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Poetry and Prose from an Unthinkable Mind
By AJ Romano
ISBN: 978-1-84991-712-4
Published: 2012
Pages: 86
Key Themes: Mental Health, Poetry, Short Stories, Depression
Description
Defective V.2 is an extremely loaded rollercoaster honestly. In some ways, as my second book, it does pick up where the last one ends…chronologically. It so happens I was forced into a dark corner again, this time facing similar, but vastly different demons. The book is not all negative though; much of it is how my perspectives have changed on life in the past year or so, which have been massive. The point, I think though, of Defective V.2 is much larger than the poetry and metaphor the book contains. I attempted to explore perception and perspective in many new ways with my writing; this allowed me to see much more than what was in front of my eyes. In doing so I helped myself in many ways. Too often people with mood disorders or other psychological illnesses are treated much differently, and you will see that I experienced this firsthand. My experiences have shown me many new outlooks, and I think the book reflects that.
About the Author
AJ Romano, born in 1988, lives New Jersey. He is a poet, short-story writer, and mental health advocate. He names his biggest influences as Jim Morrison, John Lennon, Paul McCartney, Walt Whitman, Jack Kerouac, William Shakespeare, as well as 19th Century British literature. AJ is currently working towards his goal of obtaining an MFA in Creative Writing, and continuing on to teach. His long-term goal is to melt writing with mental health, and proliferate art therapy as more common practice. Suffering from Panic Disorder and Clinical Depression, AJ has first-hand experience and would like to help others. AJ is also the author of The Defective Model (Chipmunkapublishing, 2011).
Book Extract
The Root of the Problem
Jack, glancing into the egg-shell eyes of his distinctive partner-in-crime, and his nearly-distinctive love, says, “I have something to tell you…”
His companion, elated, responded with, “Jesus, Jack I have something to tell you, too! Me first, “she ended playfully and seductively.
Jack contemplated to himself, in a manner of milliseconds. His desire and want for her, and his love for her took over. He has known love was limited since he was a child, Jack has.
Jack’s father was a preacher and a mother-fucking hypocrite. He spent all the time he wasn’t spending in “confession” with the wife of this congregation members’ wife, or that, swilling old bottles of Jim Beam that littered the bottom of his bed until the day he died. Mom took the brunt of most of those drunken-nights, but Jack frequently got in the way as well. So did his sister, Jill…
He had trouble, Jack did, understanding what demon would jump out of the Bible and possess his father to do these terrible things. He would watch his father preach every Sunday from close-by; he would watch the love of God and masked compassion emanate and radiate towards the crowd, rapt at attention, feeling that a loud breath would unleash the wrath of the Maker.
The official report on the death of Jack’s father was accidental. He was drunk, stumbling around the kitchen looking for food, wielding a kitchen knife. The alcohol killed him, in the end, said the nice Police Officer, when Jack’s father lost his balance and fell, the knife ending up in his heart…
All Jack remembers was the fight; the image of his father’s brawn cocked back, his mother pinned against the flowered wallpaper. Jack opened the door….and blackness. He knows now what happened; his mother, dear Mother, was a quick-thinker. Jack left that town as soon as he could.
Jack made something of himself, perhaps to be nothing like his father. Jack graduated the University of State top of the class, and was now a successful businessman before age thirty, and now had a companion he adored.
Jack was the American dream.
Jack was now patiently awaiting the obviously stunning news he was about to receive, from his stunning companion.
“Listen, my love [her smile melts Jack’s soul, even today], I have been thinking about…well the question [“oh, no, not this, not this for her, not this right now…should I stop her, can I stop her, I know…it’s best…I already killed once…”, Jack thought, remaining resolute] you asked me, and…well, MY ANSWER IS YES, LETS GET MARRIED!”
His mind was made up.
“I am sorry you went first. My news was the complete opposite. I must leave, and now. You cannot come with me, I am sorry, but I do not love you. I don’t. Goodbye.”
Jack ran as far away as he could, and as fast. He left his companion standing there, dumbfounded and crying, in his own posh apartment, and never looked back.
He checked himself into a hospital a few states away, famished.
Jack died a week later from the late-stage Pancreatic Cancer he chose not to tell his companion about.
Six-months later, his companion gave birth to a boy.
It was his.
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