2014021021570343386 - a lost manuscript from 2007
A Mind Of Illness
By Nickolaus Albert Pacione
Deadicated To Susan Hallman
Word Count: (2,800 Words)
"Put your faith in God, and cast your ass to the wind..."
-- Kenneth C. Goldman, "Word on the Street"
This mind; looking into a nightmare or two as they stand, I watched them form with my two eyes.
It fell into a number of horrors, a number of memories stirring within the shadow of darkness – knowing it were and what will be. I fell into a madness that cannot be chased away. Religion never really had the answer for it all, yet there were many times where I tried to seek out the faith – just to let it die. All that religion gave me was a number of nightmares that contributed to the illness that lead within the clicking within a large enclosed space.
“I’ve put all my faith in you, only for you to be silent and shut up when you’re really needed,” I found myself screaming to the skies. This fractured yet rotten meat that once was me – this flesh that received a number of injuries in a lifetime, tormented in frailty only to be fragile from a time of the twenties. Living in the hell that is once religion and seeing it was freedom – only from the madness that one can never really escape from. True believers fall away into a darkness they cannot fathom, but a horror looking at them as a curse – that curse is a lie by the church knowing they’re healed just to realize all that they are greeted with is more sickness given to them by their meat – the meat that is called their flesh.
This pastor had no idea how a mental illness worked or how it functioned in the mind – though her ideas of seeing a healing was speaking in tongues. Among the eyes that are seen within the shadow and dredged within the stone; no one can yet see the horrors that dwell and the circles collecting within the dust. With the question of an ill laden health – some would scream to the skies asking, “Is my meat just a fucking pawn for you? Are you moving me like a piece in chess, just to see that you can find your way to win?”
Within the silence that becomes a memory, and all from memories it stands as a mirror within a wall of shadows. A hallow fragment – staring within the eyes of the ones who have the fears that show the unknown. The madness within the mind and the sickness of the body – often separate but sometimes dwell within the shadow of the other. Damaged as we are all, but in the minds as we stand within the ashes of a withered nightmare – knowing, watching as keeper of the keys. The ideas when they wander, the madness that walks with them in the memory – in that madness a horror in an unknown darkness slowly surfaces and grows. Horrors become from the meat that would be described as human flesh – this meat, this flesh I live in. This monster that faith created, resurrected from legalism and insanity where he wanted everyone to be a replica of each other -- a clone of the next, think like the slaves but freedom of thought in their eyes is a war crime!
“I am this meat you can’t heal, do you hear me? Motherfucker!” I screamed to the heavens once more. Knowing that not even the Judge from the skies can hear the darkness in the voice screaming at them – the true faith they tried to find had been murdered by a skeptic thought. Raptures are brought down by such thinking and breathing horrors, a darkness in the hands of a human who has an imagination that wanders within the passages and forsaken memories of their mind as they are damaged by everything around them and everyone who they once had trust in. A God damn look into what was the slaying of the Holy Ghost – the blasphemy of the mind as they stand before the doctors understanding the weeping bastards on the television screen promising a healing they would never receive.
The new religion they tried to proclaim of healing without doctors – the blood transfusions that save lives that are denied. This mind, observes. Watching. Waiting. As it wanders within memories descending into limitless realms of horrors, a nightmare here and a bout of madness there as it looks and breathes as a living entity – not as the Devil as the faith community would proclaim but as something more, something they can’t fully understand.
“I fully once believed in you – but no, not now. What have you fucking done to me? This hell you put me into – this madness that I’ve seen in the hell of an illness without a cure,” I screamed to the empty skies. The way that the body bleeds and the lungs burn as every breath was taken – the illness that God said healings would come but they would never happen. Once a believer of genuine faith, witnessing the physical and mental illness piss it away – looking on, I’ve seen this in some disturbing shape or form. This meat I’ve lived in, and the madness within the mind creates – another eye and another brain wandering in the surfaces of eternal darkness. It would stand in the nightmare or two, a witness to the flames as they'll raise a glowing green – fate wandered as a skeptic, and became sick as a believer.
The madness known from the mind and the sickness known from the body – it was a darker understanding what was there even when faith tried to prevail but in truth, it was from a God that didn’t succeed. And hearing the slick haired liars first hand over the years, it brought about the haunting dreams that stand within the fog – while the lungs I used to breathe would burn with fire from a sickness that I’ve learned to live with or tried to live with for a number of years. It’s not like I was consulting a voodoo magician to heal my health, but looking at the horrors within – the entire madness dwelling in the sanity prescribed by every goddamn faith healer I could imagine, and the gospel spread by the fake healer.
The preacher hissed “come to me and you’ll be healed.”
Those words I heard when I felt the burning within my lungs and I bellowed back, “bullshit.”
“Deny science and you’ll see a healing,” he said again.
“Fuck you, you can’t deny progress of science,” I screamed again at her trying to hold back a few coughs.
Looking at the preacher I was calling her a liar, though she would end up giving testimonies how she nearly died in a car accident in Iowa – I looked at that preacher now looking as someone who had a free-thinking pattern of thought. The concept that God was a healer of health problems, the reasons seen in the eyes within the lie as it observes – the madness within the mind when it is seen and known. I looked in the eyes of the blonde haired preacher wearing the black and white, looking in the eyes of her calling her a liar.
Her ideas of faith stood in the shadow of a near death experience as it was in her mind looking on, from the horrors living within a small town such as Hampton, Iowa. I refuse to give the name of this pastor but I will say that the darkness that overshadows her is something that time had forgotten. Even in the eyes of what was said or witnessed – the questioning from their point of view of technology playing God and prolonging life. Science and religion never agreed on anything, and the hellish mind within nightmares induced by sickness wandering in the mind. Wandering in the mind of illness and a faith of the lost – wandering in the sincere faith when it dies a horrible death. Looking on from the ethereal mirror of a reflection of a blackened dementia that can’t be understood and born of the memory of it all looking on within a forlorn darkness that can’t be fathomed.
It descended into hell when I remembered the details of that church – being it was out of her house, the idea that she was prescribing as throwing away medicine to be healed by an unseen hand. One had just seen and been only to hear nothing but an entity those watches from a distance and not take part in a damn thing. Her observations and false prophecy telling of what may happen or what would become, the horrors that are known within the eyes and mind when all but faith had died. Looking on I could only imagine what horrors dwelled as she walked among the gates and shadows, the madness within the mind and the horrors within the sickness wandering the body. She watched within the mind as she wandered with the stone walls and pillars that gathered in the darkness.
“What have you’ve done?” I might have heard her saying, looking into a darkness collected in the eyes of stone souls.
“Nothing, just you’re getting a better look inside my mind as tormented as it is – the darkness within it was nothing I created personally but it was the product of something religion being force fed. The people of most sincere of faiths fall away the worst because they look with a thinking mind,” I said to her.
“There are many doors of darkness and they’re opened by the free thought, and the faith that is prescribed – only leads them to one place, and that is a hell of an understanding they don’t want to begin to know. That being; which born again from medicine and madness.”
She looked on in silence knowing the darkness as it grew, the horrors knowing that the health of the body became something that one can’t begin to imagine as the liquid crimson was slowly being vomited. The wandering horrors as she observed knowing it was something she wanted to look away. Something she wished she was completely blind to it all – but when she stood in the fields of stone; something she knew that she couldn’t hide from and a madness that wandered far and wide – as desolate as a urban landscape at midnight as it can be described to be. That I watched everything around me become darker as hours passed, I felt the nightmares wander within a darker territory – as the mind became a labyrinth within its own horror. The horrors that the pastor created in the sense, her burning medications needed for the healing of someone’s much needed health problems – create a horror that they can’t begin to magnify.
A mind full of illness one can’t begin to fathom the madness that wanders within them, knowing and seeing it all as it happens and the fear that invokes it all.
“What in God’s name is happening” The pastor screamed in nerve shattering horror, as she watched in the hallways was the skeletal bird – a skull with a pair of eyes and half the feathers off of the body. She watched knowing what was taking place -- the horrors drawn into the field of madness when the body was ill and not able to respond to anything. Her horrors were magnified in some form knowing what was there was a madness that she couldn’t bring to God, and in them became the beginning of the madness dwelling around her. The madness she watches when she realizes the sickness that God can’t heal is the sickness that dwells within this meat. Madness drawn before them in the eyes of the sick, the idea that religion could never deliver this sickness laden meat – from time it watches, I stood in observance of the horrors that wander within the mind of that pastor.
The madness within her mind as it wanders – looking as the sickness dwells within the meat that she calls her flesh. The eyes in her mind knowing that the hell unleashed was nothing that a God that was unseen can stop the madness within her mind – the fact she preaches from a Near Death Experience. From her words had damned her from the beginning, I watched as she grew sick within the hall of stones and walls of human bones. From her mind and the horror that came to be, knowing from the entity that she watches before her – with a black shape pointing directly at her.
“What are you?” She screamed.
The entity said nothing; I walked out between the rows of stones and said nothing.
“It the most sincere that some did believe ask themselves why that an illness never become healed,” I looked and commented. The eye contact between me and the pastor, collected a darkness one can’t begin to fathom as it wandered – the sickness that lived within this meat. From the sickness as it grows and the mind as it sees it – the decay as it grows within the lungs. The madness that was there while she stood, the blank stare in her eyes told it all right there when the entity that she watched looked back at her – while blood produced upon her wrists without some kind of warning. When she took a breath she began to slowly bleed without warning, and as she asked for salvation from the empty sky there was none to give.
Her denouncement of medication became the evident thing as madness grew from the shadows as it lurked from the darkness as it rose from the ground, and my sickness was the most evident thing as it arose from darkness no one could even begin to fathom.
“What is happening to me?” She screamed as some hands emerged from the ground, bony hands without skin on them grabbed into her wrists as they pulled her into the cement.
“Science is the judge of everything, Pastor,” I said quietly but knew where she was heading was a place no one wants to go – but as long they’re human they’re going to burn for all time.
“This is your damnation. The damnation you lead is the denial of medicine and science – welcome to eternity as it awaits you! Sickness examing death -- that is where hell awaits.”
Here she was looking while her arms were being pulled into the cement.
Hell waits while it was paved with good intentions – preaching on the near death experience is a misleading thing and her words damned her from the beginning. She watched when it all happened, and everything that stood before her – there was no God to judge her as they said what would happen. Knowing what judgment waited for her – awakened within her bleeding, as her arms were pulled into the ground blood began to surface from them. Entities born of sickness and entities born of fate, madness that follows them from a scarred memory become an entity of time – and in them become an entity of demise. An observer in black and another in gray it becomes an echo of an eternity that no one can begin to imagine, but yet drawn from them becomes a horror that they can’t even begin to draw from.
This mind, the observer of all the horrors which dwell within the sickness of the body – but in the memory no one can begin to see how the horrors within the mind will dwell within the passage of time. Not even God could begin to heal a mind of illness, lest understand why someone with a mental illness will have the most sincere of faith as it fallen away and withered as a corpse that it was once was. Ashes that remained as memories as they were rusting away – dissolved in time when the tolls of death had chimed and when her body parts were pulled into the cement. Horrors dwelled within the places that religion tries to hide from. The fate that she chose to describe -- conceiving a distorted reality and knowing that within her mind is already in the bowels of the fifth level hell. Among the patterns within the nightmares, it also dwells in the patterns of physical sickness as it wanders – waiting as it lives and waiting as it dies. Even in the eyes of a God that claims to heal, but there was no healing in a realm of eternal darkness that can’t be described by a praying masses.
“What God can heal this sickness laden meat?” I screamed to the skies as they were turning black. Waiting – it was a shadow of the beginning when it echoes all that becomes the end. The sickness of the flesh becomes the madness in the mind – conceiving of all the nightmares as they wander. The madness wandering in the blood and waters, as the life from them echoes both the memories of the life and death.
© 2007 by the author