![]() There’s so much more nonsense that goes on – dangerous nonsense that can so easily end in tragedy. So you find yourself wandering about listening to the control room sometimes taunting, sometimes giving odd instructions like saying a daft phrase 87 times EXACTLY, or else, sometimes saying there’s a party being organised so you go wandering about local restaurants politely asking for the table booked in the name of…. (How many other sufferers come up with the same?) Once the voices have established their reason for being in your head – established their story – mine was basically the grommets operations I had as a child implanting the radio control device. Then come the voices – that’s when the real terror of a breakdown kicks in. The music – in my case it was corny old fashioned fairground organ music sometimes playing ever faster sometimes more slowly but somehow always with a sarcastic tone to it. ReplyĪ longish comment, if I may – before you post another entry and the theme moves on. Which starts to lay some of the groundwork for the PhD. Anyone interested in chatting about this or sending me comments can find me through my blog: I’m currenrly writing on the way we function intellectually in Web2.0, Web3.0 and Web4.0 environments and am hoping to start a PhD in the ways in which Web4.0 behaviour can be harnessed to enhance democracy (and the practical issues involved in doing this). Thanks for starting this interesting train of thought. I wonder if perhpas the latter might be achieved with the help of volunteers? There would have to be both the technology and the personal capacity to ensure that every page they visited was scrutinised. I wonder if it might be possible to make internet access a privilage for some prisoners? There would have to be rules. But prisoners do not have it and this is becoming a bigger and bigger barrier to their opportunity to interact normally with society.īeing able to post and discuss things on the internet is deeply healing for many too. As a society we are rightly addressing the importance of access to the interenet and the issues faced by those who do not have it. Your comment and recent events have made me think quite a lot about the way we interact with our prisoners Anna. ** To order signed copies of Alastair’s diaries via Waterstone’s, click here ** School of Poetry, which includes poems from author Terry Pratchett, TV presenter Robert Llewellyn, as well as students and teachers from the school, can be found at Not the millions of shards still flying behind my eyes He nods and I wonder how he can know it has broken Now mixing so harsh so ugly I can look no more Of noise and colour, of voices and music and memory The tiny hands before my eyes can hold the glass no more I’m cracking up … I want Elvis or Johnny Cash or no, Kris Kristofferson Just as the brassband merged with the bagpipes Into a maelstrom of noise and colour and people I never knew why they called it cracking up I tried all sorts of ideas before settling on this poem, WHEN THE MIND CRACKS, which is clearly inspired by my own crack-up in 1986. I was approached a few months ago and asked to write a poem for a book being prepared by Bovington Middle School in Dorset, to raise money both for the school’s English deparment and for Help for Heroes. After yesterday’s guest blog on happiness, today I turn to the subject of madness, more specifically my own.
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