Ianjamesmcadam’s Blog

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Posted by Ian McAdam on March 29, 2009

I am, at the moment, looking back at the notebook I was writing in 2003 when I went through my second hyper-manic episode.  I start with a poem I wrote about five days before I ran around the streets of London like a banshee!


The ceaseless flow of

the traffic

human and industrial

the continuous flow of


earth moving and breaking

like tectonic plates.

The treads on our shoes wear


while new ones

are made in sweatshops

our industry

our occupation

our time: a stormy haze

Never fazed

by destruction

we break down and build up

use up and booze up

we make our recreation

without a second thought.

Two days later I focused on  cous-cous recipe,and a ‘Napolatana Sauce McAdam style’.

I tried to get hold of my aunt and uncle in Scotland, but didn’t get through.

Then I fixated on my fund for a super pub, which I was convinced I’d get backing for.

There were to fund streams, in my head,  One, the business (co-operative) fund, the other (I can’t believe this), the spaceman, or slush fund.

Suddenly, I changed my mind, and decided that ‘pubs are not sweathouses and should not create class barriers.’


Two days before I was admitted I wrote:

‘I understand now.

Dad sounded sad when he hung up tonight.’


The day before admission, I wrote this:

‘Sun night terrified —

cchitoz, needed help, couldn’t sleep.


I will add another post at another time and explain what happened that day on streets of London.


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