By Lisa Solomon

Where does true madness lie? In the one who lives it? Or the one who creates it? A question followed by a plethora of answers that lights up the spectrum like a kaledeiscope – yes and a but, no with an and, neither/nor, either/or, maybe, who knows, do you, I do. Yet, for many its a question that remains rhetorical. 

Are the borders of conformity permeable? Do they allow for the natural process of flux and influx? Do they exist? In a purely physical sense there are lines that can be drawn, redrawn, that can be crossed, that are invisible to see with the naked eye and its ways are crooked to walk. Yet, when exposed within a metaphysical realm all known notions of existence, non existence, what’s real, what’s not, knowledge, truth are reduced to that of an inanity. For how can you find the answer when the very question itself is questionable? 

Can the wires of our mind really be traced? Will they lead us to the conclusions we have long searched for? Or is it all just a mess with no beginning, no end, and no tangent to be seen that will get us off this circle that keeps us going round and round? They tell me that it’s a chemical imbalance. They tell me that certain thoughts will fire up specific motor neurons in their brain. But will remain dormant in mine. They tell me that it’s genetic. They tell me that it’s drug induced. They tell me that it’s a result of 

environmental factors. They tell me a lot without explaining anything. The dissection of a ‘healthy’ brain compared to that of an ‘unhealthy’ brain shows no discernible differences. 

Can the bleeding heart ever really coagulate? Do we believe that it will just because we have to believe something? Or will it only result with the myriad freefall of emotion? That will leave me to drown in an abundance of feeling from love through to hate, anger and excitment. A world of beauty and pain. For as there is beauty in pain, so some of our heart’s greatest pains come from beauty. A heart that was made to feel, only to feel! For if we close our heart off to one we close it off to all. And if the bleeding heart could coagulate, would we even want it to? 

Words by Lisa Solomon 





More Writing Submissions

Reactive Organic Disorder

By Jean Winter
a riot of purple and warm-toned pinks, oranges and yellow drips and spatters, punctuated with bright blue cicles.


By Martina Kontos

Schizophrenia – awaiting the aftermath

By David Vuchich


By Bethany Cody