Musings of a Madman

© Sean N. Zelda Oh Madness, You’ve Found Me!             You shoot up like a catapult in your bed. Best nap ever. You emerge from a sea of sheets. You feel great , incredible, on top of your game, never better. You rub the sleep from your eyes to find that you’re in an unfamiliar place. There is a memory prying at your brain of innumerable sleepless nights and bloodshot eyes. It all makes sense. The baby is coming, which means so too the flood, you think, “…and that’s what landed me in this place.” You put on your glasses and take a walk.             The psychiatric ward (9C) at the University of Michigan hospital is located in the heart of Ann Arbor and it’s a luxury, and almost impossible to get admitted there because everyone wants a bed. Located cozily on the 9th floor, you stroll into the open lobby. A long desk separates you from two receptionists who greet you with a smile. On your immediate left is the library/lounge, equipped with comfy couches, a boatload of books, a

© Sean N. Zelda              Safe to say, I took the bait. I didn’t think outside the box. I was all talk and no action. My Achilles heel was ripe for the taking. What I’m really trying to say is that at the end of the day, I let love in. But a rose by any other name would smell as sweet. Sweet surrender. A sweet deal. Or so it seemed. To beat a dead horse would be beyond me. You’d have to do it yourself. But we were in the same boat. I bent over backwards for you. You made your move and by the same token, my hands were tied. All was lost. We always did the same song and dance. You said your prayers and I constantly saw the glass half empty. Your shoe is on the other foot and I’m too rich for my blood. Your tongue is tied and I’m under the gun. Unless you are the lead dog, the view never changes from this angle. You cannot judge someone until you’ve walked a mile in their shoes. You had this coming to you. I could whip you with one arm tied behind my back. I see the fores

© Sean N. Zelda              There’s a first time for everything… on the road. Like that time you were driving and you saw your first MEAT IS MURDER bumper sticker and you thought to yourself I can’t wait to eat steak tonight. Then there’s the time you got stopped at a railroad crossing and it was the longest train you’ve ever seen. You waited there, trailing four vehicles and the line-up behind you was even longer than the train. Yes, you’ve had many adventures on the road. There was the time you forgot to check your blind spot on the freeway and nearly side-swiped a monstrous SUV with your tiny four-door sedan. And the time you needed to make a right turn, but traffic was backed up in the right lane. Someone let you out, but the left lane was clear and someone was heading straight for your hood as you inched your way out. They had to clear you by swerving into the left turn lane.             The highlights of your driving adventures are always the bad ones. Like the time you got

© Sean N. Zelda The clock reads 9 o'clock on a gloomy day in May. It had been raining from morning until early afternoon, washing the oil, dirt and gasoline from the streets which at the moment remain wet. Nightfall has just recently cascaded over the landscape, and Nick and his two high school friends and ex-band mates are on their way to a jazz bar in downtown Detroit. Tiny light bulbs line the ceiling of the circular entry way, illuminating the night sky. The shining words CLIFF BELL’S stretch across the protruding half-circle. Nick opens the door and saxophone squeals escape. Straight ahead, Nick sees and hears that the sax man is accompanied by an upright bassist, a pianist and a drummer. An extended, oval-shaped bar is perched in the middle of the establishment. The group strolls counter-clockwise around it and each man finds a cushy seat at the bar, spots which offer an ideal view of the band. They wait. It’s a busy Tuesday night at Cliff Bell’s so they have to give the

© Sean N. Zelda            “Are you hungry?” I asked the limping bearded man as he hobbled north on Division St. It was a chilly October Saturday morning in 2009. From twenty feet away, I could see two streaks of dried blood stretching from his nostrils down to his upper lip. His glassy eyes were filled with tears and he was hunched over, every grueling step a battle for his struggling legs.             “I’m… starving…” he answered, his soft breathy voice dissipating into the bitter Ann Arbor air.             I flicked my cigarette, jumped up from the couch on the porch and ran inside to find some food. I opened my cupboard to find two boxes of Pasta-Roni, an orange, some green tea bags, and a box of Club crackers. I grabbed the crackers and a bottle of water which I had stashed on top of the fridge and emerged from the front door to find that the man had approached the house. He was waiting for me on the brick walkway leading from the front door stairs to the small fence that lin

© Sean N. Zelda My eyes, they search the world for you They only try to see clarity Possibility, and no fear Because you're like a window that I can't see through When it rains, it pours, and I miss the view And the heat is escaping From the chapel I've been forsaking Would you trust your faith with the wise man's word From the scriptures old and dated? Well these walls were built by my own design In this city sin created! And I'm contemplating leaving town My eyesight's failing like your crown! Lay me down, lay me down, I can't feel my feet Tie my tongue, lock my lips, and throw away the key Would you trust your faith with the wise man's word From the scriptures old and dated? Well these walls were built by my own design In this city sin created!