
My gut hurts me, it lets me know that I would be hungry if not for my holiness.
My divinity is what the nurses do not understand, yet they do treat it.
Lunch is best followed by a cigarette, two will dry out the mouth too quickly.
She dribbles on the corner of the car park, I know by now her diaper is full.
Pity has been replaced with disgust, pity is for those who are gregarious!
I am the singular case, I am the artist of the histrionic and schizophrenic moments.
What amount of pity will change the vicious circle? Only will and chance will release me.
I am not the centre of this, I am not essential to the structure which determines.
What I am is pure difference and infinite repetition, that is my divinity.
I am that amount that the artists can only represent.
About the Creator
T. M. Harrison
Young student writing from an inpatient Psychiatric Clinic. ‘Pataphysician.




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