I wrote the following for this week’s Trifecta prompt “infect”. This piece is not clean or polite.
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Writing was the calling and fetish of the mad.
Those with demanding demons and dangerous desires took up the pen when the pressure of being, being alive, being buzzy broken, being bold, being beaten, became too great, ejaculating misspelled, grammatically incorrect, beautiful, tragic, hot life onto paper, and into the minds of the lifeless.
Mom read a bit of Kerouac after putting little Timmy down to nap. For an hour she ran away from spit up, jello molds and obligatory missionary sex. She huddled in the bed of a rusted out pickup truck, smoking reefer and looking up at the endless desert celestium. She had freedom of the open road from her comfortable chintz sofa or mint-green kitchen chair. She went to the clinic of depravity where Doctors Lovecraft, Shelley, and Poe injected dried up wickedness to vaccinate her from smothering her tow hair cherub-cheeked darling with a stuffed bear while he slept.
Dad spent the night on underage heroin addicted hookers with Hunter, while never straying from the sanctity of marriage. He learned to appreciate his own comfortable life after embracing loneliness, alienation, and self-loathing with Salinger and Falkner.
Sane people could open their wet willing minds and pull in a little insanity.
Everyone needs a release. Society can’t function if all the drones have hum-drum blue balls. The masses jack off with words to stay proper, and all it costs is the minds of a few mad ones, who fuck themselves raw, lubing up with cocaine, reds, alcohol, acid, and opium. A few crazy bastards burning, pumping out their souls for everyone.
Now the mad ones take mood stabilizers and SSRIs, trimmed wick, limp-dicked. The vaccine no longer produced, because it turns out normalcy was the disease. You infect us, self-help books on my shelf, coffee in my mouth. Your suburban fantasies slip in as you stroke my hair, whispering sweet goals and profit projections.
Sane people in creative writing classes train for a proper vocation.
Madness is epidemic.
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kittysarkozy.com 
Maybe I’m misreading, but are you missing a word in the third to last paragraph? My mind fills it in as:
Now the mad ones take mood stabilizers and SSRIs, trimmed wick, limp-dicked. The vaccine (NO) longer produced, because it turns out normalcy was the disease.
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Yes. Thank you. I must have deleted it when editing for word count.
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I’m particularly fond of the phrase “…it turns out normalcy was the disease.” 🙂
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Yeah. Normal is a prison, break out anyway you can.
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This is all kinds of wicked crazy haha 😀 I love it.
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Crazy is as easy to write sometimes as “The sky is blue”, I don’t know if that is a good thing or not.
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Some great analogies here – well done.
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Thank you. Analogies feel good to write.
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Food for thought here!Liked the full platter & licked the plate clean:-)
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Glad your brain found it eatable.
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I want to reread this. Honestly, I’m not sure what is happening here but I think it is so cool and a wonderful piece of writing.
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Thanks Lumdog. I am not sure what is happening here either, and that is ok. 🙂
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This was crazy! I liked ‘whispering sweet goals and profit projections’ – that’s insanity 🙂
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I like this! Very well done!
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normality is the disease, indeed.
Love this. Well done
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You need to record this!!!
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I think this is one of my favorites you have posted. Thank you for this!
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