Paxil & the Brave New World

Put me on Paxil;
chemical conditioned, brave new psychosomatic world
no smile, no frown
no up, no down
brain saturated – soma coma –
serotonin increase/rebate
but I can’t get it up anymore
for making love, to masturbate without Viagra
treat a bad day or a few
with an addict solution from pharmaceutical slew
anxiety, depression – seeking absolution
sick now of this prescribed emancipation
graduate down in 5 mg denominations
now my mind has moments of rage in exchange
and thoughts of liberation with monoxide gas or gun,
my brain from skull-cage

[we’re sorry, we hate to interrupt, but it’s against the law to jump off this bridge – you’ll just have to kill yourself somewhere else, a tourist might see you and we wouldn’t want that! I’m just doing my job you know, so say “uncle” and we’ll take you to the mental health zoo – force feed you mind melting chemicals, ‘til even the outside world looks good!]Ó
bones bounce beneath my flesh
flesh flies as sails in ferocious gale
far more torn up than before this particular journey
began – shredded, frayed – weaken strands unravel, snapping synaptic, alone –
bones scarred - windlass whipping, lash notched mast-
Those ashore, abroad, from their fortified lighthouses – dim and fog engulfed-
encourage to wait out the storm
seeing not burning
red skies that torture from dusk to morn
feel not the frigid mid day sun cast in concrete skies
and sensation of self feeling as two-
forced to separate apart;
not a smoker but now want to start
isolated fox hole in no-man’s land,
no support can help, simply the self;
to deal with it: conscious thought is aware of
temporary time – the perspective – the only resistance
tortured by whims
social stigma and sense
of suckerhood; Shut Up! Be Happy!
my atheist soul is a tornado of all this that is unreal – powerful
yet destructive – bound to burn itself into a breeze and dissipate
I wait…and wait…and wait
I try to create, to sedate –
to fight off that which aggravates
and urges to self mutilate – smooth out like
televisions hypnotic convex Technicolor windshield-
I try to think but think that thinking’s lead to this sense of sinking,
isolation, to this prescribed emancipation
21st Century Frankenstein with my
man made brain, my man made
thoughts, my man made
mortgage mentality and expectations –
no great man, just a freak
doesn’t matter if anyone listens when
I speak; it really doesn’t.
remember the bliss of being driven crazy,
so different wringing this psychotic cocktail from my mind:
A, B, C, vitamin DÓ
not seeking escape or fair fight,
no tunnel with beacon of pure white light
just want to exist a constant inside of my skin
rather than this state of flux: outside and in
rid myself of this gateway
to Huxley’s Brave New World
return me to the savage and
rawness I was
prior to Paxil, prior to hell and
prescribed equilibrium’s potent withdrawal.




Ó From “Soup is Good Food” by the Dead Kennedys off of the Frankenchrist LP
Ó From Brave New World by Aldous Huxley
Artwork from Black Flag's "Nervous Breakdown" EP