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  1. "Returning Home on a Sunday Drive"
    By
    Brian Paul Dunlop


    I have always thought people can communicate better through social networking - they were more themselves, behind a shield of mechanical sexurity; no sarcasm denoted, most of the time.

    I remember my younger days; I've always liked dark soda - my mom was a hippie nut - a nudist, and a savage beast at times; the downfall of estrogen for ome or was it because of being raised in an oppressive environment?

    Many dreams provoke me upon this Sunday drive to mother. Such a sweet, sweet lady. She didn't mean a thing. It was her father. It was her mother. It was the whole world.

    And now, here, I return to her - back her son, her light, her guard. And father, he will pester her no more; that sick devil of a man. His dictatorship rein shall come to an end.

    And even in his death, does he haunt the house - as my mother shakes, alone in bed. Now, I have come home to protect her. I know most would deem the woman mad, but not me.

    I remember the day, my father fell through the wheat thresher - such a day, so far in the past that it lays upon my brain, a gray haze - I can't remember much about that day, but I do remember what my mom alwys use to tell me, "Secrets are better kept within."
  2. "School is Hard"
    By
    Brian Paul Dunlop


    I

    The day sent shivers down my spine. Waking up is so pointless; another day, another meaningless mental trip.

    And the kids at the school - who needs them? I got my drugs and I hang out with older kids. That's way cooler than what they do.

    So why should I get up? What will today bring that tomorrow hasn't? What does anything really even mean?

    Just everything - why is everything so fucked? Or at least needs to get fucked.

    I like punk music and wrestling on TV; this chaos seems more reasonable - more logical for a reasoning against the logic of the tilted world, always spinning on an axis; never even, yet never the same.


    II

    The day turned to night as the morning glories closed and the spirits of the realm of the dead, encased the sunken shadowy Autumn sky.

    Flows of silk, amber and rain eclipsed a full moon, glowing in an intoxicating flame.

    Arnold sat upright in bed, staring at a scary night full of dangerous curiousity and peril. He turned his head to the left, away from the half-way opened window that blew win and casted figures upon the shadowy tint of his midnight room.

    "Just close your eyes and it will be okay. Just close your eyes and it will be, okay" said Arnold to console himself as he felt the cool errie breeze wrap its way around his neck and lower back.

    Arnold closed his eyes tightly shut as he felt, what felt like a warm breath, breathing gently into his ear.

    "This can't be real. This isn't real. This is not real" said Arnold to himself as he drew back in bed.

    Then from the far corner of the room, a low voice whispered, "Come play with me. I hated school. Let's go. I like to play in the attic, but only with you, alright? I think I like you..."
  3. "The Perverse Artist"
    By
    Brian Paul Dunlop

    I think I’ve got the psychosis. It all started after I got locked in the psych ward. What a strange day. What strange events.

    They told me without a reasonable doubt that I am insane because of how I was acting. I told them I smoked marijuana and drank alcohol that day and I had also stayed up, late into the night, thinking of change, thinking about progression.

    I said to them that I was a “political prisoner” and that I shouldn’t be
    here. I yelled. Screamed at the top of my lungs, but they just thought I was insane and by the large amounts of THC in my system, they labeled me as having “marijuana-induced psychosis.”

    I just had one bad day and everyone there thought I had lost my mind. Alcohol. Marijuana. Staying awake for over twenty-four hours. Stress. School. Aggravation. No. The reason I flipped out was because I had lost my mind. That’s what they said. And I stayed there for almost a month and was studied because I was a defective human being in there eyes - just another lab rat, just another scientific experiment.

    I tried to plead my case to them everyday that I wasn’t insane, but
    they wouldn’t believe me - they’re logic and judgment was far superior than I - I told them that I was an actor and had an HBO audition to go to within the week and that they were ruining my life, but they thought this to be just another paranoid delusional thought.

    I was just another dreamer to them - another endless seeker, broken in a world shattered within. Believe me or don’t believe me. I hate you if you don’t believe me. The time spent in that ward was a time worse than when my mother passed on in 2004. It truly was, the worst three and a half weeks I’ve ever spent as anti-psychotic drugs were pumped into my brain.

    I remember when I signed up to be a test subject out of fear to comply. Those scientists. They frightened me like no one has ever frightened me. And took me out of my life and had me live amongst the mentally inadequate, even though their scientific tests showed that I had the highest intelligence out of anyone that ever stepped foot in that psych ward as a patient.

    All they did was patronize and label. Those sick cowards. And now here I am, outside of one of their houses. Dr. Harmond Lieberson - I
    know where you live, I know where your children go to school and you’re all mine now.

    The other doctors, I have locked away in my cellar. And the cold witch of a therapist who sent me to that dreaded medical center, I now use for sexual relaxation. Oh, how she screams and toils, but no one can hear her. My house is completely sound proof.

    You know what’s funny? I didn’t hear any voices in my head until after I was sent out with a good bill of health from the Hordstein University Medical Center. What a crock of an existence - this science of ours, what do they know?

    I think they learned their lesson as I cut all their children’s throats
    in front of them as they cowered in the corners like the rats they really are. Then I send them back to their hamster cages and tie the
    chains around their necks.

    Soon the chains will come off, but if any of them try to rebel - I will have that person decapitated in front of everyone - to remind them who’s in charge - who’s their master.

    But truly their life isn’t all that bad - they have a wheel in which to
    run upon and they have all the pellets and water to drink.

    Some of the female doctors look cute - I wonder if they’ll allow me to have sex with them even though I murdered their children in front of
    them. Probably not the biggest turn on for them. Ha!

    But I do it, anyway, as they cry, and cry and cry because now they know how much I hurt. How much pain I felt when they locked me away for a shade under a month and told me I had lost my mind.

    Now, they are my slaves. And the male doctors I have sex with from behind with a strap-on dildo just to remind them on how they will spend the rest of their lives. They aren’t men, anymore. They never treated me like a man. They never treated me like an individual.

    And some of them, particularly, Dr. Neil Larmon - I make squeal like a
    pig because I remember how he use to laugh at me for being overweight and eating my food before everyone else at my lunch table. Now he’s the little piggy.

    Before I went to the psych ward, I was a great writer of many genres because writing gave me pleasure - now all I do is torment my subjects because that’s all that gives me great ecstasy that I could never get in any pill or drug.

    Wait, I think I can see him. The rat bastard. Now it is time for me to introduce him to all of his friends - oh, his children…that will be the best part, and his wife - oh, love is but a game, love is but a game.
  4. “Straight Outta Pysch Ward”
    By Brian Paul Dunlop


    The psych ward was a cold and lonely place. I remember the walls. The deep dark walls that stared back at you in a hollow room of steel and furniture.

    Day 1

    My back hurts. It’s such an awful place where I am, I hope someone can hear me.

    “It’s a rat! A rat! Schew! Schew!” cried out Ms. Willington - the head female security guard.

    “A rat?” asked the chubby red-headed boy who’s name I can not remember.

    “You’re the rat! Hahaha! Back in the hole with you.”

    “But I don’t want to go in the hole…” whimpered the boy, as tears started forming around his bight brown eyes.

    “It does what it’s told. Now go in the hole, young scallywag. You know what we do with big penis boys like yourself. Go in the hole with Dr. Adam and Dr. Audrey and you’ll find out.”

    Day 2

    Crazy. Crazy. I’m crazy. They told me I have psychosis induced by pot.

    What the hell? I wish I was dead.

    What the fuck is Dr. Adam’s problem - what an uptight asshole. He says because of my penis size that I am less of a man. Who knew about Henry. He didn’t look like the type to be carrying that.


    Day 3

    Perverseness encountered my mind and enclosed it in a deep humbling feeling. Life is good. These medications are good.

    Day 4

    After large moments of hallucinations, I realized these pills weren’t for me. Was I crazy? Or just another mental mind trip, losing grip on all reality and life was slowly slipping away.

    Day 5

    When I watching Monday Night Raw I became so bored that I thought about suicide.

    Just the thought that I was too small and weak, dismissed any possibility of ever making it in that business and this made me very sad.

    Day 6

    While giving Dr. Adam oral sex, I bit off the tip of his penis and spit it in his face. The voices have finally come, doctor. Oh, doctor of mine. Hahahahahaha.

    And Dr. Audrey. What happened to your pussy. Oh, I won’t include that in this journal.

    Day 7

    “I’m a genius, I say! Let me out of here! Let me out of here!”

    “Shut up nut job, you bit off somebody’s dick” said the fat security guard, eating a donuts while wiping the sweat off his greasy brow and forehead. “You’re a freak. You’re an absolute freak, do you know that?”

    “Well…” I replied, cleverly eyeing the man with such precision that it reputed his attention like a baby fox’s instinct when being chased down by a middle-aged hound on the age of his life - still hunting, still dreaming.

    “Well what?” asked the man, rudely.

    “Well, I’m pretty sure I can read your future” I said, bashfully.

    “I gotta see this” said the fat man, eagerly walking over to my padded cell.

    Day 8

    I’ve escaped. I escaped! Well after eating the guys liver, I decided to wear his face and clothes and just walk out the front door of the hospital.

    What a great day for science it is! What a lovely day. Pip pip. Cheerio.

    Day 9

    There’s a cottage over the way. It is dark. Lost. Starving. Empty. I think it’s abandoned. I think I should stalk it out in the bush in front of my house and if no one is there. I will make my move!

    Day 10

    Time to make my move. This is my shot. My new home. It is mine, now.

    “Get the fuck out of my house, you fucking crazy ass kid.” said an older man wearing a stained wife beater, with khakis and overalls.

    “Wha-……”

    Day 11

    The Easter Bunny! It’s always been about the Easter Bunny! Why Easter Bunny? Why you try to do me in?

    What’s wrong with you Easter Bunny? What is it like you got mental problems or something?

    What’s wrong with you Easter Bunny? Easter Bunny? And Santa Claws, he fucked up, too. Mad fucked dude. Like he’s like really fucked up.

    So many Christmas’. So many socks and out of style pants under the tree. Fuck you!

    And the tooth fairy, that’s the real bitch. That bitch is a fucking cunt, if you ask me. Fucking quarters every time I lost a tooth. She ripped me, hard bodied. That mean, ‘big time.’

    And what about my opinions, anyway? I mean I do go to community college, so I’m smart, so get a life. You’re South Park’s definition of a “fag.”

    So fuck you, fag. Hahahahahahahahaha

    Now, I’ll drink my tea and play my verisnatchit, all night long. No psych ward could hold me.

    Yeah, and thrill season be up. And the village is mine….all mine…..

    Day 12

    Straight Out Tha Psych Ward
    Mudda fucka named Disco
    I go hard, but bleed raw Crisco
    New life, a rave in the mist yo
    A new wife, this game make my wrist glow

    Day 13

    Oh my God….I can rap….

    Day 14

    **Attention** Crazed White Rapper on rampage in downtown Harlem.

    “He look like the devil. Just look in his eyes…it was so scary. The horror…it was terrible. My god. I never saw a white man act the way he did. It made me shake in the core of my bones.”

    “Straight Out Tha Psych Ward
    Mudda fucka named Disco
    I go hard, but bleed raw Crisco
    New life, a rave in the mist yo
    A new wife, this game make my wrist glow

    Straight Out Tha Psych Ward
    Mudda fucka named Disco
    I go hard, but bleed raw Crisco
    New life, a rave in the mist yo
    A new wife, this game make my wrist glow

    Straight Out Tha Psych Ward
    Mudda fucka named Disco
    I go hard, but bleed raw Crisco
    New life, a rave in the mist yo
    A new wife, this game make my wrist glow

    Straight Out Tha Psych Ward
    Mudda fucka named Disco
    I go hard, but bleed raw Crisco
    New life, a rave in the mist yo
    A new wife, this game make my wrist glow

    Straight Out Tha Psych Ward
    Mudda fucka named Disco
    I go hard, but bleed raw Crisco
    New life, a rave in the mist yo
    A new wife, this game make my wrist glow

    Straight Out Tha Psych Ward
    Mudda fucka named Disco
    I go hard, but bleed raw Crisco
    New life, a rave in the mist yo
    A new wife, this game make my wrist glow

    Straight Out Tha Psych Ward
    Mudda fucka named Disco
    I go hard, but bleed raw Crisco
    New life, a rave in the mist yo
    A new wife, this game make my wrist glow

    Straight Out Tha Psych Ward
    Mudda fucka named Disco
    I go hard, but bleed raw Crisco
    New life, a rave in the mist yo
    A new wife, this game make my wrist glow-”

    Back in the psych ward with my crazy ass.



    END.
  5. “An Expatriation”
    By
    Brian Paul Dunlop



    I cast myself amongst a new dawn. Betrayed by those hollow figures that walk amongst my home land.

    Night was to its self like a string of threaded fiber - hanging low, blowing in the window.

    Monday’s were new days about freedom of expression. Freedom of character.

    Being alone. Individuality. A causality to the public. A blind eye and a sunken ear. This fear. This tyranny.

    I have no fear. Nothing bothers me. Mother. She was a nice woman. Very demanding, yet very loving. Fire and ice, all at the same.

    But who was father? Oh no, screw father. Who was father? No one was father, that’s who.

    He was a shy, shell, mouse of a man. That who father was. So I killed him as mother laughed and all was right, again.

    I know what mother wants and what mother likes. And that is a real man. And a real man takes what he wants and oh, the sex we had that night - the angels of Heaven and Hell were looking on in awe as we fornicated a labyrinth of peace and wonder.

    And oh how I love her. Mother, if you only knew the thoughts I had as you drift off, deep into a dark slumber.

    A slumber of beauty. A slumber of peace. One that drags on a peasant and looks to the east.

    We are good people; mother and I. People in a new age generation that’s not stuck in a cage.

    We were once blinded non-believers, now we can see thoughts and dreams that none could ever see.

    I beat my chest, now, to a new rhythm. A new dawn. A new rise to an animalistic distinction that has flooded amass on a ship called, “Progression.”

    And in Spalwin’s theories of economy; “New Age Progression” usually tends to lean to the east. Japan. China. They know what they’re doing.

    And what a man that Spalwin is; so modern, so individualistic, so in-sync with an always changing world.

    Like my father had to see; it either kill or be killed in this world - it’s always been that way and until we can all hold onto one solid grip of logic than it will always be like that.

    But now, I have fled my state to a small apartment with my mother in France. A place where no one knows me. Something very different, yet very the same as my former home. But who cares? There’s still no love. Just a cold street. Just an empty alleyway. Devoid of reason. Devoid of peace.

    There will be no end until the end has come to be. All hail the New Age Revolution. A time that’s right for me.

    END.