Poems of Craziness
By Wil C. Fry
At times, Wil doubted his five senses, as they related to the world around him. Sometimes, he thought the world itself might not be real, and at other times, he guessed that it was his own mind that had failed. The result: Quite a few brilliant poetic works that questioned the fabric of reality as we know it. Some of these poems are easy to read, and many can relate to them. Others of them were written at times when Wil considered that he himself was going insane, and so might seem like gibberish to the new reader. Unreality Feb. 28, 1990 (age 17) “vague perceptions”; “twisted imaginings”; other names for reality We call it real, but who really knows what’s happening Sanity borders craziness; wiseness borders insanity; My gerbil’s my psychiatrist - he really knows how to help me The mists of life surround us; convince us they are the most real How do we know what we feel is really what we feel? Things that are visible - we believe in, and also more Sometimes we foolishly insist that the ground is under the floor How do you know? Have you ever looked? Don’t even believe what you read in books. You’ve been lied to, the Earth is flat Made for giants - a big “Welcome” mat; They say airplanes fly because the wings do tricks I say they’re foolin’, you might as well flap some sticks Nothing is real; Nothing is not; we’ve taken for granted too much Like we used to be monkeys or some other ignorance or such (Back to the top of this page) ...Yet clear to. . . July 5, 1990 (age 17) Yesterday will be green Tomorrow was purple Today is blue it’s too deep to figure it’s too wide to dig Solace can be found in a shredded envelope from Waldo He always had thoughtful things to say Too bad he couldn’t stay When the trees rot underground petrified tongues of angry dreams swirl in a pool of calmness As drops of liquid fall from the leaky faucet of life My friends smile and say they care I see the lies there and red blood squirts from severed veins Oh, Waldo, my frog, my pickle Why, why, oh, why (Is it yet clear to you that I have lost my mind?) A happy puppy crushed by a piano falling from the ice cream truck The ruts in the road have been filled with eyebrows While Johnny laughs and says “Hi, there, cutie” She replies “Give me another round” I’ll get drunk tonight with the liquor of my tooth decay When ozone armies attack the killer bees call on Waldo, my pickle, my frog (Back to the top of this page) Instruments Don’t Make The Band (or: "Her Eyes") June 9, 1997 (age 24) I felt her eyes staring wide; We knew centipedes don’t fly. Wet falls down from a splintered sky. Cov’ring the floor was Blood, and much. I’m not a hero, not as such; Perhaps my loneliness is a crutch. Alcohol? Well, that makes two. Clint’s words to me ring home true: “Go ahead, and make my day, too.” It’s such a waste, I’ve been erased I need toothpaste To look at you, I could start A volcano in my heart. To explore myself, I need a chart Of where, and why, and how, and when I commit each and ev’ry sin. There is no way out; what about in? Crayons color the sky, and Instruments don’t make the band, But now my head’s out of the sand I need to sleep Don’t make a peep Now, just count sheep (Back to the top of this page) no one knows? Aug. 3, 1997 (age 24) Skies below as I float there outside of everything Where are the kittens that used to play and sing? I forget to breathe to think to see you at all Looking inside again, the victim of it all Blinking, squinting, dilating, closing my eyes Deep inside, past the living corpse, an infant cries No one knows why Empty eyes looking over folded hands Sinking in the shifting sands Staring, wincing, pacing, waiting for the end Laboring lungs lick up the beautiful wind Ignoring the purity of your love so fair Running callused hands through thinning hair No one knows where Hearing the music, and weaving, dancing, sinking Feeling the rhythm, moving, and wond’ring, thinking Do you know me, on my heartbreak now choking? Weary, weak, broken; my wounds are smoking Dimly we wonder and question where you are now Sensing the shame, guilt I still take the bow No one knows how Waves crash upon the hardened souls in prison Flames fall from the Hell that is now risen Inside me, inside you, there is so much confusion Defenders vainly fight off the bloody intrusion They fall, they lie in the pools of truth wearing thin Defining, remembering, questioning all the sin No one knows when Is there an end? No one knows. No one knows? (Back to the top of this page) Tuesday Oct. 5, 1999 (age 27) Sifting through the wreckage Not willing to admit that life is livable What edge? You mean that thing I just stepped over? Go back and live your life And leave me alone Keep pulling hats out of your rabbit And excuses out of your ass While I pull glass out of my eyeball I’m not your damn grandfather So don’t pat my shoulder and tell me what you think I want to hear And don’t play your happy or sad songs around me Not while I’m pissing on myself Imagine the world without me Imagine me without the world No, I can’t either But my socks are soiled and a moth just flew up my nose You ask me when I will grip on myself My answer? When hippos fly out of my ass Oh, shit, there goes another one! Okay, so I lied Let the bulbous, water-dwelling creatures be shot from my ass like it was a cannon But I will not get a grip on myself Nor will I pull the moth out of my nose Or wash my dirty socks So turn up the music and shut your fucking mouth Now Go Away (Back to the top of this page) What I Think About Oct. 10, 1999 (age 27) Orthopedic stereos running on broken bridges without sight Sexual lights drinking too many salsa bowls and falling for fright Overlooking metaphors, and seeing only the morbidly free Classy confused amphibians drown under incorporated scree Sinking mezzanines blanket red construction then disarray Settling simpletons scream savagely, seeking sobs of silence and gloom Monstrous colors bleeding globules of asphalt and interaction Humorous tombstones sink and sway to tribal engines (Altimeter) Silvery teeth walking on strained fornication over so much time Shifting pillars applauding after blue windows wrapped in night Smoothly rattling entourages ignoring misspelled vegetables Sickened mountains spewing salty underwear beside caterpillars “Previously Owned” skeletons salivating before illuminated furniture (Horace) Clean-shaven mutants masquerading between adhesive lampposts below Savage potatoes barking yesterday except for quilted guilt Dazed nomenclatures seeping through glassy fish that scream Righteous bandages rolling past sixteen candles and a banner Humid trophies spurt cracked outlets beyond shortened love Spiraling traitors sniffing unfinished desert escapades I couldn’t get laid again if I was the last man on Earth Farting violinists shaving less than a purposeless walrus stripper Homeless flowers failing since seven plummeting whores Elfin mangers drizzling unless sprinkled with volcanic breath Resting piles of dung flinging capricious phrases upon poignant eclipses You can’t shave your legs with your pantyhose on unless it’s Octember Beastly groins saving sensations of sweetly different ashes (Martians) Jabruary Febrarch Mapril Aprune Junely Julgust Augtember Septober Nocember Decanuary are the days of the strong And monkeys fly out of my ass to heal the ashes (The original manuscript of the above poem was handwritten with many margin notes and drawings, including the following excepts:) “Pokey Things” “An Ass” “Orifice” “A Fucking Brick Wall” “My Dreams And Other Garbage” “Raining On Your Parade” “A Steaming Pile Of Shit” “Me” “The Rest Of The World” “Fornication Is My Friend” “Little People” "Obsequious” “Simple Simon Fucked The Pieman Right Up The Ass” “ 2,3,5,7” “Your Heart Boiling On The Stove” “When Was The Last Time You Had Sex With An Etch-A-Sketch?” “Barking Up The Wrong Dick” “She Was A Brontosaurus” “Kamikaze Snake Turds” “Android Hookers” “Apeshit Bullshit Dogshit Horseshit Myshit Yourshit” “This Poem Brought To You Courtesy Of Enema Productions” “Narcolepsy” “Raunchy Sex With Aliens” “Left Turn Signals” “Mid Squid: Are You A Member?” “Elderberries Eaten By Mutant Toads” “Carcinogens Are My Friend” “Ha! Ha! Ha!” “Partial Lobotomies Are Cheaper Than Ever Before” “Nevermore” “If You Leave Me, Can I Come Too?” “Yellowjackets” “You Could Clean Up A Little By Pissing On Yourself” “Why Do We Still Use Electric Heat Since We Invented The Atomic Bomb?” “Edible Television Sets” “If A Tattoo Is Permanent, Does That Mean It Remains After The Body Rots?” “Willy Wonka Is Dead” “Pussy” “Ass” “Boobs” “Quit Fucking With The Time Machine” (Back to the top of this page) Oingdingdah May 28, 2000 (age 27) Tah, tatah ta Enga enga teh teh tata Enga I think a beer might calm me down You think? I am Zebra turd, stripéd shit Floating smoking shaking Rhythmically smiling ghost of pale fabrication Growling oingdingdah Inhale Exhale frightened night turning key in lock as the shell implodes Smiling face of Jefferson on glass table Burning charred cherry fingers and smoking Growing grass on your tongue as your mother lode bleeds Oingdingdah Oingdingdah Oingdingdah Tata tata Enga Ta Ta tata tatah Enga Oingdingdah Smelking shivered bones and hair while demons investigate Standing on end of hair zorga zorka melda meldon gras baul Honta Honta sabonta ragdag sloort breathing heavily and cramping bending leaning breathing ahh ah ahh oh. . . Ungh. Thank God, I’m back. I think. Take another drink and I’ll be okay No more hopping around, I promise, I’ll be good Take a deep breath. I’m okay I’ll be okay I’m alright go away. Whooh. (Back to the top of this page) Open My Eyes June 13, 2000 (age 27) Sacrificial LIZARDS drink the painted dwarves Hearing chirping laughter under darkened house Swim in venom And Wait. . . Because the lights are foggy and wet in the desert Cloaked woman with no face leaps softly from the tortoise back and continues swinging from silk curtains with growing flowers wrapped around them Smelling LIKE PANCAKES, THE FLOATING PANCAKES on which we ride But so HIGH, we must be careful We come to rest on a tree, and the door OPENS So I step out of the cloud onto a lava flow And cool off. Who are these strange PEOPLE around me? The purple ones with lily white hair Are they afraid of the purple people eater? I saw it flying above us, in the dirt So I hang there, UPSIDE DOWN And open my eyes.
