round the corridor there were rows of hulking men with sticks
Shudder if you like, I certainly did
No escape as the shouting from the inner cells grew stronger weirder. Today I laugh when I hear that was named 'Place of Safety'
I passed out again

And so today I do so relish
the peace and the quiet

what the fuck did they do to you?
fucking safety zone?
fucking "doctors"
first do no fucking harm
my ass

tremors

AbsoLutAngel wrote:

what the fuck did they do to you?
fucking safety zone?
fucking "doctors"
first do no fucking harm
my ass

Well I don't entirely blame them, because I was in the middle of an episode of psychosis - and there were already astral bodies and animations all over the place before the police got involved. This poem describes only police, no doctors, and a part of the police station given over to mental health. What I do blame them for though, and am deeply bitter about, is them using such force and violence on someone in that state, and trying to drag them off the street aggressively. I didn't know what was going on, and so I defended myself, and it escalated way beyond reason because they had no alternative strategy. They Maced me and Maced me and Maced me, and kicked me about, and they didn't know what to do when I kept getting back up and resisting. You've got to bear in mind I was possessed with almost superhuman energy after they attacked me in that state. I could never have imagined the sheer amount of pain and brute force I was able to overcome in those moments - and I don't think they could either. I could never do that in a normal state - I would have just crumpled. How they treated me was really bad though - and the authorities need to rethink how they deal with people in altered states. There was no attempt to pacify me with any skill or sophistication, only truncheons and CS gas. They eventually knocked me out by almost breaking my leg, for which I had to have major surgery some weeks later, and still have a big scar, and pain where they buckled my kneecap. Imagine attacking someone who was having a bad LSD trip like that - it's very damaging and traumatising. On the other hand, I was roaming the streets saying strange things, so they probably did need to find a way of getting me to that 'place of safety'. Like I say, in my work and my own thinking we're trying to imagine some more sophisticated ways of engaging with people with psychosis, because currently the system is fucked, and it's barbaric.

:evil: rant over

chadwick

i would enjoy chilling-out with you from time to time, where we would talk about writing poetry, living poetry actually. i m inclined to believe that that is what a deep poetic natured soul does, they breathe in and they breathe out poetry even when in silence, like in restful or restless nights or happily among calmness and gloomy sadness, anger as well though too.

i throughly admire your honest depth.

it seems to me that writers and other creative folk do best at their craft when alone. i do not know exactly where i am going with this statement other than... you inspire us

tremors

Chadwick - here is a quote I posted to this forum what seems a lifetime ago now. Back then this was some really desperate distant dream, from the place I was posting - but in the times in between there have been moments where I have felt close to this, including here in this forum.


Here are the things that would make me happy. I do not desire others.
I want a room of my own where I can work. A room not particularly
clean or tidy...but comfortable, cosy and familiar. With an atmosphere
rich with smoke and the smell of old books and unidentifiable smells...
I want respectable clothes that are well worn and a pair of old shoes.
I want a shower in summer and a fine wood fire in winter.
I want a home where I can be myself.
I want a few good friends who are as familiar to me as life itself;
friends with whom it is not necessary to be polite and who will tell me
all their troubles; friends able to quote Aristotle and recount racy tales,
who have their own beliefs and respect mine.
I want a good cook who knows how to make delicious soups
and an old servant who thinks I am a great man, without knowing exactly
what my greatness may be built on.
I want a good library, good cigars and a woman who understands me
and leaves me to get on with my work.
I want the freedom to be myself.

Lin Yutang

mysticweed

potato - potahto
the abuse of power is the same
be it gratuitous force as in the overkill you've described
or like eric's doctor "let's try anotherfucked up drug for the fuck of it and when it you end up in the ER
again
i'll just blame you"
again

rant over

((remember, my heart loves your heart)

tremors wrote:

AbsoLutAngel wrote:

what the fuck did they do to you?
fucking safety zone?
fucking "doctors"
first do no fucking harm
my ass

Well I don't entirely blame them, because I was in the middle of an episode of psychosis - and there were already astral bodies and animations all over the place before the police got involved. This poem describes only police, no doctors, and a part of the police station given over to mental health. What I do blame them for though, and am deeply bitter about, is them using such force and violence on someone in that state, and trying to drag them off the street aggressively. I didn't know what was going on, and so I defended myself, and it escalated way beyond reason because they had no alternative strategy. They Maced me and Maced me and Maced me, and kicked me about, and they didn't know what to do when I kept getting back up and resisting. You've got to bear in mind I was possessed with almost superhuman energy after they attacked me in that state. I could never have imagined the sheer amount of pain and brute force I was able to overcome in those moments - and I don't think they could either. I could never do that in a normal state - I would have just crumpled. How they treated me was really bad though - and the authorities need to rethink how they deal with people in altered states. There was no attempt to pacify me with any skill or sophistication, only truncheons and CS gas. They eventually knocked me out by almost breaking my leg, for which I had to have major surgery some weeks later, and still have a big scar, and pain where they buckled my kneecap. Imagine attacking someone who was having a bad LSD trip like that - it's very damaging and traumatising. On the other hand, I was roaming the streets saying strange things, so they probably did need to find a way of getting me to that 'place of safety'. Like I say, in my work and my own thinking we're trying to imagine some more sophisticated ways of engaging with people with psychosis, because currently the system is fucked, and it's barbaric.

:evil: rant over