Post by Deleted on Sept 14, 2014 19:59:58 GMT -5
Twas Brillig and the Hatted One did Cry and Tremble as a babe
All Missing were his Parentals
and the Drugs led to the Grave.
Beware the Jabbermom my son,
With claws that catch and jaws that bite
Beware the juana blunt
And shun the fuming bitch/snatch.
He took his vorpal blanket in hand
Long time some sort of home he sought
So rested he by the Tumtum tree
And stood a while in thought
And as in uffish thought he stood
The Jabbermom with eyes of flame
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood
And burbled as it came
One two one two the vicious hand
Went snicker snack
She beat him black and blue and
dragged him screaming back
And hast thou slain the Jabbermom?
Of course not. Because this is real life and problems just don’t go away because we want them to. And the Mad Hatter learned that early on, when he was just a boy. If you want problems to go away, you’re going to have to either grow strong enough to force them to go away, or develop a way to deal with them so they’re not longer hindrances. This is the story of how the Mad Hatter lost his mind.
It started in a home in Wonderland, a small town on the planet of Earth. He was born at the stroke of midnight, as lightning flashed in the air, illuminating the small hospital room. The nurses looked on in abject horror as the power in the hospital went out, leaving only a small glow in the room. They looked around, under the bed, in the bed, in the drawers but couldn’t find out where the glow was coming from. And then the child smiled, the only thing visible in the room, a Cheshire cat grin.
They knew he was going to be different, and for the first few years of his life, encouraged this. They were ideal parents. Loving, caring, showing such affection you could almost swim in it. The kind of lovely dovey family that any child would wish for, where a please would get you an extra dessert, and a thank you another hug from good ole mom or dad.
{Of course it wasn’t really like that. Oh no, please don’t let me shatter that reality for you. Go on believing that everything was peaches and cream. Tell them how it really was}
No, I don’t think I would like that very much.
{Oh but you must.}
Must I?
{Of course.}
And why?
{Because. This is the story of how you went insane. Not how everything was lovey dovey all the time.}
Ah. Your point is well proven.
Excuse me for my former gilding of the story. I would like to believe that it was a much nicer time than it was. Helps relieve some of the pain.
When he was brought home from the hospital, Madness was dropped into a cardboard box and left there for approximately three and a half years, until his parents realized he probably was going to keep on living, (The scraps they served him from their own dinners enough to nourish him and keep him surviving.) The glow from his smile annoyed them, of course, but he couldn’t help it. He never cried. Not once. He would lie in his cardboard box and think of a better home.
(Tragic isn’t it? When a child less than three years of age has to imagine a better home? If you can imagine what that’s like, I feel sorry for you. But you should feel even sorrier for Madness, for he had naught but a cardboard box to call friend.)
He would talk to it, of course. And of course, as cardboard boxes are wont to do, it didn’t respond. But that didn’t end the adventures he had with it. When you are but a child, your imagination can run wild, leaving you believing every little thing you come up with. When you are but a child with no company but a cardboard box, the things you come up with are threefold of a normal child.
Madness had an extensive vocabulary for such a little child. He would listen to his parents screaming at each other, and dealing with many other adults. From this he learned more than a young child should learn about hard drugs. You see, Madness’s parents were drug dealers, and oftentimes made the drugs themselves right there in the house.
They had never wanted a child, but they liked to get down and dirty, and sometimes accidents happen. They named him Madness because when his mother told his father she was pregnant the first thing he said was “This is madness.” She then said “No, this is Sparta” and kicked him square in the nuts. That’s why his middle name is Sparta. {Yep. Madness Sparta Hatness.} (It’s still very odd to me.){Yeah, I don’t get it either.}
Anyfluff, he grew up in a very fatal environment and somehow ended up doing decently for himself. He never went to school so he was not a very educated child, but he had his cardboard box, and with that he could go anywhere he liked. Including school. He had an imaginary school inside his cardboard box, where somehow he taught himself advanced subjects at a very young age, without any prompting. (Is that true?){Probably}(How is that even possible?){I do six impossible things before breakfast}(True.)
One day he went outside with his cardboard box to play in the yard. (Which had a chain link fence around it, to keep stray dogs out and stray dawgs out. {What’s the difference?} (The g, obviously.) It was a cloudy day. One could taste the precipitation in the air. Unfortunately for our young Hatness, he had no idea what happens to cardboard when exposed to rain. You can guess what happens next.
In case you can’t, I’ll tell you!
He went outside to play. He sat in the cardboard box and daydreamt of his classroom. There were other little kids in his class, but he mostly ignored them. They would probably just treat him the same way his parents did (How could he know people would treat him any differently? He had never experienced any other sort of relationship) so all he did was listen to the teacher. She was nice, in a way that can only be explained as a lingering memory. Perhaps one of the nurses in the hospital who had held him had said kind things. Perhaps maybe the doctor noticed he did not cry but smiled and offered him a kind smile in return, but the memory was there and so the teacher was a kind woman, and this gave him the hope that maybe if the people in his head could be kind, the people in the real world could be kind as well. For now, he would learn daily that this was just a fallacy.
Thunder clapped overhead and Madness jumped. He had never experienced such a loud clap of thunder. It was almost like the thunder was giving him a standing ovation with how loud it was. (really?......sigh)
Then the skies opened up and it started to rain. But not just a light rain. It was raining panthers and wolves. (Like cats and dogs but bigger and more powerful){Yeah, I’m pretty sure everyone got that BEFORE you explained it}
The cardboard box he had so long called his best friend disintegrated in front of his eyes. No warning had been given from his parents. What did they care? Here was a ten year old boy who was friends with a box. They gave him shelter and scraps, what did they need to warn him about rain for? He didn’t cry. He couldn’t. But something broke within him. His best friend had died. He didn’t know much about the world, but the concept of death was something he had grasped early. One must keep oneself alive, and not worry about the end of others. But the box had been his home, his bed, his one and only friend. No longer could he go to the classroom he had come up with in his mind. No longer could he close the top of the box and shut out the world that had dealt him such a devilish hand, one he would do anything to mulligan. But he couldn’t. And his box was dead.
{Well that was sad.}
(Yes but it was necessary.)
{How so?}
(Well that was break one.)
{Break one?}
(Oh yes. To go truly insane one must break three times. Didn’t you know this?)
{I didn’t, but go on}
(That was it.)
{I said go on.}
(Oh. O-okay…..)
The second break happened four years later, when he was 14.
(oh is that was ten plus four equals?)
{Don’t be a jackass.}
Madness was tired of living in the conditions that he was in. So he decided he would do something about it. He stole Z10,000 from his parents and fled into the woods. He walked for days and days, passing things he had never seen before. This was his first real experience out in the real world, and being in the woods at night is scary, no matter how you grew up. (Even if you grew up in a drug lords house, for instance)
The sounds at night grated in his ears, leaving him wondering what would attack him first. But nothing ever did. He slept in various strange places, from caves to hollowed out logs to the trunk of an abandoned car he found.
Little did he know he was being hunted.
(Hunted?)
{Yes, hunted.}
(By what)
{You know, you’re just text but somehow I just know you pronounced that “Hwhat”}
(Of course, why?)
{….I hate you.}
Anyway. Back to the story. He was being hunted. One night, as he was sleeping, someone crept up to him and held a knife to his throat.
“Give me the money” They said, in an almost saccharine voice.
Of course the voices source was not unfamiliar to the boy. He opened his eyes to find someone very familiar with their hand outstretched, knife still to his throat.
“I was hesitate to slit your throat and spill your blood.” She said, and he reached in his pocket, pulled it out and handed it to her.
“Oh my baby. My baby I thought I had lost you.” It was then the second break occurred. How could it not? Something has to break inside you when your mother holds a knife to your throat and then calls the money her baby.
(Ouch.)
{Yeah.}
(Third break?)
{Oh no. We aren’t there yet.}
(We’re not?)
{Oh no my friend. You don’t get it, do you?}
(What do I not get?)
{The third break? It hasn’t happened yet.}
(WHAT?)
{What do you think we are, my friend?}
(Oh….my…)
{Indeed. You are the first break and I am the second. The third break has yet to occur. Madness Hatness has yet to be truly mad.}
All Missing were his Parentals
and the Drugs led to the Grave.
Beware the Jabbermom my son,
With claws that catch and jaws that bite
Beware the juana blunt
And shun the fuming bitch/snatch.
He took his vorpal blanket in hand
Long time some sort of home he sought
So rested he by the Tumtum tree
And stood a while in thought
And as in uffish thought he stood
The Jabbermom with eyes of flame
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood
And burbled as it came
One two one two the vicious hand
Went snicker snack
She beat him black and blue and
dragged him screaming back
And hast thou slain the Jabbermom?
Of course not. Because this is real life and problems just don’t go away because we want them to. And the Mad Hatter learned that early on, when he was just a boy. If you want problems to go away, you’re going to have to either grow strong enough to force them to go away, or develop a way to deal with them so they’re not longer hindrances. This is the story of how the Mad Hatter lost his mind.
It started in a home in Wonderland, a small town on the planet of Earth. He was born at the stroke of midnight, as lightning flashed in the air, illuminating the small hospital room. The nurses looked on in abject horror as the power in the hospital went out, leaving only a small glow in the room. They looked around, under the bed, in the bed, in the drawers but couldn’t find out where the glow was coming from. And then the child smiled, the only thing visible in the room, a Cheshire cat grin.
They knew he was going to be different, and for the first few years of his life, encouraged this. They were ideal parents. Loving, caring, showing such affection you could almost swim in it. The kind of lovely dovey family that any child would wish for, where a please would get you an extra dessert, and a thank you another hug from good ole mom or dad.
{Of course it wasn’t really like that. Oh no, please don’t let me shatter that reality for you. Go on believing that everything was peaches and cream. Tell them how it really was}
No, I don’t think I would like that very much.
{Oh but you must.}
Must I?
{Of course.}
And why?
{Because. This is the story of how you went insane. Not how everything was lovey dovey all the time.}
Ah. Your point is well proven.
Excuse me for my former gilding of the story. I would like to believe that it was a much nicer time than it was. Helps relieve some of the pain.
When he was brought home from the hospital, Madness was dropped into a cardboard box and left there for approximately three and a half years, until his parents realized he probably was going to keep on living, (The scraps they served him from their own dinners enough to nourish him and keep him surviving.) The glow from his smile annoyed them, of course, but he couldn’t help it. He never cried. Not once. He would lie in his cardboard box and think of a better home.
(Tragic isn’t it? When a child less than three years of age has to imagine a better home? If you can imagine what that’s like, I feel sorry for you. But you should feel even sorrier for Madness, for he had naught but a cardboard box to call friend.)
He would talk to it, of course. And of course, as cardboard boxes are wont to do, it didn’t respond. But that didn’t end the adventures he had with it. When you are but a child, your imagination can run wild, leaving you believing every little thing you come up with. When you are but a child with no company but a cardboard box, the things you come up with are threefold of a normal child.
Madness had an extensive vocabulary for such a little child. He would listen to his parents screaming at each other, and dealing with many other adults. From this he learned more than a young child should learn about hard drugs. You see, Madness’s parents were drug dealers, and oftentimes made the drugs themselves right there in the house.
They had never wanted a child, but they liked to get down and dirty, and sometimes accidents happen. They named him Madness because when his mother told his father she was pregnant the first thing he said was “This is madness.” She then said “No, this is Sparta” and kicked him square in the nuts. That’s why his middle name is Sparta. {Yep. Madness Sparta Hatness.} (It’s still very odd to me.){Yeah, I don’t get it either.}
Anyfluff, he grew up in a very fatal environment and somehow ended up doing decently for himself. He never went to school so he was not a very educated child, but he had his cardboard box, and with that he could go anywhere he liked. Including school. He had an imaginary school inside his cardboard box, where somehow he taught himself advanced subjects at a very young age, without any prompting. (Is that true?){Probably}(How is that even possible?){I do six impossible things before breakfast}(True.)
One day he went outside with his cardboard box to play in the yard. (Which had a chain link fence around it, to keep stray dogs out and stray dawgs out. {What’s the difference?} (The g, obviously.) It was a cloudy day. One could taste the precipitation in the air. Unfortunately for our young Hatness, he had no idea what happens to cardboard when exposed to rain. You can guess what happens next.
In case you can’t, I’ll tell you!
He went outside to play. He sat in the cardboard box and daydreamt of his classroom. There were other little kids in his class, but he mostly ignored them. They would probably just treat him the same way his parents did (How could he know people would treat him any differently? He had never experienced any other sort of relationship) so all he did was listen to the teacher. She was nice, in a way that can only be explained as a lingering memory. Perhaps one of the nurses in the hospital who had held him had said kind things. Perhaps maybe the doctor noticed he did not cry but smiled and offered him a kind smile in return, but the memory was there and so the teacher was a kind woman, and this gave him the hope that maybe if the people in his head could be kind, the people in the real world could be kind as well. For now, he would learn daily that this was just a fallacy.
Thunder clapped overhead and Madness jumped. He had never experienced such a loud clap of thunder. It was almost like the thunder was giving him a standing ovation with how loud it was. (really?......sigh)
Then the skies opened up and it started to rain. But not just a light rain. It was raining panthers and wolves. (Like cats and dogs but bigger and more powerful){Yeah, I’m pretty sure everyone got that BEFORE you explained it}
The cardboard box he had so long called his best friend disintegrated in front of his eyes. No warning had been given from his parents. What did they care? Here was a ten year old boy who was friends with a box. They gave him shelter and scraps, what did they need to warn him about rain for? He didn’t cry. He couldn’t. But something broke within him. His best friend had died. He didn’t know much about the world, but the concept of death was something he had grasped early. One must keep oneself alive, and not worry about the end of others. But the box had been his home, his bed, his one and only friend. No longer could he go to the classroom he had come up with in his mind. No longer could he close the top of the box and shut out the world that had dealt him such a devilish hand, one he would do anything to mulligan. But he couldn’t. And his box was dead.
{Well that was sad.}
(Yes but it was necessary.)
{How so?}
(Well that was break one.)
{Break one?}
(Oh yes. To go truly insane one must break three times. Didn’t you know this?)
{I didn’t, but go on}
(That was it.)
{I said go on.}
(Oh. O-okay…..)
The second break happened four years later, when he was 14.
(oh is that was ten plus four equals?)
{Don’t be a jackass.}
Madness was tired of living in the conditions that he was in. So he decided he would do something about it. He stole Z10,000 from his parents and fled into the woods. He walked for days and days, passing things he had never seen before. This was his first real experience out in the real world, and being in the woods at night is scary, no matter how you grew up. (Even if you grew up in a drug lords house, for instance)
The sounds at night grated in his ears, leaving him wondering what would attack him first. But nothing ever did. He slept in various strange places, from caves to hollowed out logs to the trunk of an abandoned car he found.
Little did he know he was being hunted.
(Hunted?)
{Yes, hunted.}
(By what)
{You know, you’re just text but somehow I just know you pronounced that “Hwhat”}
(Of course, why?)
{….I hate you.}
Anyway. Back to the story. He was being hunted. One night, as he was sleeping, someone crept up to him and held a knife to his throat.
“Give me the money” They said, in an almost saccharine voice.
Of course the voices source was not unfamiliar to the boy. He opened his eyes to find someone very familiar with their hand outstretched, knife still to his throat.
“I was hesitate to slit your throat and spill your blood.” She said, and he reached in his pocket, pulled it out and handed it to her.
“Oh my baby. My baby I thought I had lost you.” It was then the second break occurred. How could it not? Something has to break inside you when your mother holds a knife to your throat and then calls the money her baby.
(Ouch.)
{Yeah.}
(Third break?)
{Oh no. We aren’t there yet.}
(We’re not?)
{Oh no my friend. You don’t get it, do you?}
(What do I not get?)
{The third break? It hasn’t happened yet.}
(WHAT?)
{What do you think we are, my friend?}
(Oh….my…)
{Indeed. You are the first break and I am the second. The third break has yet to occur. Madness Hatness has yet to be truly mad.}