the lost man chronicles
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a devilish deviation from the mean

Beyond the contrast to patterns of behavior exhibited by patients in a psychiatric institution, what truly constitutes "normal"?

Isn't it nothing more than the road kill which lies in the middle of the road?

It amuses me when I observe those who react negatively, who are startled, spun into a vertigo, or wrought with anxiety when they witness anything apart from the norm. It is all the more disturbing to listen as they question the legitimacy, or rather propriety, of any behavior which deviates from the mean.

I have a little theory that has long been stuck inside my head wedding the constraints of society and its conservative advocacy of normalcy to all those who get pushed over the edge. In sum, people are told "no" one too many times and simply lose it because they have no outlet for existing and interacting as they naturally are inclined to be.

I also intuit that some times clinically diagnosed insanity stems from a long-standing repression of the creative expression requisite of all individuals. Innately, we all want to be original, the manifestation of which is the sine qua non that rips us apart from the stalwart and stifling standard of mediocrity.

Albeit, most people handle this inner conflict with quiet apathy and resignation, or a designation of their energy to activities which divert their minds away from their usual state of boredom temporarily, there are a few who rather not be bothered with the prosaic rituals of the masses. These are those who are wired to risk fulfillment of the dream which lies inside each one of us, even at the cost of envy, anger, jealousy, spite or any other mad emotion that might swell inside those who are too afraid to be and create a distinguished self.

That is why the richest and most fulfilled folks tend to be the artists, the entertainers, the musicians, the writers and poets, buskers, and thespians alike that many of us envy because they are obviously enjoying life. The irony is that this typically eccentric and bohemian crowd which is apt to wear its pride openly, merely expresses what we all prospectively possess: the ability to perceive and conceive things differently.

There are also those who may or may not be artfully inclined, but who nonetheless design their lives to make a difference—pushing forward over new frontiers, pulling away from the status quo, letting others know that unconditional love is still quite possible in this tired and torn-apart world. These souls manifest themselves as advocates, liberals fighting for a cause, the entrepreneurs, the teachers, the explorers, the doctors and nurses, and a myriad other nurturers of the mind, body, spirit and imagination.

And finally, there are those kind who likewise revel in the differences that separate and tell us apart. A few of the ignorant, intolerant and scared folk might invoke that we have a pact with the devil, but we know differently, for what we are those most inspired by love, that is why we are lovers.

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