Schizophrenia: Through the Lion's Eye in the Mid-August Sky

Cicadas trumpet de`guello chants in an all-too-familiar, random drumline. The night blooms black in a star-spotted bruise, no clouds in her sky, save for the thin jet-stream just below...

The brightest of August moons beams a glare that shudders the heart, reverberating elastic chills up and down my spine.

The fiercist, fullest one-eyed stare I've ever witnessed peers above the jet-stream cloud like the frozen, glassy-eye of a tarantula, startling me into the shadows of our backyard Oak--the whipping boy of my young adulthood. The trunk of it still bears the scars of my knives in her bark. Those craters, chips and cracks so deep and severe that not even the clear night's sky and the shadows-cast from above by her own leaves and branches could hide the toll of a wreckless and miserable knife-throwing miscreant (as I was for three years) from the one-eyed August Lion's glare.

I light up a cigarette and take in a long draw, expelling ashen wisps of cloud up towards the Oak's upper branches. The monotonous gray curbs quickly to the many pin-pricks of light seeping through the leaves, and swirling shades of two--white in grayish-blue--providing me with but one more barrier between the awesome eye of August and my own pair.

As quickly as the cloud curbs to the touch of light, the swirling shades of ghostly-gray start to dissipate. Descending into the blackish glass of night, void beyond the realm of light, in two breath's time.

I draw again, aiming once more towards the stretching Oak limbs, but I don't watch the cloud. I look down at my feet, flick my cigarette, and draw again, deeply. I listen carefully to the hissing of the paper and tobacco as its fibers sizzle, branch and twist themselves ever-closer to the filter--ever-closer to their death. I hold it in longer this time, and I watch the ashes tinkle down slowly, from falling reddish-orange sparks to gray flakes lost in contrast to the shadows. Then momentarily catching white wisps of light from the great Lion Moon of August. They flicker and shine bright in each flake, one at a time, as they all float slowly to the ground and disappear. I think to myself:

*Not even the Sky-View from a falling Snowflake could be as alarmingly beautiful a view as this!*

*The toll of my weakness; the passing particles of the poison I feed myself--EVEN THIS--is Beautiful in Death!*

*Even this, a flake of ash, can have a muse--For even a flake of ash can catch light in the darkness of death!*

I find myself filled with an immaculate joy...an with unspeakable terror as well! Have I just seen God?! Did He not just look down upon me?! And did my Heart not shudder at the sight of Him?!..

Was it not Christ--The Son of Man--who taught his Disciples not to be governed by their primal senses--not to be dogs--Wolves, hiding in the darkness of the forest, preying upon lost Sheep?! Did I not cower at the sight of a Moon so full, with a thin jet-stream of cloud lining an arc severe, inches below it?! What primal urge is it that hearkens more to me? Why must Wolves be the evil ones? They do what they have to do to survive, do they not? They are wise enough to know to cower--to flee--when a Man crosses their path. They are wise enough to know that, even in the forest, Wisdom reigns supreme--and that the Wisdom of Man is far greater than their own. They are wise enough to know that if a Man pursues them, deep within the darkness of the forest, that his intentions can't possibly be good. And the Wolf is wise enough to know not to attack a Man unless that Man has him cornered because the Wolf knows that Man's weapons are far worse than his own!

Then I answer myself, drawing another drag as I do so, "Son of Amygdala--Desuit-duke..." I exhale and repeat, both eyes glued to the scarred trunk of the Oak.

"...Exiled!--Defiled!--Hated!--Rebuked!" It is all but a mere whisper. Smoke dances, jumping and swaying from my muzzle as I make confession.

I empty my lungs and cough up some gunk, I spit it out and clear my throat. Cautiously, I look up toward the light of the Lion's eye, beaming abroad beyond the shield of leaves and branches blackened by silhouette's contrast.

I sigh, "sever your wanton fears! Stand and be True!" During the latter proclaimation, I shuffle briskly out of the Oak's shadow and into the Lion's light towards the highest mound of dirt in the yard unperturbed by shadow. When there, I kneel close to the ground and, through the lens that the Lion's light affords, I detect no ant-beds. I stand up as straight as I can on the tip of the mound and fix my face and eyes directly to the awesome orb and say "Listen, if you have Ears! We're overdue!.."

No answer from above. All is quiet.

"SONS OF AMYGDALA--DESUIT-duke! Exiles in denial--Hastened! Rebuked! SEVER your wanton fears! STAND and BE TRUE! LISTEN, IF YOU HAVE EARS! WE'RE OV--"

"Hey Brady, did you feed the dogs?" Reagan asks as he swung the back-door open.



~*Back to the Premainders, Purg!*~



"OH! Uhh...I don't think--Oh wait, no. Uh--No wait! Yeah! Yeah, I fed 'em." I shuffle myself down from the mound and toward the patio with even less grace than my stammering speech had just afforded me.

He looks at me in a way that tries to look and not look at the same time. He says "So, uh, what're you doing out here?" With a tone all his own, he tries to sound so nonchalant that it deliberately betrays it's intent. How much had he heard?! And--Good-Lord!--how loud was I speaking?!! I feel a white-hot flush of blood fill my face.

"Ah, nothing...Just uhh, checking out the sky and trying to think of some new shit to write & shit like that."

"Oh yeah?...Kewl."

"So what're YOU up to?" I ask, trying hard not to sound accusatory.

"Just got off work & now I gotta go online for my school shit. How are your classes going?"

Incredible! Fucking incredible! I gotta hand it to my little-brother; he may not play chess, but he certainly thinks like a chess-player! Here he stands, having cornered me in an embarassing moment of private reflection, and--what's more--he knew he'd have me cornered! He knows I know full-well that he didn't have work today, just like he knows that I've skipped all of my classes thus far this semester, though it has been only a week since they started, of course. For all his faults as far as knowledge of policy is concerned--Reagan would make a perfect politician. He's cool-headed, cool-handed, quick-witted and good at finding leverage--especially at times like these, when he knows that he doesn't need any leverage! He is smart enough to know that a collection of favors-due always benefits the benefactor in some way...But he doesn't have to rub my fucking nose in it!

"They're alright." I say, trying unsuccessfully to lose the bitter tone in my voice. It sounded to me like the croak of a Frog, but then again, you never hear your own voice the way other people hear it. My throat was dry and I was thirsty. I didn't want another cigarette just yet, but I needed a good excuse to stay outside while trying not to look like an escapist. I light up another one, thumbing in my my soft-pack as I do. Three cigarettes left--that won't do at all!

"You are actually GOING to your classes, right?" He asks, as I knew he would.

"Yeah!" I say, taken aback. "I've only missed one day so far, & that was because I had that appointment with Dr. Stanciell for my Adderall."

*Adolph-Orange-Amphetamines from Pickled-Gator-Dung!*

Fuck it! If he can lie, so can I!

~*~TO BE CONTINUED~*~