He's a-raindancing

In the dusk a man could be seen from where we were huddling. He had his curtains half-open in his cage, painted a 'white sterile' colour. I was with some of my fellow 'friends-in-adversity', outside in the cooling summer courtyard, littered with plants that needed tending, adorned with cigarette ends, cigarette ends unadorned with lipstick.

"Look! He's doin' his fuckin' rain dance again! Daft cunt," one of my lot noted. She didn't mean to sound uncaring; it was her lifelong way. She was a quick-witted woman.

The man in the curtained cage was listening to something. Whether it came from an external source or from within his brainstormin' flashin' lightnin' mind I could not tell. There may have been no sound whatsoever. Instead he may have believed he was dancing in the stars under six feet of mud to vision or visions, thoughts or a thought or tens of thousands of thoughts, streaming like bits of information into a YouTube video on a computer. But instead of a clear picture, a higgledy-piggledy imagery, flashes of thought, stabbings in the black & white. He may even have been dancing to defy the hundred razor-sharp knives trying to slash at him - never mind dancing for the clouds to give forth their lives in cooling rain. Did he know? Who knows?

Indeed the Devil himself appeared to be in that poor soul as I watched him. I'm pretty sure he was unaware of this ragtag group watching from outside his cage. The Devil playin' the puppeteer, the man doin the Crazy Jane Jig for all to take in n disseminate; some to savour like their Sunday dinner, some to find hard to digest. A disturbing scene I found, watching the 'raindancer'.

Anyway and either way, the ragtag patient army I was a part of, some of them laughed hard and some cynically, resignedly laughed.
"Don't you fucking laugh!" I erupted, kicking a bin that it still hurts me four months later. "Don't you fucking laugh! What's so funny? Fucking Pricks". Equation, I had thought in my mind: man in torment equals laughter equals cruelty and ignorance.
After some curious looks my way (Chinese proverb: 'bin-kicker emanates from rain dancer'), one or two voiced it was wrong laughing AT him, but they were laughing at the whole sorry situation. I didn't and could not dissent. They just dealt with the scene in a different way, a better way than mine maybe.

What tortured souls are hidden from society? What untold tales to disturb by the probers of the mind, horror stories worse than anything the horror movie reels would roll.
The souls with me and surrounding me, trying to run from their breaking minds. "You seen someone draw a head with the top opened up? Or put more brutally but realistically, cleaved open by any means necessary". Nobody is listening now. I drive on anyway. "That's them trying to exorcise themselves. They need relief, 'n' it just can't be given...unless you try to put 'them' to sleep. You decide, you god or gods, you people who follow looking for guidance and meaning."

amendments 18 December 2009