Author Information
THE GENIUS OF MADNESS
THE GENIUS OF MADNESS
There are people who don’t like their geniuses to be a hunchback
Charles Proteus Seinmentz appeared in a photo with Edison and Tesla;
Progress is often a zigzag like the electricity they played with.
Our poets are also flawed geniuses; Poe an alcoholic and drug addict,
Robert Frost a schizophrenic and Walt Whitman was very, very gay.
It is the genius of humanity as a whole to feed on ruin and ruination.
William Blake and Dante bend over and look down into the inferno;
Psuedo Nazi scientist take calipers and measure craniums; it is our
Forte to measure the miniscule and largesse of ruin and damnation.
We celebrate disasters as if it were an elixir to out health. Chekhov
With his dark cabbages cooks us a soup as if we would have pot luck;
We sow seeds of sorrow for the harvesters to come at the end of time
Honeybees gather to suckle for an hour; a butterfly may hover over a
Buddleia bush for a moment; on the other hand, we take in the fragrance
And the nectar of a lifetime of ruin. This is our particular gift.
Mahler kept his dead children in the house long after they passed away
Heathcliff chases the spirit of his beloved as her corpse lay in a bed;
Where do we find all the space in our hearts and minds for such grief?
We are the lords of the painful endeavor, the adjudicators between two
Sorrows and we celebrate our life and measure our accolades by sorrow.
Emily Dickerson was right. To comprehend a nectar requires the sorest need.
