Modern Love.

Rapt attention.

My feelings,

they stand in

muddled water.

Depths of not

unknown yet.

Still forgotten,

my trials threadbare,

rusted unused,

melody unchanging.

Digression from fact,

outpouring emotion,

death.

Silence certitude,

grace unwavering,

eulogy, elegy,

uncaring,

heart pounding.

Awake at last.

The mind elopes,

restlessness,

awaking silently as I

stride.

The cowboy wanders.

In peril,

at last,

a feather.

An extradition.

Modern love.

Twisted up under,

the covers.

A mighty rift.

Angrily rushing,

towards

nothing.

Nevertheless

came about beneath,

the starry sky.

A breath.

A gasp.

One ponders,

on fleet we fly.

Into

By Miles Francis.

Turmoil, Anguish, Fear.

Lobbed onto my forehead.

Broken pieces on my ears.

Spinning unnaturally into my world.

Spinning, twisting into a whirlpool of my being.

The dangerous ones come last.

Before I become whole again.

I must reach into that dark chasm.

Grind my way through tears.

Into my body and soul.

Forming a new person.

Charming, elegant.

Eulogy of desire.

The revolution draws nearer.

Awake we must be.

Economies will be free.

To change, overcome, transition.

The beast awakens and runs.

Finding its stride.

In our hearts and homes.

It is here.

It is now.

Mental Illness: An Exposition 6/9-6/15 2021 Part 3

How the earth has worn, shown its true colors. It seems that reality is perhaps 5 centuries behind science. We find and apply, and then we must wait. Wait for what? wait for the world to change. Science is science, the rest is just politics. What is the transformation of humanity, as we the ones who are being shaped by our science adapt to the intrusion or enlightenment of our minds by technology. As the web is spun around us, into us, and among us, we find that we are not who we thought we once were. We are expanding ourselves into the universe.

The spectrum of humanity, those who are human, not yet human, and once were human is becoming more and more visible.

Ahead

By Miles Francis

She ran on ahead,

To find her purpose,

And knelt by the stream,

To where it had led.

She ran on ahead,

The key to the castle,

She crept to the window,

Saw a sunset, pure red.

She ran on ahead,

Skirt swinging so gaily,

Found a purple flower,

He left in his stead.

Schizophrenics Anonymous

“I hear they’re using heavy water in the showers down at the insane asylum…”

“Oh you’ve got a GE showered? Well I’ve got a Rolls-Royce. That’s right, I’ve got a Rolls-Royce showerhead.”

And they say the road ain’t no place to start a family…

My fears grow day by day as I wait for death to envelop me in its loving everlasting embrace. The time that I have on this earth lingers and quakes as shadows, clouds, nimbus and cumulous, pass overhead. I think, I feel, nimble and quick, slow and fatigued. Each day is a new dawn, but each day brings with it new emotional, physical, and mental trauma that I must undergo in order to prove myself human, to prove myself alive. These things reach deep into my conscience and threaten to overtake me. I hold them at bay until they no longer have power over me.

These things of which I speak affect all men, yet I am more susceptible than most. My journey is rough, but my task at hand is clear and growing clearer by the day. To survive, to flourish, to compete, to accomplish, are things few man have done in my place before me. I alone posses the ability to make my future become reality. No one else. I am the master of my destiny, I must remain at full health in order to achieve my goals, however slow they may come.

There are few things on this planet as precious to me as art. Art gives, but it also takes . In order to create are we must put a piece of ourselves into the work. Without this essence of the creator in every work, there is no art. Just as a computer cannot program without a programmer, art could not be created without a human. This is my stance on art. So many artists create from others’ work, by failing to create something original, they are selling themselves out to some lesser ideal. This ideal of unoriginality, is evil. It should be a crime.

Just because some things aren’t created doesn’t mean that it isn’t pure genius. So many intelligent people have been forgotten because they didn’t allow their greatest work to be seen.

Anno Domini

In the day of the Lord.

Yes that is one of the few latin phrases that I know. I felt that it fits here. I am not talking about God, and yet he needs to be mentioned.

This phrase

These days

Imagination

Generation

Age of reason

Crypto treason

Explanation.

Where do the youth of today find their fortunes? The city dwellers of today who are unmarred by the harsh realities of life. Are they not human too? There are to many people in this world who are not where they wish to be it is almost an international crisis. The want of millions to be where so few reside. This strange oddity seems to most, to be a fact of life. Not to me. How do the stars align? Whose journey is beginning and whose is just coming to an end? These questions will bring on the next generation of political leaders, and communications technology. Enabling diversity, inclusiveness, and harmony among the people of earth.

An elegant

Staircase

Elevated mandolins

A twinkling

Chandelier.

Light footsteps

In the garden

A flickering candle

In the window.

A waltz performed

In the ballroom

A gentleman’s

Tuxedo

A ladies’ gown.

Children running

On the beach

Not an instrument

Out of tune.

A personal note: Do not ever joke with other people diagnosed with Schizophrenia.

Many people who are today in the hospital with me, will soon no doubt be back due to substances, illnesses that come on unexpectedly, or unhealthy lifestyles and behaviors. I too may be back sooner than I expect, although I hope not.

By Miles Francis:

Pen in hand

A place to stand.

I fought for right

To save my life.

These riddles told

A night so bold.

A feather quill

My oil lamp spill.

A spot of ink

A page on brink.

I write my past, It won’t come true. I once belonged, one day for you.

Next week again, I’ll see a friend. With hopeful eyes, I’ll claim my prize.

Why do we write? Why do our thoughts compel us to put pen to paper, to mark in ink with these symbols of meaning? Who do we (I) write for? Who are you? You are reading this writing. What is your name?

Today might be my last day here. It is quiet. Few people are left to hold loud conversations and carry on as they did before. My mind wanders. I feel well and able. I am anxious to see my family once again. I will recount my time and rejoin the outside world, mad as it is.

I think one of the greatest things to aspire to be is to be famous. To be known in your field, in your community, and in your accomplishments. There is no better feeling, at least in my eyes, than recognition.

Home

By Miles Francis

O to be home,

To be free,

To explore the world,

To chart a path.

Set your sights,

Do the math,

Learn the books,

Find your passion.

Guess the time,

Put your stash in,

Create your work,

A work of art.

Develop your theory,

Play your part,

Enjoy the rhyme,

Deflect the reason.

Go to school,

When its in season,

And finally,

Remember this.

Love won’t come,

Without a twist,

Don’t think first,

But just don’t miss.

Forever comes,

A word,

A kiss.

Thinking about this poem takes some thought. At first you are found to be in a vocation, a skill, a craft. Then you learn that home can take many forms, including love. Home is a place for all emotions, sometimes even bad ones.

Mental Illness: An Exposition 6/9-6/15 2021 Part 2

This same thinking can cure dementia, cancer, arthritis, Alzheimers, Parkinson’s, everything. They are the same, we need a change in society to deal with these illnesses and free ill people. This will do. A free economy can do this.

The variety of characters on the unit is the best part. So many different backgrounds brought together in one space. Girls, boys, men, women, everything in between. Every race is represented, with individuals from every color in the spectrum. The illnesses represented are diverse too. Everything categorized as “mental” illness. Age is not a factor, except when hanging out. There are the old men who want nothing to do with the kids. The older women who offer advice and emotional support. The gender non conforming girl who keeps her nose in a book all day, and her roommate, a tattooed, short cropped hair LGBTQ individual, close friends with her roommate. Then there are the gangsters, hispanic and black young people who use drugs on the outside, and talk about it on the inside. They form the cliques of the unit. There are others too, men and women who come here to heal, rest, and escape from the world and recover from the traumas imposed by daily life.

My reflection

or yours

on mine

hundreds of people

everyday people

persecuted

lift up my spirits

or hers

liberate my spirit

because it is mine

heal my soul

I have one

free my heart

to be like yours

Truly yours,

Miles Francis

Inevitability

Tranquility

Express this

Serenity

History

Shock that

Hinduism

Sufism

Identify me

Idealist

Surrealist

Apparently you

Numerous

Humarous

Influential object

Cosmology

Ontology

Singular being.

“This physico-techno-military given, only leads us as far, he says, as the gates of this ‘promised land.’ But while modern science guides us to the gates of the promised land of liberal democracy, it does not deliver us to the promised land itself, for there is no economically necessary reason why advanced industrialization should produce political liberty.”

Spectres of Marx pp. 75.

It is unclear where we would be without nuclear energy and the atomic bomb. In my view the nuclear question will be solved by deactivating and disarming all nuclear weapons or otherwise finding a use for them in society. One thing is clear however, the control of nuclear weapons should not be given to any one person let alone a committee of individuals. This is something that should be left to a highly sophisticated computer intelligence to determine.

To be betrothed,

My love she wrote,

Come hither to find me.

I went to where,

To find her there,

And now she’s my fiancé.

Destiny

By Miles Francis

Destiny

The best

In me

The rest

For thee

A set

For tea

Just us

Two

A place

For you

The things

We’ll do

The painting

We drew

From me

To you

Our Destiny.

The state of the psychiatric hospital today is this: well staffed, poor infrastructure and amenities. At the IOL inpatient unit in Hartford, CT there is a need for more space, more modern buildings with modern architecture, and better activities for patients to take part in. The many young patients could use exercise, outdoor recreation, more space indoors and outdoors, ideally an enclosed campus like atmosphere. There could even be stores and restaurants and libraries, staffed by mental health workers. This would be an incredible advancement and investment into the livelihoods of mentally ill patients. In essence creating a world for them to live which is the same as the world outside.

The Shadows

By Miles Francis

Fear ye the weather

My friend

Or never find true

Love again.

Eerie be shadows

They tend

To whisper when night

Comes again.

Here in the darkness

We’ll be

Laughing around

Yonder bend.

The witch and the cripple

Will flee

When moonlight shines

Down in the end.

Mental Illness: An Exposition 6/9-6/15 2021 Part 1

I look through mental illness to the world. These are my thoughts.

More often than not, people are who their environment has created them to be. A famous actor who grew up in LA. An artist who grew up in Paris. A farmer who grew up in Kansas. Or me, a writer who grew up in a small New England village on the outskirts of Hartford.

A fight broke out on the ward this evening. I was startled while reading, bud did not get up to close my door. I wanted to know what happened. It was soon broken up by the nurses who separated those who were fighting and closed our door to the outside. Jack asked me what time it was. I said maybe 30 minutes until dinner. With no watches or clocks in the rooms there’s no way for us to tell the time unless we go out into the main room.

I am wrong. It’s after dinner. Snack time is soon. I’m in the right place.

“The past is nothing and at last the future can be but the past.” -Byron

Dear Author, Congratulations!

You have literary genius.

How do we live our lives knowing that we will not be cured in our lifetimes? Knowing that we are the “others” called on by society to be invalids, scammers, homeless, and destitute, always dependent on another for our happiness? How can we proclaim a collective future when all futures are not collective? When society stops creating worlds for us to live in, and allows us to live in their world, as one of them, only then will the mentally ill, the autistic, the arthritic, the cancerous human afflicted by “uncurable” diseases liberated. Our profit motives, our research, our manufacturing, our technology, and most importantly our politics will be upended.

Desire:

Nectar of Immortality,

My specter grows evermore.

Its scepter in the chamber of light,

Relation and Right.

The gods as they do lecture,

Turn throughout the night.

I began a man,

A leper by night.

Real life, real words, flow.

For the chronically ill to be truly free, for the major illnesses we face to be cured, we need a fundamental change in the governance structures which oversee our economy. Our economy provides goods, but mostly knowledge. We want to create the assembly line for knowledge, but we must now create a new politics to govern it. A truly free economy would enable us to free our minds and bodies from the scourge of illness. This economy would be free from outside intervention. Built from a major restructuring of the creative forces of our time.

No. Stop. All wrong.

Create more.

Think less.

Powerfully,

Effortlessly,

Without meaning,

With empathy,

Kindness, Happiness.

What now shall I think, that all my thoughts are gone. A memory of a thing, a place I might belong.

Action

Inaction

Memory

Remedy.

Work for me is such a drag. How can I endlessly morallessly spend my days without energy for my own pursuits. It is by my own volition that I must engage. We live and we learn. Things may not come out the way that we imagine them. For me it will never be ok. I am dying of a broken heart.

So many places that I want to go, but so few of them are within reach. Paris, Rome, Rio, Johannesburg, Stockholm, Bankok. I’m 24. Will I ever see any of them? Being dependent on others is too difficult to bear at times. I wish I was sailing. Then I would be free to go as I please.

In this corner of the world that I occupy, how will anyone ever know my name? When I dream of sainthood, all else falls by the wayside. It’s not that nothing can compare, it’s just that… it can’t.

When the morals of men run together and blur the distinctions between right and wrong. The time is then to remove the pain, the anguish, the respectable semblance of equity, justice, and good faith. These come one and the same. The things that men do to ease the pain, only make the long run worse. Bringing you back to the time of sickness you drown in sorrow, mortality, and vice. This is the becoming of man when he runs with the pack. It is in a word, a necessity of the worst. By congregating around perceived similarities, men create exclusivity and jealousy which leads to vice, crime, and simply more pain and conflict. I have experienced this firsthand, again and again. Yet those involved have no idea. They know not what they do. Forgive them Lord. Amen.

What Alchemy is this,

Those who turn to gold,

For value or riches,

Ever seeking never finding,

Lost ones, so old.

Those who seek the devil,

What witchery is this,

For morality, an ethic,

untold.

What darkness,

Rests in the shadows,

of truth.

Haunting, overlapping,

This matrix of desire,

Ever searching for,

Want of more,

What joy resides,

In the spires,

Of glory.

Who tolls the bell,

In the end,

At the gate,

Of redemption.

How shall these days,

Be lasted.

How shall I spend my,

Hours.

With you my friend,

I’ll see you again,

Beyond those holy,

Bowers.

History has left us at a crossroads. We are left with few choices to govern ourselves. We need leadership in order to bring our cause to the forefront of society and cure mental illness for good.

God exists and is the creator of the world. We serve God. The utopia we are searching for is freedom and leadership for intellectual freedom for the mentally ill. So how to free the minds of millions? A change in leadership of research, authority, and community of the mentally ill. We serve God, we love our earth and we deserve a higher place in our world. As an illness class who are uniquely shaped by society, we deserve to shape it in equal standing. This is the way to cure schizophrenia, bipolar, dementia, mania, depression, anxiety, and everything that is known today as an incurable mental illness. We must not be kept in the shadows.

Drafting my next newspaper article

Commentary: This article is a draft for an article submitted to my local newspaper for the July edition. Before submitting it, I may rewrite part of all of it. I have another I idea for an article purely on mental health and the arts solutions that can come of it. It is more concrete, less grand, and more amenable to a local audience. Will dwell on this.

Article:

In a time of great uncertainty, a reawakening of rural and urban communities, a reopening of our lives and livelihoods to community and the world, it is important to reflect on the issues which our country faces today. Indeed, we face many issues, but with globalization pushing the center of the economy and culture further away from the cities, it is interesting to think of the internet based era we live in to be one of decentralization. Some of the problems which we face today are not limited by state or national boundaries, but include all of humanity. We are reopening, sure, but many parts of the world remain closed off to resources, information, and travel. 

Race, class, gender, and disability are all factors of a systemic shift we are facing in our global community. Building healthy communities has never been more important, and awareness of the issues that are present in our community can help us be more aware of the broader changes that are taking place. 

The State of Connecticut was just allocated $28.5 million dollars to support increased mental health and substance use disorder problems. This funding, which comes from the American Rescue Plan will help Connecticut address the increased mental health services that are needed in the wake of COVID. This is not all as communities need more support in the form of police training, community services, and educational tools and programs for mental health. 

Furthermore, gender equality has stagnated in the United States, with the pay gap between men and women remaining steady for much of the past 5 years. Women are still pulled away from their jobs to do more housework than men and by failing to address this we are putting our society at greater risk of violence, conflict, and moral decline. This is not just about the data either, women need to have a greater and equal role in every job traditionally done by men. 

A major source of conflict in our communities today has to do with conflict between people of different origins, nationalities, ethnicities, and races. By acknowledging our differences, and building a community based on a shared affirmation of histories, we are better able to tackle the problems we face in the workplace, in the political arena, and throughout public life. 

By acknowledging wealth disparities that are present in our own communities, we can work to be more welcoming and enabling to individuals and families who are seeking to improve their social and income based standing. By providing these people with a solution that is not commercial, but inherently political, we can open up spaces where they are valued and where that value can increase. 

Much work is being done in the avenues of humanism, politics, and the human environment. A strategic goal, used correctly, will help our community survive and grow. Our community is a mirror of the bigger world around us. We are a microcosm of our planet earth. Reflecting on why we are here, and our shared identity can help us navigate to a better future for our town. 

Inquisition

A poem by James Rice

When death doth come,

and tide doth run,

and man become,

a sight unsung.

Thy earth is here,

thy tremble with fear,

a sailor will lear,

for thy true love dear.

And whenst the ships,

their sextants will dip,

for evil will snip,

at heartstrings just a bit.

Reflections on my own primitive feminism

One of the things that I aspire to be is a man writer. Yes, a man writer, as opposed to a woman writer, who is different than me. It is difficult to be a man writer, but it is far more difficult to be a woman writer. In Sarah Ahmed’s essay “Orientations Matter” in the volume “New Materialisms,” she describes the differences and objective opposition between being a “writer” and being a “woman writer.” For a woman to get behind the writing desk means to break free of the paternalistic home life. As a man writer it means something different for me to get behind a writing desk. There are struggles that I deal with on an individual, personal, familial, political, and existential basis which hinder me in my quest for literary certitude.

As an individual man writer, I am the unique purveyor of my male thoughts and the shaper of my male literary destiny. Sometimes I struggle to get out of bed in the morning, to put on a shirt, or to shave my face more than once every three or four days. These things are stumbling blocks in my path that I and I alone face. I say that I face these things alone, but I really mean by myself, without anyone to guide me, hound me to get back to work, or perform a function of my job as a male writer. Sarah Ahmed describes the free time that women have during and after work to sit down at the writing table. They have distractions too, yet from Sarah’s perspective they go much deeper than the non-structural issues that I fiddle with.

The grievances that I bring to the writing table are many, I must admit. However these pale in comparison to the feminist ideologues which permeate some of todays most powerful women writers’ work. I’m thinking Diana Cole, Samantha Frost, Donna Haraway, and Rosi Braidotti, among others. I often question myself whether any of the personal attachments and mental pseudo-neuroseis that I come upon within the darker reaches of my psyche are really as meaningful as they seem. All too often it seems that they are not, and a surge of will to overthrow them overcomes me, compelling me to write about which one I got rid of this week. These mental complications of will come from all parts of society, and also my past, recent and ancient, and from the apprehensions and hopes about my future. In many ways, as a man writer, I hope to be the mirror image of some of the best women writers out there. That is, a man writer as opposed to just a plain old writer (boring!).

My family is supportive, loving, and strong, but too often they can also be overbearing, and archaic. While they allow me to focus on my studies, at the end of the day there can be a painful reminder that family does come first, even when you don’t want it to. For Sarah Ahmad in “Orientations Matter,” this experience draws a parallel. Unruly children tugging at their mothers arms at the exact moment when she sits down to write can be a stopping block for any aspiring or professional writer. I may experience this when I do have children, but for now, when I am writing, often the thoughts that come to mind are of things that I would (or wouldn’t) want my parents to read, let alone my grandparents. Of course this limits my options significantly.

It is rare that we are reminded that women can be philosophers too. A desk, when you think about it can be in many places. The differences between men’s and women’s desks isn’t difficult to imagine. The opaque male desk with its aura of tradition, stands bare next to a modern, intelligentistic desk of the female philosopher. These political machinations run through my mind as I try to determine who I can and cannot be as a man writer.

The class struggle and the collapse of the social structure of society, through writing brings about a different lens from my male view to the view of Ahmed in her essay. While she writes about the ability of middle class white women to write though the labor of African American and latino women, I think of structures that are inherently different in scope. While her stories are personal, moving and call out to rational sense, my ideas of libertarian and capitalistic writing are not inherently on a different plane than what she writes.

The Emblem

A poem by James Rice

This stupid emblem of suffocating sameness,

Who am I even to think that you are brainless,

Mr. Rogers in disguise,

A perch at home without the lies.

A picture of where I grew up,

Not a piece of it is stainless,

Euthanize me now because I won’t tell you where the pain is,

Uncouth attitude, bring me to the latitude,

It’s here I don’t belong.

If I say that you are blameless,

Will you tell me where I am,

Because forever is not where fame is,

Letters and pence,

That is what I meant.

I’ll give you a piece of my mind,

Don’t you think that might be dangerous,

My life here is bland so tell me where might be flavorous,

Creation is a thing,

So bring me home and watch me drink.

But for now I’ll save my pen and ink,

Just sit there and watch me think,

Forever is a noun,

Just one word, a sound.

Note on the Philosophy of Al Kindī

Abū Yūsuf Ya‛qūb b. Isḥāq al-Kindī’s treatise known as “On First Philosophy” is a seminal work by one of the Arab world’s original philosophers. First Philosophy refers to the origins of the universe and the metaphysics of being, including the creation of all things and the existence and nature of God. The treatise’s main argument is on the oneness of God, that He exists and has created the universe, which is not eternal, and that it (the universe) has begun at the beginning of time, which God created, and has an ending. This ending is the end of the non-eternal being of God, and the end of the non-eternal universe and time itself.

The information from this paragraph was retrieved from “The Oxford Handbook of Islamic Philosophy,” from the chapter entitled: “The Rise of Falsafa: Al-Kindī (d. 873).”