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Dave Crashed Into the Cuckoo’s Nest, Part VI
A Week Fighting to Get Out of the Mad House: An Epic Poem in 7 Installments
[Typed the mornings of September 20-21, 2022 from notes written in crayon the previous week while on an involuntary hold at the psych ward at Pacific Grove Hospital in Riverside, California after a ketamine infusion therapy to treat the PTSD went bad, leaving the Poet more suicidal and self-hating than before it began, prompting the doctor to insist on a “5150” 72-hour hold.]
Check out part I here:
Part II:
Part III:
Part VI:
Part V:
Sunday 8:01 AM Waffle for breakfast, Still feeling tired, The Thorazine? Better than hyper-aroused Psychiatry more art than science SPIRAL DRAWING “The ‘Judeo-Christian Tradition’ can be used to justify any public policy by any group.” - M. Lind, page 151, Up from Conservatism Started The Dead Sea Scrolls and the Christian Myth by John M. Allegro Argues a link between Essenes and Christianity. 9:45 AM Charlies is free style rapping and he’s not bad. Outside again but going to go back in and call Jere back. He couldn’t talk because he was on the toilet. Nice of him to answer.
10:28 AM
Still outside, I just beat Brandon at Cornhole,
A more difficult game than it appears
3 points for in the hole
2 for the rim
1 for the board
14 people out here – more than I’ve ever seen before
Even my roommate Shawn is sitting here.
Glad to see him out and smiling for once.
Now Sun, the 50ish Asian woman who likes the Evangelical station,
Playing against Tabitha, the older black woman with fake blond hair and
3 long fake nails on her left hand
She pronounces her name Ta-Bitha – like Bite – and identifies as Miss Davis
5:51 PM I slept through most of the day. I strangely remember my dream: wandering through old towns looking for places to rent Django Unchained was on earlier and then The Green Mile, both which I snoozed through. I was grateful they woke me for dinner – sloppy joes. Considering shaving my head. 7:56 PM – Snack Time Peanut butter on cheese crackers Rold Gold tiny twists in a blue and gold bag Cranberry juice cocktail (I hope not fermented like the one a few days ago.) The crayon just snapped. A Broken Crayon Can Still Write.
