Skip to main content

Diagnosis

 

 Diagnosis

 

I was just getting somewhere with my life & my poetry & the flow has been ruptured by a psychiatric appointment with diagnosis

“Schizo-Affective Disorder, Acute Anxiety, OCD, Complex PTSD” get fucked!

I’m a sic kunt original man

& I’ve read Immanuel Kant

& does my psychiatrist know who he himself is?

I’m not even sure I or indeed any of this exists

We could all be characters in God’s or a kid’s or a dog’s dream

My flow broken

They set traps in my way

Just when I’m feeling gay

It’s been great at home with Lao Tzu

Where nothing key can be understood

But it can be embodied

But the minute I go out I get mugged by people in expensive suits

I’m just trying to mind my own business

But everytime I start to feel good

People come for me & try & box me up

Maybe I’ll buy a baseball bat

& tell em all to fuck off!

& only go to the IGA

I like the guys in there

They even get in okra for me

I’m brilliant & Irish

Sub genius like Ginsberg

In this Anglo-Saxon normative

The shitstem full of tests

Suggesting nothing is understood

I’m a poet & I know it

I just find life impossibly brutal & brutalist

I can’t sustain socializing

I say fuck all this “I” shit!

As I say I might not even exist

God is Dead

Therefore the human sciences' pivot is baseless

Coz no one is enreasoned-rational capable of true judgement

Nevertheless the law is the law

As Johnson put it “The Law is an ass”

The game’s a joke

The game’s a lie

But we all must play along

Coz the world’s about power

The robots – the army of the thugs – in charge

& if you can find a peg

To hang ur hat on

Then maybe you'll live another week without a lobotomy

So to be honest I’m pissed off, really sad & frankly exasperated

If Psychiatry is meant to play a therapeutic role in a patient’s life

Then why do I feel like shit every time I talk to a doctor or a pharmacist?

 

 

Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.


Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

“I didn’t know!”

  “I didn’t know!”   Don’t get me wrong In a Two Party preferred system  I have no choice but to give preferences to Labor The Coalition are scum But Jacinta Allen, Victorian Premier Claimed in a Truth Telling Commission that she never knew about massacres Of Indigenous people in the state She’d never looked up The history of her country The history of the state she leads She’s Premier! She leads a department that ‘manages Indigenous affairs’ We are currently in the process of negotiating a Treaty What did she think happened to all the Aboriginal people?! They went up to live up the Magic Faraway Tree? “No one told me!” No one ever told me either I fuckin researched It was really easy Took 10 minutes There’s this new thing called the Internet & you search stuff up Like History A subject no longer taught in many schools past year 7 I deduced a lot from observing the place & how allergic we are of looking at ourselves ...
2 comments
Read more

In a very unorthodox way

  In a very unorthodox way # (For Max Sometimes) In a very unorthodox way, I’m an Irish Catholic. Of course, in terms of Belfast politics that MEANS something. & while that maybe true – in Australia, for different reasons, as Fr Bob Maguire put it – when Mary first saw Jesus walking out of the tomb on day 3 of his death, she exclaimed “JESUS!!!” – the first time his name was used as a swear word. In that way of an irreverent joke, REVERENTIAL & ORTHODOX are not my way to the Sacred/Love*. For me – I’m not really into Theology – as Max Sometimes quoting me, quoting my mate Richard, quoting Bob Marley, quoting Rasta elders, said today “who feels it knows it.” & I believe that if I am to write my Mass/Symphony of Hope/Love, I must include at least one blasphemous hymn, else the vision depicted be simplistic, like George Handel’s Messiah. The Hope/Love represented or perhaps alluded to (if you prefer) must include genuine despair, dejection, transgression else it...
Post a Comment
Read more

Though it made me a poet

Though it made me a poet   This is a superior microwave to the last if  everything has to be a competition I guess it does! In the Kafkaesque vortex Where one is trying merely to ask a question Instead one is sold something I’m monastic or have acute anxiety Anxiety is pretty cute Like a decapitated bleeding brain Covered in snails turned carnivore By the wrack & ruin of a child’s innocence The fist in the sister’s face The knife in the wall Did I imagine the latter, dream it or see it? Who threw it? Must have been the bowie Still life goes on So I went to school the next morning & got my mouth taped up For being a chatterbox Such is the life of a privileged 5 year old It made me a poet     Published & Copyright Malachi Doyle 2025.  
Post a Comment
Read more