You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy!™
Deciphering crazy in your fellow man.
There’s a pervasive and inescapable truth in life. We all have a little crazy haunting us from the inside out.
My crazy demon looks a little like Mel Gibson in Braveheart. He is a blue faced Scotsman who is prepared to do battle with no underpants under his kilt. He is certifiable and bombastic. My internal crazy is constantly daring me to jump off the roof into an abyss filled with whatever. The battle is omnipresent and one I must wage.
And so it goes. Each of us has a crazy fragmented ghoul who torments us with differing degrees of crazy. How we cope with our crazy™ is what sets us apart from the animals. And you thought it was an opposable thumb?
The arena of humanity is a wide brush stroke. Some of us hide our crazy remarkably well. Others let crazy troll across the surface of their lives like a fishing lure being jerked by an angler across the top of a cool, still lake.
Since crazy is all around us, lurking behind every corner and within every soul, the question is, how do you know who is insane and who is just having a bad day? How do you tell whose crazy is haunting them like a homeless guy pushing a shopping cart?
How do you know when pea soup is frothing inside a person? What is the sign that demonic heads are spinning and the devil is screaming “your mother sucks XXXX in Hell!”
For some people crazy oozes from their pores, as common place as a Justin Beber song at a tweens birthday party?
They say the eyes are the windows to the soul. Like a magnifying glass, they reveal the inner workings of the human machine.
The mouth might lie, but the eyes always tell the truth.
Men are stupid and Women are Crazy.™
A stupid man I know recently pulled back the curtains of a crazy woman’s psyche. He looked into her eyes, into her soul and what he saw was a bloody crime scene from a mafia hit in Chicago.
The woman was decorated like a pretty jewel box. Her hair was perfect. Her eye make up dark as if done by Cleopatra. The woman left two top buttons on her blouse undone, creating a sense of mystery and desire.
Her figure was finely proportioned and her legs athletically trim. Could she be a dancer or just a runner? One thing for certain, she was a jungle cat sitting on her perch taking in the vista that is the stupidity of man.
From the moment he entered her domain, the man was in trouble. You see man IS stupid, and crazy will take stupid down every time.
It’s like a stand off in the Mexican Desert where the rattle snake strikes the squirrel. Before the squirrel can even figure out how to keep his nuts warm, the snake has struck him in the head and injected venom into his little stupid squirrel body.
Too bad squirrel. Too bad man.
Men are stupid and women are crazy.™
But unlike the death match described above, man is killed slowly, over hours, sadly over years. In this reality, it is good to be the squirrel. At least he dies a quick and painless death.
Man is not so lucky.
So the man stares at the siren on the stool and he lumbers in like a rhinoceros in an antique store. Somewhere, all around him, other crazy women watch this stupid fool and laugh. Like predators on a tree limb, they size up the stupid man and laugh their crazy laugh. They all ready know whether they will kill him, wrap them in a flaxen web, only to consume his remains later.
So the stupid man begins a long and arduous conversation. It is full of stammering blather and staccato sentences that come straight from a Bud Light Commercial.
“Yo ladies – Here we go!”
The woman’s crazy is concealed behind a wall of make up and
lady-like decorum. But inside this brooding and curvaceous carnivore is a vortex of crazy. It is swirling like the fires of hell and it is bubbling near the surface. You can’t smell the crazy masked by her sweet perfume. You can’t hear her crazy masked by a southern drawl of femininity. But look into her eyes, and you can see lava bubbling down the mountainside of her being.
Bam. There it is. The Crazy has emerged. Through the portal into her soul, the demon is revealed.
Sometimes it’s subtle like a ray of sunshine glistening through the stain glass window of a church. Sometimes its volcanic, like lava pouring into a frosty ocean in a final frenzy of steam and molecules screaming.
You have to look. You have to know to look. If you don’t you are the squirrel. If you fail to notice, you are the spider’s lunch. And the man, stupid as he might be, was there to see it. He peered into her soul and saw the flickering flame of crazy burning inside this demure, otherwise innocuous woman.
The man extricated himself from the latent spider web of her crazy. Because he recognized the signs of crazy, he graciously bowed out of the encounter.
Men are stupid and women are crazy.
To understand this, is to understand the formidable building blocks of relationships.
and That’s crazy.™