We Both Thought We Were Christ
She was a trembling cathedral in blue gloves. A charlatan prophet. A tinfoil hat that talked like scorched stone, a screeching blade that cut stocks of corns for Egyptians. We were the ordinary din, her disciples or her anti-Christs. Her angels or her devils. We were the ones that sowed or the ones that reaped. I entered the cave of her dwelling. It was there that I would wait for those to be blessed. I was oblivion of sin. A refugee king. An executioner of pain and a plague of love. The one that never strays but vanishes, the one that returns, the executioner, the plague, a refugee king. Was it I who was love and her hate? Or were we both? Or were we neither? Trembling cathedrals vanishing in the night, charlatan prophets, the babies of tinfoil hats and screeching blades.
Poem by Dean Allan attempted suicide three times and suffered three subsequent hospitilaztions. He had bouts of mania wherein he thought he was the second coming of Jesus Christ and thought other commits to the mental insititutions were Angels. He writes about these experiences and other sufferings with bi-polar.
Richard Montgomery: “My philosophical surrealistic drawings are known for their unique twist on life and our perspective of it. The “hidden in plain sight” details of my work are ruminants of the great masters like M.C. Escher and Salvador Dali. I have been drawing my entire life and have had no formal training other than just my own desire to create from the time I could hold a crayon or pencil. I enjoy many different types of art yet surrealism holds my passion the most.”
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