The Truth of
Semi-madness
(Part II, to: The Great Truth)
I wrote in one story “The Great Truth,” what it was, and how it developed, or how I saw it develop; I said I felt different than the rest of the world around me, always have; thus underneath this great truth lies something even more bolder: semi-madness (mixed with), imagination, and sensitivity; consequently, these people are maladaptive to what might be referred to as the natural world; their temperaments are different than the ordinary person’s, and if they perused a normal life, it would kill them slowly.
You see, when God created the natural world—he did not make this semi-mad caste for ever soul, because such genius and madness and temperament and imagination all pouring into and over the world in a mass, would have created a hindrance, more than a clear path for humanity to walk on. The reality factor was intended –even for learned men, to go according to standards, expectations, and their achievements, along with knowing of their creator.
The secret to this truth of semi-madness, if indeed it is a secret, resides until secretly inside the person, until someone unveils the individual, until someone pulls the veil off.
More than often, these people are among the philosophers of the world, the poets and artists, and even politicians, all of whom are born with a melancholy nature, spirit, character—even some with many more disorders.
Sometimes these people see so far, they cannot see the trees in front of their own homes. Often times s/he is diagnoses as antisocial, when in essence, the unsociability that is depicted in the individual is nothing less than the genius in him thinking, always thinking: perhaps of simplicity, or complexity—someplace where there is no common ground, someplace where man has never met—it is hard to say. Oh he compensates, he has to, and he does not need people around him all the time, which is contrary to the majority of mankind, whom want to live in perpetual dependence, or co-dependence. He has his pleasures and goals, he receives these from his efforts, and enthusiasm of his art, here is where he forgets like a drunk, the drudgery of life, he is in his own world.
I could name those I feel fit this category, perhaps the first one that comes to mind—and it is the only one, of which I shall mention in passing—is Charles Baudelaire. If you read him, with his great imagination, he brings pain, and maladaptation.
No: 618 (5-3-2010)
Semi-madness
(Part II, to: The Great Truth)
I wrote in one story “The Great Truth,” what it was, and how it developed, or how I saw it develop; I said I felt different than the rest of the world around me, always have; thus underneath this great truth lies something even more bolder: semi-madness (mixed with), imagination, and sensitivity; consequently, these people are maladaptive to what might be referred to as the natural world; their temperaments are different than the ordinary person’s, and if they perused a normal life, it would kill them slowly.
You see, when God created the natural world—he did not make this semi-mad caste for ever soul, because such genius and madness and temperament and imagination all pouring into and over the world in a mass, would have created a hindrance, more than a clear path for humanity to walk on. The reality factor was intended –even for learned men, to go according to standards, expectations, and their achievements, along with knowing of their creator.
The secret to this truth of semi-madness, if indeed it is a secret, resides until secretly inside the person, until someone unveils the individual, until someone pulls the veil off.
More than often, these people are among the philosophers of the world, the poets and artists, and even politicians, all of whom are born with a melancholy nature, spirit, character—even some with many more disorders.
Sometimes these people see so far, they cannot see the trees in front of their own homes. Often times s/he is diagnoses as antisocial, when in essence, the unsociability that is depicted in the individual is nothing less than the genius in him thinking, always thinking: perhaps of simplicity, or complexity—someplace where there is no common ground, someplace where man has never met—it is hard to say. Oh he compensates, he has to, and he does not need people around him all the time, which is contrary to the majority of mankind, whom want to live in perpetual dependence, or co-dependence. He has his pleasures and goals, he receives these from his efforts, and enthusiasm of his art, here is where he forgets like a drunk, the drudgery of life, he is in his own world.
I could name those I feel fit this category, perhaps the first one that comes to mind—and it is the only one, of which I shall mention in passing—is Charles Baudelaire. If you read him, with his great imagination, he brings pain, and maladaptation.
No: 618 (5-3-2010)
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