“If you believe in truth, you are delusional!”

If you believe in truth, you are delusional! Thus, as things became even more extreme, and relativism spread from ‘values’ to truth itself, we increasingly began to see the crazed spectacle of Professors of Psychiatry ‘scientifically’ labelling everyone who simply happens to have different beliefs from themselves as ‘sick’ and ‘delusional’i.e. meaning they have a ‘fixed false belief’… while their presitigious, highly rewarded colleagues in the Humanities, Philosophy or Literary Studies department loudly proclaim there is ‘no truth, only interpretations’! No doubt somewhere or other, the two doctrines have been combined and solidified in the very same individuals such that if you still believe in ‘truth’, you are delusional, i.e. you have a fixed ‘false’ belief and require urgent ‘treatment’! Pretty deranged, eh?

Truth as the best healer. Real truth saves lives; real truth works better than any pill.

What am I?

What Am I?

Am I ‘mentally ill’? Am I a significant minor philosopher of madness? Am I a partially functioning victim of dreadful, life-changing iatrogenesis? Am I an average, ordinary welfare scrounger who happens to write bad, yet somehow prize-winning poetry? Am I Dionysus the Crucified, joyous mad proto-type of the adorable Savior ? Am I old desert-dwelling Set, father of darkness and chaos? Am I a distant descendant of that proud old tax-collector, St. Matthew? Or a cousin of dear old Anton Lavey? Am I a terrible, fanciful narcissist? Am I devout, self-sacrificing campaigner for human rights, putting my own neck and freedom on the line? Am I just a bored, cynical, romantic, (none too) cunning old scribbler of words and would-be money-maker? Am I just someone who likes to imbue his plots and poems with big, colorful, archetypal tropes? 

Do not ask who I am and do not ask me to remain the same: leave it to our bureaucrats and our police to see that our papers are in order. At least spare us their morality when we write.

— Michel Foucault

“I am becoming” — Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails

Monologue With A Madman

Monologue With A Madman

Part I:

“Are you feeling O.K.?”

“Yes, I’m fine, thank you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, I have a ‘fixed false belief’”

“That means you’re crazy!”

“Are you sure?”

“Not at all, its what my Dr. said”

“Well, if he says it, it must be true!”


Part II:

“So, you learned to trust your Dr. then, did you?”


“That’s good.”

“So you don’t go believing your own silly opinions any more.”

“Absolutely, they’re all rubbish. Especially the ones I’m most convinced about.”

“Hmm. Interesting. If all your opinions are rubbish, how do you know that your opinion that they’re rubbish isn’t also rubbish?”

“I trust my Dr.”

“But then your opinion that he is trustworthy must also be rubbish, or at any rate equally unreliable.”

“True. It seems if I can’t trust myself, I can hardly trust my trust in my Dr. either. That one isn’t even in line my own senses, (especially when he’s sending a thousand volts through my poor cranium!)”

“Well, what with all the peculiar, cold, clinical, painful, invasive, non-consensual things he does to you then, that must be bloody terrifying.”


Part III

“So, you’re sure you’re fine?

“Yes. My memory is still addled from the last treatment.”

“That doesn’t sound so good.”

“Well, it means that I don’t complain so much, so I won’t get shocked again so soon. So it makes me happy.”

“Ah yes. That always puts a silly smile on your face.”

“You’re right.”

“Pity about the brain damage though. Is that why you’re talking to yourself?”


“Yes, because now you lack inner retention. Am I right?”

“Sorry, I’ve forgotten what you just said.”

“I said its because you lack inner retention. You can’t build on your own ideas within your own mind, and need to express them immediately or else they just vanish. But because of your tormented experiences, no one else can relate to what the Hell you’re on about, and they’ve all abandoned you, so you’re left chattering away to yourself like an old loon in ‘The Bin’. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes, actually that’s right.”

“Sorry, what is?”

Part IV

“So, you’re not doing too well then after all, if I remember correctly. You’re plagued by utter self-doubt, yet full of delusional conviction at the same time, and the only person you ‘trust’ is electrically and chemically raping and torturing you so badly that you’ve become a gibbering idiot, who is afraid to admit it lest he receive further unwanted ‘medical attention’.”

“You say it better than I could. I can never think of what to say when people ask me about that on the spot. I just see… flashes.”



“Hmmm. O.K.”

“So basically you’re extremely scared of your Dr., but so afraid your afraid even to say it; nay, you’re so afraid that you’re afraid to even admit your fear to yourself, or outwardly express your normal distress signals. Instead they appear in ‘flashes’ inside your own head.”

“No that’s not true.”

“Are you sure?”


“But you admit you’re delusional.”


“So perhaps you really are afraid.”

“Don’t say that.”


“Please don’t harm me.”

“Do you feel that expressing your fear will be interpreted as an act of aggression?”


“Ah. Well, that is an act of aggression just saying so. What a hypocrite.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Oh you’re going to be sorry.”

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The Love Story Of Layla and Majnun

“Their friends gazed down, toiled daily at their books,
but they had other ways of learning
Love’s grammar in the other’s looks,
one glance became their grade from passion’s burning.
Their learning deepened through love’s spell,
writing notes that spoke of love’s caress.
Others learned to count, but love taught well,
that nothing ever counts but tenderness.”

— “Quas and Layla fall in love”, The Fire Of love: The Love Story Of Layla and Majnun

Autobiography of values as requisite.

To counter-act the tide of artificial, false pretenses to expert, scientific ‘objectivity’, and the docile, herd-like conformity that actually entails within social science, within the healing professions, and within society a whole, I propose that a personal account of one’s life-story, focusing on how one came to arrive at one’s central, integral values, become a standard for all such careers. This would be a move towards bolstering the development of personality and character throughout society, preventing people from hiding entirely behind their professional veneers, and presencing the real-lived experience and actual, rather than false selves, of individuals. I don’t propose this merely as a helpful task for the ‘professional’ on the way to qualifying, but as a central piece that he must present to his or her clients/patients. A kind of C.V., but, as I say, with the focus on HOW HE CAME TO HIS CENTRAL CONVICTIONS ABOUT LIFE

Harm, punish, or ‘treat’. If you harm, punish or ‘treat’ an bad man, he might just re-consider his wicked ways; but if you harm, punish or ‘treat’ a good one, he is often liable or prone to re-consider his good ways.

SILENTWELLSPRING, & another sad, heartbreaking poem

Keep your lips tight, 
Thus, you will remain pure.
Thus, you will remain white. 
Thus you will remain honest,
Thus you will remain alight.

Silence is golden;
Words are wooden.

“The less the merits of a man,
The more he will feel urged to proclaim
Them to the public.”

My friends and I,
We have not too much to offer:
Either to ourselves, 
Or to another.

We are a grounded albatross.

We are a tracked hare.

We are a poisoned well. Let our waters be still with no shimmering, thirst-quelling buckets fetched.

Swim wordlessly in the whirlpool of my eyes –ye deep, poisoned well… 
Until…– ye deep well…art drained perfect and wise.


Think not anyone will come to save ye, my friend —
With loving sustenance, warm nourishment, 
And soothing First Aid Kit;
If ye should happen to send out flares.

“When the Ox is down,
Many are the butchers.”


Sully not the world, dear Mary, with thine brazen, importunate weeping;
Spreading your woes, like a whores famished, bony legs, far and wide…
Sooner, fall into bed to mildest, most chaste of sleeping…


Being is but a magic mountain,

Viewed through mists,

soundlessly in the distance.


O, see how I bark & bleat unblest…
Ah, give thy nagging tongue a rest —
Thy poor, incessant, small, 
Senseless pest !
Sooner keep thy trap shut —
Until ye are at thine best — !


Where did the Resurrection occur:
Upon the loudspeaker, public avenue? 
Or under the hidden coffin’s most inward, SILENTEST of pall ?


I too am 35, 
And its not until we have been DUMB with dead…

That we finally become, most alive!

— Gushing waters, flowing forth anew!.–
— Rivers Of Eternity, perpetual youth! —


Nurse thyself now instead, 
Not with a desperate, Shrieking Call 
For Sirening Ambulance,
But with thine prayers:
Repeat them, with mute, motioning lips,
In the serene sanctuary of thine head, 
Yet inviolate and undisturbed.

(Ah, even your prayers also are far too loud!)

Rather save yourself,
And be quiet.

And finally, let this wan din of a hymn oblate itself entirely,
Like the Winter and its frozen lake, 
Giving way to crystal thoughts and Nothingness,
Negating all wild life…

In perfect, idyllic stillness and silence, 
Thine powers shall at last Return, my Self, my friend…
(Thine senseless, clamoring, noisy days be at an end!)

Becoming like a flower popping up thru’ the cold soil….

(Flowers too are silent. Even our Spring must remain dumb on our lips!)

Let this Silent Spring — this SIlentWellSpring! —
The Silent Spring Of Wellness! —

Outdo the birds for migrational majesty,
(Whose airswept flight to us is itself soundless. 
While the air reverberates loudly and brashly to your lips, my dove; 
But your eyes, your eyes are stagnant!)

Let this SilentWellSpring outdo the Birds Of The Morning

with its Silent Spiritual Secret Song,

Magnifying in praise and glory, my sweet thrush, 
With at last peaceful hush,


(((Peace & Love, M. J. L…. quotations from the Jewish Holy book, The Talmud))) #HappyEaster

My book:https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07BWG2Y4W

Gaslit By A Madman!

If someone says ‘I am the Queen Of England”, and happens to be wearing the right regalia and be at the right place at the right time: Does that make them the Queen of England – even when they are really just an ordinary back-ally whore in a pretty suit? Probably not. But would the latter necessarily then mean they are mad, to act so above themselves? No. They could, after all, just be enjoying themselves, or maybe be making a genuine and very rationally-self-interested bid at the throne! Even if it fails and others think they are mad, might they then not be impersonating that part — of madness – lets say they just want get out of work or like scorning the opinions of others– too – and maybe they do this half-unconsciously? If not, doesn’t that mean ‘mental illness’ is nothing but an appearance, with no essential reality behind it ? Two options: either accept that “mental illness” is indeed mental, & cannot be distinguished purely or easily by appearances, OR accept that the concept is merely the enforcement of a certain social style and taste, rather than a psychological reality and genuine ‘illness’ — in other words — basically a scurrilous lie intended to defame show-boating, light-heartedly courageous or eccentric individuals . Individuals who maybe in fact attempting to relieve the most deadly social malady of all times — unthinking social conformity and cowardice in the face of other people’s opinions, one of the root causes of the The Inquisition, Holocaust, Soviet Russia, war itself, and countless other tragedies. Furthermore, must we not then say, since mental illness understood in such a manner is merely an appearance, that those who believe in it as if it were an important reality, actually locking ppl up and ‘treating’ them for it in one big further charade, are THEMSELVES highly delusional — and highly dangerous? I.e., that they themselves are the ones who are in fact most genuinely, ghastly and sincerely mentally ill — unless, of course, they too are just acting. ;)(But, of course, surely, that would just make them MUCH more dangerous and even more socially pernicious… wouldn’t it? Since they are literally kidnapping, ruining the reputation of and chemically lobotomizing millions of ppl over their stunts…just like their Nazi forebears…#gaslitbyamadman

My book: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07BWG2Y4W


About this blog

GASLITBYAMADMAN: The CertifiablyTRUERavingsOfASectionedPhilosopher is a droller take on the subjects of mental health, political issues and Nietzschean, Christian, Jungian, existentialist and post-modern philosophy. Don’t be afraid to question your world view, don’t be afraid to think you might be a bit ‘mad’. Who isn’t?

It is based on the author, Max J. Lewy’s, own experience as an oh-so-patient patient in the N.H.S. Mental Health System. Veritably knocked off his horse by two out-of-control, gaslighting shrinks at the tender age of 23, his writings trace his recovery from this life-changing, iatrogenic incident over the next 12 or so years, exploring the ‘mad’ identity that was placed upon him and the truly insane, or certainly very flawed and eye-brow raising System which so unfortunately often does such things to quite healthy and relatively rational people. It contains beautiful visually-enhanced poems from the author’s book “Madness: a form of love”, written to aid the recovery process during some of the author’s lowest moments so far, a long with many barbed and incisive aphorisms accompanying longer pieces of text providing great philosophical and humane insight. Please do check it out.


More about me & this blog : As I explain below, I have no taste for polite codes of speech. Please don’t use that as an excuse to invade my personal space like the Mad Doctors did.