Lester Brown, Mr. Narcotics Anonymous

It was a blistering cold night in the middle of January, and the wind howled in many imbecilic tongues, rustling the leaves like the brittle neurons inside Lester's arid, corroded brain. He was going to tonight's NA meeting with a sense of purpose: to spread the message of his newly-found enlightenment and share his wisdom he'd discovered last night when he engaged in communique' with angels, who visited him while he was laying in his bed, praying to his clean-and-sober God that had delivered him from the brutal crutches of drug and alcohol addiction. In his atrophied mind, he was a Divine Chosen one of the Messiah, placed on Earth to save the addicted population from the dangers of the demons of chemicals and other false elixirs.
    Lester spent the last twelve years in and out of the Danville State Psychiatric Hospital, where he was diagnosed with schizophrenia, although this diagnosis was fallacious, since he had been abusing cocaine, which in turn ignited a fury  of dopamine tsunami that caused his consciousness to mimic the psychotic state. Lester heard voices telling him of his gift of telepathy, and he had suddenly been granted the ability to control people with his mind. At least this was one of his many delusional beliefs that eventually led to his hypothesis that he was a prophet of sorts. The newspapers began to make direct references to him, the television began to send him messages warning him o the End of the World--that is, unless he began to metamorphosize into the Chosen interlocutor and save humanity from all of the darkness in the world
    When he left Danville, he felt re-born and lucid, although hew as seen by others as a man lost in a hazy state of delirium. The psychiatrist discharged him because his insurance coverage would  not pay for any more treatment, and Lester no longer displayed any homicidal tendencies--all of which were actually misinterpreted acts of benevolence. Lester helped ease the pain of man who had been run over by a car by severing his neck with a butcher knife. His intentions were good, but the judge he stood before still said he was a deranged menace to society, and led to his incarceration in the asylum.
    But tonight he no longer was haunted by his past, instead he was filled with the light of  pristine future far away from the skeletons and secrets of his stormy history and mercurial behaviors. Lester walked into Our Lady of Victory Roman Catholic Church with his head held high and proceeded to make his way to the downstairs meeting room of Narcotics Anonymous. He wasn't the most  favored member of the fellowship, but in his warped head, he was the most loved, gregarious, charismatic  individual who attended the society of men and women afflicted by the cunning, baffling grip of previous drug use, only to finally surrender to a God of their own understanding. He had an over-sized pair of dark sunglasses, and had recently gotten his African American hair trimmed. Lester wore brown khaki pants, and a bright pink shirt, which could be seen underneath his neon orange sport coat.
    He strutted to the coffee pot, and with shaking hands, poured himself a cup of coffee. An old man saw that he was having trouble and asked him if he needed any assistance.
"Excuse me sir, would you like help pouring that cup of coffee?" the old man asked.
"No thank you, but is this the MRI meeting?" Lester replied.
"Ha!" the old man exclaimed. "Buddy this is the narcotics anonymous meeting."
"NBA, CAT, DWI, we are all brothers of one Loving God and are all on our way to see the wonderful Wizard of Oz," Lester said.
"Wow! You are not from this world are you? Would you care for some cream and sugar."
"No, I like my coffee black, just like my women."
"You are funny, pal, my name is Cole."
Lester reached out his trembling hand, "Lester  Brown, clean and sober."
"Well," Cole said, "nice to meet you 'Mr. Clean and Sober'"
"It is a pleasure to meet you, too, Cole, shall we follow the yellow brick road and talk about Auntie M?"
Cole smiled, "Sure, Lester, let us find our way over the rainbow."
    They both sat down in two chairs in the front of the room. The chair person strolled over to them and asked them if they would like to read any of the traditional readings to help commence the meeting.
    "Sure," Lester said, "I am here to help and I can clearly see that you are suffering from the disease we call 'trans-atlantic flight. By the way, you know who kidnapped the Lindberg baby? It was Amelia Earheart, and she was high on methamphetamine, cunning, powerful, and baffling, just like Mr. Macfeely and Oscar the Grinch, who are all lined up behind the backstop waiting for their MRI, which will reveal the tumor of Luciferian misery."
    "Thanks for those words of wisdom. Your name is Lester, right?"
Lester smiled, showing his three teeth, "Yes, have we met?"
The man said, "NO, but you speak at every meeting and have the profound ability to speak for long sequences of time, and make absolutely no rational sense. How could I forget you? By the name, my name is Bob."
Lester took this as a compliment, not sensing the sardonic criticism of his abnsurg linguistic mumblings. "Nice to meet you, Bob. We are brothers of a baffling disease of the soul. Are you prepared to meet the Wizard of Oz?."
"Sure thing, Lester, here you can read the twelve steps."
"Thanks," Lester took the laminated sheet and began to read  : "We have admitted we were powerless----"
"Hold on," Bob said, "we haven't begun he meeting yet."
"I'm sorry, but I am the overlord of time and space, and the psychological clock of the Universe is wound tight and ready for Magic Johnson to be cured of Aids."
Bob quickly  walked away from the verbal assault of illogicality, and took his seat at hte table. People took their places in the chairs and the conversations were heard by Lester to be directed towards him. In his fuzzy brain, everyone was making comments about the revelation that would manifest itself in Lester's words of inspiration. In actuality, the only words spoken about Lester were sarcastic observations of his eccentric attire.
"Ok, the meeting will begin in three minutes," Bob said.
Lester found himself with the sudden urge to dance. He stood up, and began to do his best Michael Jackson moonwalk. He slipped on some spilled coffee and fell onto a young punk girl who had green hair, which was spiked with hair gel. Lester attempted to avoid making contact with the teenage girl, but instead of grabbing hold of a support beam, accidentally gripped the girl's left breast.
"Hey! Get off of me you retarded fool!"
"I am so sorry, miss, but  can clearly see that, at the critical moment, the fastball will be delivered, and you will be cured of the cunning and baffling disorder of the will."
"Lester!" Cole screamed, "You are making no sense. I think you should go home and call your therapist.
Lester finally got off of the girl with the help of three large men, who started to escort Lester to the door.
"Wait! Take your hands off of me! I am the Chosen One, and I came to deliver my message of truth and sublime origination of immaculation and God's own understanding to shake this world of creation and penitence to fall into the light of my baffling and powerful precognition----"
Lester was quickly silenced by a jab to his head, thrown by a young man who was apparently the punk girl's boyfriend because he embraced her and began to tell her that everything will be fine, that this crazy man won't bother her anymore.
Someone must have called the police, because three men in officer's uniforms rushed in and grabbed Lester, placed him in a straightjacket, and took him back to Danville State Hospital, where he took up permanent residence as the Asylum's false Messiah. He would live in the asylum, and would be known to speak his wisdom, making rational sense every five or six minutes of ranting.
This concludes the not-so-epic tale of Lester Brown, one of thousands of delusional souls who are certain they are making sense, when in reality, they are nothing but fools who have harness the phenomenal talent of being able to talk about nothing, yet believe wholeheartedly that they are making intelligent insights into the nature of human existence.

Gift of Depression

Providence has granted me the gift of depression,
Mercurial tides have washed away the obsession,
Lugubrious ennui engulfing me is a disguised blessing,
The time draws nearer, and urgently pressing,
For me to have this new cosmic insight:
The more I suffer this unbearable pain,
The more I lose, the more I gain--
The Heavens inside me is my unfortunate plight,
My tired Mind's eye sees now in second sight,
In His Kingdom choruses of angels sing and dance,
For God has given me a second chance,
To find in this penitence a subtle grace,
That my sadness is actually Divinity's warm embrace.

Aquatic Love

I can taste the ocean on your skin,
All its enigma and beauty lies within,
Underneath your surface veneer,
Are the waves breaking I hear,
Your heart is beating in rhythm with the tide,
My arms are open, my eyes gaping wide,
At you breathing serenely and sublime,
I will love you, my oceanic mystery, until the end of all time.