Light of Experience, by Neil Carter

8/14/2019 Light of Experience, by Neil Carter

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2009 eil Carter (Text and Images)

Rendered into digital format by Frater Pyramidatus


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Night Jazz black leather chrome song. Summer night chanting chanting

moonlight moon vibe people calling me over there but not me paralysedno I cant move no I cant move at all.

She wont let me sleep and she doesnt like my head she doesntlike me at all but she is with me not against me understanding though

they seem to want me dead gone out over there or anywhere anywherebut here right here in the hole in my head the deep hole in my head that

goes down and down and dark and cold and where I live.

There is some neon there it lights the people like a film set and of

course like a film set its raining and the pavement is black and shinyreflective gleaming. I put a cigarette out with the toe of my boot and

draw myself small inside the long black coat protects me from the cold

makes me feel old keeps me down I think I should burn it buy a denim

jacket or an old leather instead.

There is not much nice in the city everything that looks nice is

really corruption and greed and oppression. The people are not nice

either they dont like me I can tell they whisper about me they dont like

me at all I dont belong here they say I am not like them too rich too poor

too straight too bent too effete too bitchy too stupid too bright too

colourful too happy too sad too lonely too tall. Yes they dont like me at

all. I upset them.

They are upset because I dont freak enough when I am

intoxicated, they are upset because I am tactful, they are upset and now

they want to make me upset, but I dont upset easily because I am used tothis bull this kind of horse manure has wallpapered my existence for a

long time and I dont give a damn anymore. I have become numb to the

awfulness deaf to their protestations idiots may rule the world but I am

still the master of my own destiny.

In this place the walls are positively Tolkienesque dingy

rainsoaked stonework an artform in itself and decay and neglect have

turned old world into food for poets and painters.

In this place two in every ten people are real the rest are clones

stereotypes you can write them off dismiss them they are not important.

The two people left will be like you bewildered incredulous at the

idiocy that surrounds us amazed that people are inclined to accept theridiculous solutions that we are sold as sense.


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Like the last time anyone used their imagination was a good twenty

years or so back then when there wasnt a shoddy but convenient dullanswer for everything. We have taken the quick route and missed the

poetry all the quality all the intricacy has gone out of life. Minimalist

simplicity has won the day and our minds are enslaved and starving.Modern life is meaningless the world has gone Formica the intricate

tapestry replaced by plastic moulding everything stripped down to thenoun

a chair

a table

a shoe a car a train a hat a man

oh god its awful the poet in me thirsts for some meaning anything

stimulating something with complexity something to puzzle over texture

the weave something that is not new and smooth and shiny something

real.

Hesitantly though I must concede that I am probably barking mad.

By most peoples standards.

I am not introspective anymore I used to be but I tired ofintrospection it was all written by the same author all painted by the same

painter I contribute but really Michelangelo Raphael they had the edge

there was still mystery legend in their day.

What on earth did they want from me anyway I asked myself as I

stared at the wall on earth was all thatABOUT? AYWAY? The strangest

days I ever knew. All I managed to understand was that leafy suburbia

held as its secret an underground revolution behind closed doors but what

this revolution wanted from me, honestly, god only knows. Was it mybody, my mind, my thoughts, my soul? What? I really cannot say. But

whatever they wanted they wanted it a lot and I would have gladly given

it whatever it was had someone had the sense to explain it to me in some

way what on earth all that strangeness was really all about. Did theywant my wisdom teeth, my nasal, hair, my toothbrush, my duvet cover, I

am afraid I really cant say, but whatever it was, they wanted it, but my

lack of insight perplexed them, and me, myself, at every turn.


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And, all the while, older men, you are not kidding are you? Older,

older men, thats one way of putting it I suppose. Senior Service, nowonder I dont make love anymore, not in years, like some kind of

protest at the extreme poor quality of prospective lovers that this world

was offering me. A kind of strike, industrial action my celibacy. Aprotest at the poor quality of person and appalling men that were being

offered to me. Nothing at all thank you very much. Even animals likeme have some kind of standards.

And I still moved forward and resisted the urge to simply rest and

reflect. A journey THROUGHlife all the time searching and thirsting for

meaning. All the time amazed and astounded by the shocking greynessof most people.

The haze that envelopes my life is due to a lack of any anchorage

to another human being. There is a freedom gained, of course, resulting

from full independence from all others, for the purpose of friendship,

romance, whatever. But in being alone one loses reference points and

solidity to depend on, in order to feel, well, real actually. And a

dreamlike quality of life arises.

All that Ive been through, many people would not have survived,

and I am not particularly tough myself.

The medication used to come on like waves of nausea and

numbness alternating and crashing in again and again. And the isolation

well I am isolated now but when I was really alone it was horrible

although at times for short periods of time I enjoyed being one amongststrangers because it gave me a buzz to be so independent and in charge of

my destiny to an extent.

In the summer I would get sunburnt because the medication used to

make our skin sensitive to sunlight, as a side effect. One time I hadshaved my head and had cuts all over my scalp as I had used a disposable

razor.

I went out in the hot summer sunshine for about an hour thats all but had to flee inside as my head was burning and the razor cuts

combined with the acute sunburn was so painful. I likened it to being

stung on the scalp by a thousand angry wasps. I went inside and a kind

young nurse dabbed my head with cotton wool soaked in calamine and

with words of sympathy and her medical care my agony was soonsoothed. They dug out a baseball cap from the hospital stores after that.


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And from then on every summer for years I always had baseball

cap, whatever the fashion.

In hospital there are days and nights when really nothing much

happens. These days are rare as mental hospitals are busy frenetic placesoften full of people wailing people crying people fighting violent people

putting their heads through windows. But during those quieter times thetime I spent in hospital was not so unpleasant side effects aside.

I could lie on my bed for hours remembering how to relax putting

myself back together again peaceful moments to rest and recharge my

batteries sedated yes absolutely stoned on antipsychotics but the relief thehuge sigh of peace and tranquillity enabled me to draw a line underneath

the anarchy and awful tensions that forced me to hospital in the first

place.

Strangely it was usually the first few days or so that were often

quiet and event free so that, as I used to self-harm the peace came hand in

hand with care and good nursing for my cuts, gentle, tender nursing for

my physical injuries and peace and calm to soothe my mind of the horrors

that had caused me to lacerate myself.

One time my left forearm, the top of the forearm was an area of

slashed flesh four inches or so of red exposed raw flesh and congealedblood, nurses would be very sensitive and almost maternal as they tutted

gently and cooed concerns that looks a little infected. They would

praise my courage as they dabbed the wounds with iodine and surgical

spirit.

My chest was badly cut one time I did it with glass if I remember

correctly, having locked myself in my bathroom in my flat with big

shards of broken milk bottle. I had smashed one in the back garden with

a brick for the express purpose of hacking away at myself later. Four,five inch cuts below my nipples on my chest one each side, deep cuts that

bled voraciously for a short while then congealed and hardened into

scabs.

In the hospital they had said that it really needed stitches but they

didnt stitch it because the scars would show much more if they had.

They will scar those kind nurses explained almost blaming themselves

or such was their tone, for any future scarring that would result. Almost

saying we couldve done better which of course was patently not thecase, they really had done all they could.


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I still have the scars on my chest on my arms, but they have faded

with some time, I suppose we all have scars anyway, some of them showsome of them dont so much. As for the nurses, bless their hearts because

they care when youd begun to think that nobody did.

So I lay down on my bed full of tranquilizers and sleepers, they

always dose you right up when you first arrive at the hospital those firstfew days pumped full of enough tranx to bring down a rampaging bull

elephant a rogue elephant. I couldnt keep my eyes open enough to do

anything but rest on my bed the first few days I didnt eat or drink, save

for the water that kind nurses brought me in plastic jugs and plastic cups

yes, plastic they said in case I got up to my old tricks again and used theglass to break into weapons to use against myself to try to force some

feeling from my numb and plastic body.

Strangest thing, as I lay there, my eyelids would close and I would

drift in and out of consciousness and all I could see in my minds eye

were Tom and Jerry cartoons, kids cartoons Tom and Jerry beating each

other up in violent slapstick comedy all played out in my own minds eye,

but stranger still these visions had an ephemeral nature as if I could

barely make them out as if they were ghosts of cartoons, there alright but

only just and just beyond comprehension. Like watching Disney without

my specs on or slapstick cartoons shown in redundant film stock in the

mind of an audience of one. I was haunted by these images I tried toignore them, but I saw them anyway resigning myself to their ephemeral

yet insistent presence, so irritated by the dichotomy, they were there, but

they were not, only tangible just enough to annoy, not tangible enough to

observe or enjoy.

The, sleeping for a while the cartoons became real in dreams and I

would wake laughing or with a jolt as Tom got his comeuppance smashed

in the face with a frying pan, his head used to be left frying pan shaped

and vibrating like a tuning fork.

Poor Tom. Remember Tom and Jerry?

The women in those places. Oh the women. Now theres a kettleof fish. The loveliest people but so messed up. Ive had so many women

cry on my shoulders in those places, hospitals, loads of times a beautiful

wonderful person crying her eyes out over their bullying husbands their

addictions, their alcoholism, their depression, their hallucinations, their

delusions, their weight, their self-harm.


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psychologist, hypnotherapy and all manner of referral follow-up that

never materialises in the real world. The only follow-up anyone ever getsis a community psychiatric nurse and the meds, thats all, they promise

you the earth, dont believe it, when you get back home nothing comes

your way. They close the file, put you back in the filing cabinet and itson to the next appointment with the next patient. In all honesty thats

how it seemed, and in my experience general practitioners do the same,no follow-up, just empty promises. Very charming and all that.

A lot of people in mental hospitals have one thing in common.

Their illnesses, whatever they are, are a response to aggression and

violence. They are people who cant handle aggro. Most ordinary peopleendure a lot of aggro, hassle, violence, daily. And mentally ill people,

anorexics, self-harmers, schizophrenics, manic-depressives, all of them

have developed symptoms of one mental illness or another because these

are sensitive people who cant handle the aggression that ordinary people

take for granted is going to be there. Most people just put up with it. The

mentally ill go crazy instead. Its that simple.

Obsession used to rule my life. I was obsessed, shame, but there it

is, I was obsessed with that thing that turns mens minds more often that

most things that can make a man go crazy. I am speaking of spooky

weird books talking of bizarre rituals and strange beliefs. I got really into

those books, maaan, and I went comprehensibly insane. These type ofbooks could have been written with the expressed purpose of driving the

readership loopy. They are bad books and I would advise anyone to leave

the awful things alone. I was throwing runes obsessively consulting them

so often that they became more important than the decisions that I wastrying to make in the first place. Books like these brought out the darker

side of my imagination and my personality and so increased my suffering

exponentially as the obsessions developed and continued.

Now, I am a nice bloke, Im moderate gentle, sensitive, but the personality disruption left me as a person I did not recognise I did not

recognise the person that I had become. I had become unsociable,

sociopathic, withdrawn, unlikeable, strange. Utterly unlike the real me.

Over the years since these strangest of days my real self my realpersonality, the likeable happy go lucky nice bloke that I really am has

taken back the controls and my recovery, halting but progressive, is now

under way. Obsessions are controlled, delusions and personality

disorders are diminishing. But you know, it all would have worked out

so much better without those awful books in the first place.


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I can sing you know I really can, I can sing like an angel like a man

possessed like a devil a demon other worldly a voice that comes from thespirit world I channel it through me a voice that echoes with the pain of

life and the loneliness of my death.

She tears me in two this girl this woman who I love she used to

love me she doesnt love me anymore and yet we are still together sleeptogether eat together walk together but always I know that she doesnt

love me anymore its so hard to take I cant win her back theres nothing

I can do she doesnt love me anymore and its awful. She tells me she

loves me but I know she doesnt love me anymore the words are hollow

she is hollow I cried in my sleep last night its either hate that she feelsfor me now or nothing at all she doesnt love me anymore and though she

lies in my arms shes not there and right now I just want my baby back.

And that thing I did to myself that hurt that really hurt I have never

known pain like that oh god it hurt I was just stuck there like a victim of

Vlad Dracul I couldnt get free I was just stuck there and it hurt it hurt so

much inside myself awful pain like terror like fire like falling like dying

like torture like too much pain to much living too much modern life too

many old dusty blankets too many dingy refuges for too many dingy

people too many wasted people too many people who are only half a

person too many wandering half life shells too many people who never

come to anything wanderers lost egg shells broken lives hideous littlescenarios between people who dont matter never did matter never will

matter dirty lost eggshell people half lives inconsequential half lives.

Such a shame that they should be like this poor broken fools.

What if a respected leading psychologist should be brave enough

to stand up and tell the world that this thing is too ordinary too run of the

mill too regular an occurrence too common and occurrence to be

monstrous. That it is a personality type or a series of personality types

that we are dealing with nothing more nothing to get to upset about toomany of them for them to be an aberration something wholly unnatural

too many of them everywhere Uncles Aunts sisters brothers mothers

fathers the bloke down the road next door at work which means that what

we are dealing with is more like an everyday occurrence a series ofpersonality types nothing more science society could recognise this wake

up! Could come the cry from the revolutionary courageous psychologist,

this is much more like ordinary life than you are admitting too there are

too many of these often wonderful people for this thing to be some

isolated rare event this is some part of the human condition a notuncommon piece of the human experience and furthermore a lot of these


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people are not freaks and criminals and monsters but in fact in their hearts

to their souls some of the nicest people you could ever hope to meet whoactually really care about other people whoever they are who live their

lives enriching other peoples lives encouraging the weak a helping hand

for the downtrodden crazy society cant continue to demonise this hugesection of humanity lets see it from their point of what if its not a

problem what if they really are not hurting anyone what if they wouldnever wish for this part of their personality to become destructive and

painful for anyone its just a part of life its just a part of the human

experience we could learn a lot from some of these people they are often

very brave very dignified so very courageous very sensitive very sensible

very down to earth very wise lets consider this rationally its everyfourth person you meet these people cant really be monsters most of

them like everyone else and people that you love respect admire care

about. This is personality type not monstrous aberration. Do you see the

picture I am painting? Isnt this how it really is? Its a new Millennium?

What is this strange pious war that you wage on your own brothers and

sisters? Are they really so much worse than you? What is this horse

manure? Are they really so much worse than any of you?

I know that we would have to restructure reshape society thats

what the Renaissance was all about thats what the age of enlightenment

was all about. Lets be rational lets think this through without our dim

witted pious prejudices. Its your brother your sister. A member of yourown family missing your love and unnecessarily hiding behind a wall of

silence fear and intimidation probably secretly thinking all the time I

wonder what the fuss is about anyway? Who do they think I am the

Devil himself? Its so normal, so average, so everyday, isnt it? Really?A lonely person needs patience and understanding nor fear and isolation.

Stop making themfeelso isolated, and lonely, in the first place.

An enlightened society would seek to understand and embrace such

a large group of people in its midst. In its own household. The more wecare and attempt to understand them, the more we diffuse any unwelcome

situations, duck.

Guilty is a horrible way to feel but in my book the very worstemotion to be stuck with has got to be jealousy. Real deep down gut

burning unexpressed evil venomous jealousy is just about the most

horrible way to be the most appalling emotion to feel. When I

experienced unexpressed jealousy that was just about the most painful

few months of my entire life. The worst emotion that I had everexperienced on this earth. If you ever feel jealous, for god sake express


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gently and went straight into the arms of the next guy every time. Love

had become demoted from a life for two to just a game for two to playand somewhere along the line I seemed to have lost all capacity for

genuine feelings of romantic love it just ceased to happen for me I never

felt the feelings anymore the longing the excitement the buzz the agoniesthe thrill the lovesick pangs of something approaching worship of another

human being. No one now was deserving of me as a lover to revolvearound them pandering to their every need, want, whim. No one is

deserving anymore these dusty freaks they just dont deserve it buddy-

boy. People like these new dusty losers they just dont offer me anything

like enough in return for the kind of love that we knew about all those

years ago. And until they do? I will wait and see.

Were we not all like that sometime when we were younger?

Doesnt THATmean before we matured? Doesnt that make them justA

LITTLE IMMATURE? For the love of Dracula. The ache in my side like

a rib that has come loose and it hurts like my memories of you and you

and you and the headaches are rare now but not as rare as the sight of you

or you looking brave on the street people unique doing their thing this is

me this is what I am what I look like sound like dance these are the

clothes that I wear this is how I love how I speak this is how I breathe not

just another no impact oh yes one of those saw a thousand of those the

last year or so no light in their eyes like you and you and you someone

was home someone was in I wasnt alone with people like you and youand me in the room heads held high doing our thing being ourselves

being interesting fascinating anticipating a glimpse of you and you and

you oh just like Romeo and Juliet my heart beat so much faster just for a

flash from your eyes yes you and you and you made me feel so alive yesyou and you and you all of you today was a good day today I would be

seeing you and you and you and you shone people dont shine like that

anymore no one laughs like you anymore no one thinks no one feels like

you anymore. Where did it all go wrong? What is this new life who the

hell are all these dull usurpers anyway? Even if you wont see me cantyou remind these dullards that they havent a hope in hell of ever coming

near to replacing you.

And you knew me, I THOUGHT YOU LIKED HIM?

I cant forget you wont forget you I love a lot of people those

days. A belief unshakeable that you had a light in your eyes like I had a

light in my eyes I did I had a light in my eyes and so did you dont you

ever miss me like I miss you like missing an arm a leg an ear and eye?Dont you ever feel that forMElike I feel that forYOU?


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I dont understand how you could OT feel like that about me

from time to time because I know that you must because I KEWyou, allof you,I KEW YOU, all of you,I KEW YOU, the people I knew would

feel that cry from time to time about me try to find me from time to time

even in some pub to look for that guy with that look in his eyes.

The people I knew, they care, the people I knew would come andfind me put their arms around me stroke my say everythings ok youre

with your friends again now love is back in town now an end to all your

suffering the people I knew would not be able to stop themselves from

still loving me come looking for me, still wanting to be with me putting

their arms around me wanting to hear my laughter wanting to see my eyesmy hair my words my clumsy dance my beautiful ways of walking

talking loving thinking being oh yes if I ever knew you at all then you all

miss me as much as I miss you. No chance mate this may be hard to

understand, the dream I cant control, my behaviour I can, yes I admit I

just dont have enough of a grip I admit yet you tell me I am hip oh yes I

am so stupid although I am stuck with a bad mans dream it seems but I

am not a bad man myself no not a bad man not a good man I am just a

madman I have never really hurt anyone like that but these people voices

they dont leave me alone ever.

Is my heart so tiny has it never grown or is my head frozen in time

although I cant change everyone around has seen me shine shine shine.Oh I live like the undead I know its not cool the lack of control but it

could be really could be with a little understanding from you just like

everyone so could you please even though you might think me not a man

I never hurt anyone indeed lately I never even get so involved withanyone and I dont hate anyone I am not hateful even if others find it in

their hearts to hate me.

As for you well you are the future of love when did I ever tell you

that you cannot be free?

Who or what do you think I am anyway Ive become a man whilst

waiting for you to help and meet me halfway meet me halfway its the

only thing I ever tried to say I know I am immoral and everything butreally this thing has got way way out of proportion I will never be the

monster as you know all too well I am too in touch with my emotions

meet me halfway.

I cant put the blame on anyone else and Ive racked my brain butit seems this thing really did begin with me. But all this time and even


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remember suddenly how very shy you get dumbstruck all night because

you are so very shy you think why didnt I remember that in the firstplace might have saved myself the bother and stayed at home. Oh yes go

to a nightclub on your own just to sit alone all night crippled with shyness

whilst everyone else is partying laughing because they came here withpeople they already know, stupid!

So very shy dig a big hole for myself die and throw myself in it

must remember always that if I go to a nightclub well only when I will

know at least five people who will be there otherwise its just a ridiculous

waste of time energy money everything.

And thats when I got up to dance, enough said about that I feel but

honestly its no wonder I always danced not that it helped as regards

others you understand just that it helped to pass the time spent alone and

crippled with shyness and inhibitions.

Oh no, what am I doing here? Enjoy the next few moments, the

lynching is booked for this afternoon. Shall we do it again her body said,

might as well we spent all last night doing it, then Id best be going I

think, by the way, is your father a violent man? Dont answer that. That

terrible feeling oh lord I dont really belong in a bed like this, oops!

Right lets finish up then Id really better gather my things and get going.

I believe in preserving all life, especially my own. Have a nice day!

Oh no! Finish up, best be going. No need for talking, look, please

always remember my name is John, John, always remember that name,

John And always remember how very SMALL I am, and fair, blonde,really BLODE, BLODE, and muscular, really muscular, always

remember that, bye then, have a nice time!

And then twenty years later you still cant stop thinking about her

and what might have been, what you could have even now both of youthe one girl that really got to me, you know, she really got to me. Meet

her now, love and romance, love and romance, married, everything, yes

she really really got to me cant stop thinking about her, never mind her,

tenderness, she was really beautiful and had an amazing personality awicked sense of humour, wicked figure, yes its true, its really true she

really got to me. And if you are reading this, look me up, only you, the

only one who ever got to me, look me up?

My life is to strange, I am incurably ill. Ive seen things youpeople would never believe as the saying goes. So next time you walk


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down your suburban street living your suburban life think of me and

know that there is a whole other life other existence beneath theshallowness and plasticity and rules and regulations. An underbelly a

whole other realm just below the veneer of respectability its not about

the golf club mate its not about the appearance of everything, dig a littledeeper and you will find a middle earth populated by other-worldly

revolutionary spirits. Not clones, not walking in step but real, warm,making mistakes achieving greatness, alive, alive, the ones who sleep and

the ones who wake.

Ours is not sycophancy towards the boss. Ours is not keeping up

with the Joneses. Ours is not the mortgage the loveless marriage themonotonous unstimulating job. Our is the living, the warmth, the life, the

love, the breaking free the ignoring all those bores, the adventure, the

mysteries, the shape of things, the heart that beats, the warmth and the

cold, we dont do what we are told, we are not going to war because we

are not marching in step.

So keep your smart but casual fashions keep your worries of what

everyone will think bury your parents dreams that you would keep your

head down at all costs and never really live, because we suffered, we

achieved ecstasy, we knew life and death.

We knew pain, we knew joy and through all those pains always theknowledge that its all good because despite everything and everyone we

are alive even if we are a bit confused. Night jazz black leather

chrome song. Summer night chanting chanting moonlight moon vibe

people calling me over, over there. Speaking the word experience, in adeep voice, having seen so much more.


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Light of Experience, by Neil Carter

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