An infinite pause and a blanke stare.

This morning...

I awoke with the tormenting idea: this is not January 18th 2011.

I mean, I always accent the anxiety that oppresses my acceptance of this thing we call:

"time."

But this gray-blue morning...

might very truly be January 18th 1947.

Maybe this these so-called with-drawl symptoms they call :

"brain zaps"

[or shivers, or sizzles, or conscious seizures]

and the unconscious insomniac nights, spent convulsing in a jungle of sheets,

"coming to" [seconds, minutes, hours, days, years later} soaked and shivering...

[they call them cold sweats i hear]

I don't remember when it began, or how i got here,

but could it be a result of the white coats

& those experiments with electroconvulsive therapy?

Yes.

Electroshock therapy

is happening here in this

"place" that I am

trapped by physical walls, made of wood, and plaster, and insulation, and on the outside I believe it is brick, reddish brown bricks of varying shades, and shapes, and held together by that cement stuff which they neatly lay inbetween each - what an art - but I do not remember the last time I saw the outside. I only see the insides

and the walls are all painted different contrast colors that make the shivers in my frontal lobe more consistent

(I think they did that on purpose.... the paint choice)

Couldn't they have just painted them all white, or seafoam green like most places where sickness hides inside?

Maybe this man, the house keeper, my keeper, the one who I call uncle, the one with the thinning hair, and nice suits, and fast cars, maybe he is another one of those doctor people he keeps talking about in the 3rd person?

Buttttttutttt, I just can not remember because they are

zapping

all those "things" away.

And by "things," I mean my MEMORIES

(We must keep our suspicions to ourselves, because you know.... they could do worse "things.")

And by "things" this time, but not for the last time.... I mean lobotomies.

Oh dear, and then I would really lose "it."

And by "it," I mean my.... my.... myyyyyy, mind.

(Please pardon me for continuously redefining all these varying pronouns, but that "it" and

"thing" I am most affraid of... of... well, of loosing is my: m i n d

But, perhaps it [my mind] has already been lost?

Somewhere amongst this morning psycho babble....?

Please, please, please, please

just don't let me forget that ONCE, before all of "this" [and by "this" I mean being a

guinea pig for the lithium experiments, and the ECT, and the lobotomies]

I mean, I really don't know anymore... if I have "it," my mind..... anymore?

A brain, a conscious, and all that too. Dear contrasting walls, don't let me forget

what it meant to be: "alive."

BUT, if they took "it" [my mind that is] what will comprehend the contrast

you want to remind me of?

There will just be a big

b l a n k