“Memoirs of a Madman”
I sewed my life as it shouldn’t have been. I deem myself sane, but you might think otherwise. Don’t be so judgmental. I’m more sane than you think you are. I can meticulously lead you to the world in which I have committed a crime. In awe I still look upon what I had done. I still lay in the corner of this pitch- dark room each day. I succumbed to reality. Why am I here? You think they forced me into the dark, filthy room? You are entirely off the beam. I coerced myself into this small room and ordered them to lock me up in here, of course, without any chains.
Would you mind reading the diary of a mad man?
Aren’t you a bit disgusted by the fact I am writing this diary and such gentlemen and fair ladies like you are reading it? Or Are you actually enjoying it?
And you holy men, don’t you feel contempt for the fact I am about to utter profane words against God?
And you my Supreme King, you that are standing right here in front of me along with the others, looking disdainfully upon me, aren’t you a bit concerned of your status? Of your heavenly position that hath been bestowed upon you?
Are you all willing to read and listen to the memoirs of a madman?
Be silent and don’t dare speak to a madman; I am the authority here. You see, even a madman can write such memoirs with perfect grammatical structures as well…dah. You are all nodding. Well, I will tell you my story when I was once sane like you. In my darkest nightmares, and of all the things I cannot recall, I only remember what God had told to me in that nightmare. He said, “I am God that has been slaughtered. Now I exist amongst the ancient ruins, waiting, just to execute my murderer.”
Ha, what was that you were saying my dear Sheik? I am blasphemous? Oh please, are you going to take seriously the words of a madman? Have you lost your mind, ptfff. Just listen ok?
In that nightmare, I was walking in a hazy forest; I could hear the resonance of a piano and violin being played exquisitely. I followed the path that the sounds were leading me to, like a soldier on a mission, and when I overcame the trials of slaying lions, shooting sparrows (don’t ask where I got the rifle from for it just happened to be within my reach). It was snowing even though it was summer. Everything was white and covered with snow, but the heat was unbearable. I walked and walked and walked until I reached what was like a blue sky where two devils setting on clouds: One was playing the Violin, the other playing the piano and singing. I interrupted them and asked them what were they doing and the one playing the piano whose color was blue answered me, “We’re annoying those who reside in heaven?”
“Why would you do that?” I asked.
“Because we can,” replied the red devil with the broken horns.
“And pardon me sir, why would your horns be broken?”
“He angered God once by trying to steal the tree of Eden and give to all humans down on earth, and to answer your question, because God can,” replied the blue devil.
What is it your saying my dear sheik? Raise your voice. I cannot hear thee well. Ah! What’s wrong with you, can’t someone even have dreams and nightmares anymore?
Anyways, the nightmare ended and I found myself chained in prison where I was being tortured. I was naked. I didn’t know how I got there. All I knew was that I was receiving slaps for free. Slaps can wake you up sometimes to face reality so they’re good, don’t you think my dear King?
Ha, you’re saying that your voice is unheard? What good a King are you then? Are you telling me you’re a joke? Please, don’t be so modest and harsh on yourself my dear King for I would gladly take any slap for the greater good of our beloved kingdom.
I had no food to eat and no one to talk to in prison. I didn’t even have the time to worship. I didn’t feel like I belonged there, but why was I there? I asked. No clear and logical answer I received except that I was accused of murder.
Anyways, let me tell you this, my fair ladies and my dear gentlemen, if you take a guitar and went to a barn to play to cows the most beautiful tones ever composed, do you suppose the cows would applaud for your performance? Of course, you would say no, but by then I will surely think of you as crazy for sometimes it’s good to appreciate someone’s works by being totally silent. This shows that they respect you.
Ha, what were you saying my dear gentleman? It’s an insult? I am not comparing you to the cows, no, but I am only making a distinction on how to show respect and learn from cows. That’s all, my dear gentleman, no need to be offended. And you my fair lady are you telling me this example of mine is improper? Well, rest assured, I am just a madman, a blabbermouth!
Anyways, I got out of prison after three years. I spent my days at home. My father died of cancer. My little brother died of cancer as well, and my mother is alone, struggling to keep her pace in life. I started having severe headaches. I was hearing voices inside telling me to snatch someone’s head. “I am a peaceful man,” I forced the idea within. And the voices meticulously stated, “No, you’re not. You’re a madman created for this purpose.” I tried not to be convinced, but the power was overwhelming.
“I will be sent to prison again,” I said.
“For God’s sake, you were sent without any proper cause,” said the celestial voice.
“It was for my Kingdom’s sake that I was sent to get slapped.”
Oh, thank you my dear King, I really did say that. No need to bow your head.
“Do it and you will be sent to a place where there are not slaps, but only you,” The voice insisted.
“Only me, how am I supposed to live alone?”
“To answer your question, you have to figure it out yourself.”
It tried to convince me of how such a mad world needs to be cleansed from good-hearted people who loathes. If you clean one head, you get credit. It drove me to the edge of my insanity and by then I had to grab a knife, and go out to slit anyone’s throat.
I just happen to remember that I was telling my mother to force me to enter the dark room and lock me up. Did I do it? I don’t know for there were no signs of blood stains on my shirts, only the edge of the knife. Can you blame me? Can you blame my hands? Or can you blame the knife?
Oh people, my story is complicated and I don’t remember all what had occurred so pardon me. I am a madman now, reciting his own trial, and instilling faith in you, but will you show some respect and steer yourself away from this room?
I am a madman in a dark room, in his own place that when trespassed, you trespass the territory of God; that is, madmen are created in God’s image and not you people. Get out ye King. Get out ye Holy men. Get out ye men and women and let this crazy man see what he must know tomorrow. I know not what to do, but only what to know. I am sorry for not giving you roles in my memoirs people for your voices are unheard and useless. And happy is this madman before thee and woe to you “sane” men.