Insanity, and the art of being untitled

“Once I had a little game
I liked to crawl back into my brain
I think you know the game I mean
I mean the game called GO INSANE”
– James D. Morrison

The freaks are really normal if you’re living with them. Then, they show you suddenly why they are freaks. Like the drawing of a catapult, they’ll shoot, and you’ll watch, helpless, while they fly and hit you in the eye, right where it hurts most.

True, I cannot know you.

You are the devil, and you’re a seeker’s treasure. Can I call two mysteries of equal magnitude and complexity by the same name?

No. Of course not.

One is life, the other is death. Each one is incomplete without the other.

You complete me. Please “run with me” and we’ll reach where we want to go.


Is it amazing that we look into the past, into the thing called experience, to correct ourselves without realising that the mistake lies there. We’re always wrong.
To correct ourselves we need to die.

I am the material guy, and I cry, for injustice.

“The time you ran was too insane.”

These are his lines, the meaning is mine. If they are wrong, I am wrong, not he.

‘No rules’ is a rule. How can it survive?
“You won’t know a thing till you get inside.”

I am fed up by the potholes in society. The non-idealities. A material guy once said that he had not point in living. And it was true.


Love what he loves, to survive

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