[Marky]

Some of you might know I'm writing a black comedy. Pitch black.

Some persons who read parts of it gave me some praise. Some comments really made me laugh, so I thought it was worth posting them.

“[Marky] knows sadism. Maybe a bit too well.”

“[Marky's] style is so American, it is hard to believe [he] never visited the States.”

“[Marky]’s a boa constrictor, if he has you in his grasp, there is no way to escape from him.”

“[Marky] sure knows his facts. Too well. How long did [he] life in a mental hospital?”

“Fast, short and bumpy. [His] reads are going to hurt you, but in the end you don’t care about your scars and bruises anymore.”

“The voice of this generation. Individualistic, even selfish, arrogant, and anything but pretty. And I love it.”

“You are ashamed when you find yourself laughing about [his] sick, sadistic sense of humor.”

“Sick, sick, sick! But also, funny, funny, funny!”

“It’s like watching a drunk friend throwing up. It’s disgusting, but you can’t stop laughing when he falls in his own puke.”

“Why would anyone like to beat up little, cute puppies? I bet [Marky] can give you an answer to such a question.”

[Chyld]

Of course, it does help if you've actually read it...

[floppydisk]

Yeah, give us a link or tell us the name of the book at least.

[Marky]

It's not finished yet. My title is Madman, and it is about a guy, who isn't crazy, but ends up in a mental hospital anyway, and got treated by sadistic doctor.

[Marky]

Yeah, give us a link or tell us the name of the book at least.

<{POST_SNAPBACK}>

Okay, here is a sample chapter, then.



Chapter 2

It is dark in my isolation cell. I lost track of time. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. I don’t know how long I’m wearing my straightjacket. I don’t know if it’s time to sleep or be awake. I lost all sense of time. The straightjacket isn’t hurting my shoulders anymore. My body just gave up.
The human body is weak. Or maybe the brain is too smart for us to understand. Your brain tells you to stop noticing your pain after a long time.
Smart-ass.
I lost all the feeling in my arms. I can’t get up anymore. But that’s ok, because I don’t need to anyway. I don’t even want to.
I’m tired, but can’t sleep.
I’m hungry, but can’t eat.
I’m thirsty, but can’t drink.
I got to go, but I can’t. Well, technically I could go but I decide not to.
But it’s all not too bad. The worst thing in an isolation cell is the uncertainty. How long do I need to be in here?
You discuss with your conscience that it isn’t all too bad. They will get you out sooner or later. They won’t let you starve in here surely.
After a while you’re not too sure anymore. You only hope they won’t forget about you.
You’re tough, but you will cry. Cry like a baby.
And you will scream. Scream like a pig.
And you will despair. Despair like a tormented soul in Hell.
You wish you were in Hell, though. In Hell you’re not alone. You can share your suffering with the other lost souls. In Hell everyone is equal. In an isolation cell there is no one to be equal with.
How do you kill time when you’re on your own? You can do all kind of things. Go to the cinema, go to a pub. Get laid by a hooker.
How do you kill time when you’re locked up and can’t go anywhere? Go watch some television, read a book. Kill your cat.
How do you kill time when nothing’s around but four walls? You jerk off.
How do you kill time when you’re strapped in a straightjacket? You get some sleep.
What if you can’t sleep?
Insomnia.
The only thing worse than suffering from insomnia is suffering insomnia in an isolation cell.
Insomnia is the worst. You better suffer from Chagas’ disease. Tuberculosis. Leukemia.
Insomnia is everyone’s ignorance.
You never get a get-well-card when you have insomnia. Never a fruit basket. People never visit you just because of your insomnia. Checking you’re doing ok. Instead people tell you to quit nagging and sleep. People tell you stop being a loser and just sleep. Close your eyes, loser!
Insomnia is a killer.
People get killed because of insomnia. Not taking care when crossing a road. Slipping when entering a bus or slip on a wet stairs.
A broken wrist, because of insomnia.
An arm, a leg, a back.
Your neck. Because of insomnia.
But people tell you to, stop crying for attention, dickhead!
I’m not asking for anyone’s pity. But realize insomnia is bad.
Insomnia is a stalker.
Always staring at your back. Its eyes burning holes in your back. You don’t know if it will strike you. Or will only stroke your hair.
Insomnia is an assassin.
You never know when it truly strikes. When it comes out of the shades and slits your throat.
Insomnia is a virus.
It’s in your body all the time, but you never know when it makes its final move. You never know when it’s over. It controls your life. One day it’s over. Tomorrow? Maybe even today. Maybe you still have seventy-seven years to go. But you know one day it will strike. And people call you an attention whore.
Insomnia is a threat.
You should be alert all day, and you know you can’t be alert every hour of the day. Twenty-four/seven. Not if you’re in perfect shape. Not at all when you’re an insomniac.
Insomnia is a freak show.
People laugh at you. Laugh at your pathetic behavior. Take some drug and sleep, fag.
Insomnia is your own real nightmare.
Funny, isn’t it, how we compare insomnia with a bad dream?


Hmm... somehow the forum messes up the lay-out a bit, but it's about the text anyway.

[SimeSublime]

Interesting. I quite like the style. The abrubtness makes it come out very direct. Or sometimes rambling. Adds a lot. I couldn't see much of the humour mentioned in the ealier comments, but I assume that this is a more serious chapter. Or I'm just blind.

[Marky]

I guess you have to read the whole story to find it funny.

Ask Chyldio, he read the half story, or so.

[Jane Sherwood]

(*like a six-year-old*)

I wanna read it! I wanna read it!

(*ahem*)

That's all we get? How did he get there? Why is he institutionalized? Who the hell is he, anyway? I want to know! You've got me, man - hook, line, and sinker (...whatever the hell that means)!

The whole idea of mental institutions, straightjackets, padded cells...it all scares the hell out of me. So naturally, I'm also morbidly fascinated by it.

[floppydisk]

I like it. I'll buy it when it comes out, or read it in the screening room. Your choice, Marky.

[Marky]

That's all we get?  How did he get there?  Why is he institutionalized?  Who the hell is he, anyway?  I want to know! 

How he get there, after a car crash.
Why is he institutionalized, a mad doctor wants more meaning in his life.
Who the hell is he, anyway, no one knows, the book has two main characters, only one is named. And, you could have guessed, this guy is the one without a name.

The whole idea of mental institutions, straightjackets, padded cells...it all scares the hell out of me.  So naturally, I'm also morbidly fascinated by it.

<{POST_SNAPBACK}>

One chapter is about the guy dancing while wearing his straightjacket. As research, I got myself strapped in one.

I like it. I'll buy it when it comes out, or read it in the screening room. Your choice, Marky.

<{POST_SNAPBACK}>

I haven't finished the whole story yet. After that I have to edit it. Then I have some people spell check it. Then Chyldio's going to publish it on Henry Skull Publishing Ltd.

I hope.

[Marky]

You've got me, man - hook, line, and sinker (...whatever the hell that means)!

It refers to fishing. For fishing you need a hook, a fishing line and a weight called a sinker. The sinker is there so the hook stays down and doesn't float on the surface. It has to remain deep, there were the fish are. Some fish may touch the bait, but if you try to catch it, it'll swim off. When the fish actually bites the bait, you caught it. The fish swallowed hook, line and sinker. It is truly caught.

Someone saying, hook, line and sinker, accepts something without question.

Edit: But hey, I'm Dutch. I could be wrong.... And I got help from an Irish lad... So, I'll blame him if it's not correct.

This post has been edited by Marky: 13 April 2005 - 04:01 AM

[Marky]

Edit: Hmmm... something went wrong here.

I just add another praising then.

"Like a Dutch whore on speed. Its just got that little bit extra."

This post has been edited by Marky: 13 April 2005 - 03:58 AM

[Chyld]

I haven't finished the whole story yet. After that I have to edit it. Then I have some people spell check it. Then Chyldio's going to publish it on Henry Skull Publishing Ltd.

I hope.

<{POST_SNAPBACK}>

You're not supposed to tell people about that!

...

Oh, hang on, yes you are.

Well, I have been a-reading it, and 'tis indeed the strangest thing I've read in a while.

[Marky]

Well, I have been a-reading it, and 'tis indeed the strangest thing I've read in a while.

<{POST_SNAPBACK}>

I'd expect something cooler from you...

[SimeSublime]

Especially since you're supposed to be advertising it, if you're the one selling it. Shame on you Chyld.

The fishing analogy is correct, Marky. Right on the ball, as your book looks to be. The way things are going, I probably should look into aquiring a credit card so as to buy things online.