A Crazy Idea About The Sun

Since I am schizophrenic, I have lots of weird ideas. Here is one that occurred to me while cleaning house, that gave me hope:

The answer to a lot of our problems, and to general scarcity, might well involve harvesting the heat and power of the sun. Our sun provides large amounts of various forms of energy continuously.

Essentially, if we convert the thermal power of the sun to potential energy, which is so very simple to do, we have created a limitless flow of relatively free power.

We can do this.

What are the obstacles? Mainly, changing the energy grid over is problematic.

Perhaps if we started on a state level, offering incentives state by state to institute at least, say, 95% solar energy within a certain time frame. That might create a sense of friendly competition.

How do we finance this changeover? It’s pretty huge. Why not create a new form of currency? It could be like a bond, in which the actual value of the currency could exist in future energy yields. Something like a Watt-buck.

It people can create currencies like bit-coin, they can create currencies that invest in and (very quickly) profit from renewable energy.

How to convince the skeptics? Show them the projections, give them something to invest in.

Changing to solar power could make a huge positive impact on this planet, and that is something we sorely need. 

A Big Sleep

Having schizophrenia was, for a time, a bit like being asleep while being awake.

I felt that there were essential parts of myself that remained dormant. I had a lot of untapped potential. Some people may not have believed this, that I was full of latent capabilities– to believe that might have been to force or coerce me to use them. Others believed this all along, and, unfortunately, I was unprepared for some time to take stock in what they suggested.

There is a lot of precedence for the idea of being asleep while remaining alive. “Rip Van Winkle” was said to have taken a 100 year nap– coming into awareness a full century later, in a new time and under new circumstances.


Tolkien’s “King Theoden”, one of the human rulers of mythic Middle Earth, lay prone under a dark spell of sleep for a long period of time, until fate and necessity made it necessary for him to awaken.

Cinderella, too, to mention a female character, fell into a drowsy paralysis, having been duped into consuming a poison. Only the embrace of the right man could pull her from her sleep. (Traditional, for sure– but similar in essence to the other examples).

These, obviously, are fictional cases, and are not literally true. They may be, then, all the more appropriate, concerning what I am suggesting is part of the schizophrenic experience– a state of mind (or states of mind) where feelings are muted or submerged, where the affect is flattened. The libido is muted, or ignored. The mind falls asleep, lacking thought or consideration (perhaps to be visited on sporadic occasion with racing or paranoid thoughts).

Life can be hard, and it often requires a good deal of effort and concentration to make it work. A person can’t win a battle or meet their significant other while half-asleep.

The tragedy of schizophrenia, then, contains it’s hope, as well- the patient has passed from consciousness, from a healthy awareness, into a sort of sleep– but– may it be that they might awaken, at some point, and return, at least to some degree, to health?

Like A Strange Beacon

I have been involved with creating art in various forms for about 2 decades.

For the most part, I write music. I also paint, create prints, write poetry, essays, record field recordings, and other things.

In the past few months something interesting was revealed to me.

My main music act, “Mystified”, was a long-term project. It lasted about 17 years. Throughout this time period, I created dark, abstract soundscapes. My main genre was drone music, though I also made ambient, dark ambient, experimental electronica, industrial, and other varieties.

During that whole time, I never mentioned (at least, in any direct fashion), that I have schizophrenia. I did notice that many independent and/or underground projects made references to mental health issues– and I may have, too, in some oblique fashion now and then– but, I just assumed this was considered the norm for people who were into dark or counter-cultural musics.

When I admitted publicly to my condition, a few months ago, a good number of my fellow artists and friends admitted that they, too, had either schizophrenia or something similar. Many of these people were my most loyal followers. They were the ones that were most supportive, especially on social media.

It’s a mystery, but somehow, a good number of the schizophrenic artists ended up in the same social circle. The internet was our firepit, and our illness seemed to be like a strange beacon that summoned us all to one place.

I wonder why that is? Maybe this blog is partly about me trying to figure that out.

Memory Loss

The mind certainly has its mysteries.

I think my mind had fewer of them before I started experimenting with drugs. In fact, some might suggest that my collegiate substance abuse contributed to or led to my schizophrenia. (Though that is a hotly contested topic. Many folks don’t want to admit that pot and/or acid can be harmful).

Back when I smoked pot every day, I developed a problem. I lost much of my short-term memory.

People might suggest that that is not big deal, and that the euphoria and other pleasing effects of smoking dope make the drug worth it.

But, believe me. . .

As soon as I did something I knew I had to remember, I would silently scream it to myself, repeatedly, for example– “MY KEYS ARE IN MY COAT! MY KEYS ARE IN MY COAT!”.

I wrote a lot of stuff down. I had to– I thought it would all be wiped clean from my pot-riddled brain. Luckily, I usually could read my own notes– though even I occasionally found my handwriting to be inscrutable.

Luckily, marijuana-induced short-term memory-loss does not seem to be permanent, at least for me.

I quit using drugs, got cleaned up, and worked on improving my powers of focus and concentration.

Nowadays, I am as often the one who remembers, as the one who forgets.

I have found my wife’s keys for her a number of times. Whenever it happens, it’s like a ray of light appears from above– “Oh my God! I remembered! I can remember things!”

Hallelujah, Amen.

Solitude Versus Isolation

When I was a child, I was deemed healthy. I lived at home with my parents and sister, got good grades, and lived what most would regard as a normal middle-class existence.

In high school, I believe I showed symptoms of depression. There was a period of time when I grew apart from my family and friends– this may have eventually led, at least in part, to my becoming schizophrenic.

In fact, I was always a fan of solitude.

But, where does one draw the line between solitude and isolation? What is the difference between being a child who liked to be alone, to daydream or read books, and a man in his thirties spending all day every day alone in an apartment writing music?

Degree, I suppose, is the difference.

That being said, I wanted to share a poem I wrote about my love of solitude:

A Poem By Thomas Park

Life goes by quickly
And there is much to do

Duties need attending to, and that is
Norman’s purpose

At work, they knew his birthday,
Threw a party (Had soda, cake)

All was well, though

A sense of mystery
Surrounded Norman

A shadow, perhaps a haze

No history, no libido
(Or that was muffled)

No sense of style

Khaki slacks, unironed
Pressed by the dryer

Brandless polo shirts
Of muted hues

Or perhaps it was

That Norman himself
Found certain things inconvenient

There’s too much truth in old stories
Fraternity hijinks
“Borrowing” Dad’s Car

Worse, Norman’s pivotal moment
Involved neither a parade nor award ceremony

It was the late 1970’s
Norman was curled in a ball,
In his pajamas
Near the heating duct
The family dachshund was by his side
The muffled sound of television
And parental voices
Were largely ignored, it was
A moment of blissful meditation

It was the best 5 minutes of Norman’s life

A State Of Readiness

As a person with schizophrenia who has tried to re-assimilate, I have had some interesting experiences. One involves a state of readiness.

Live tends to throw a person things they don’t expect. Sometimes, sure, a person might not even feel like they deserve them– for better or worse.

To seek health, I had to cultivate a sense of readiness. I had to train myself to be prepared for things that I could not predict or control.

For someone like me, that can be hard. I am a very habit-forming person. Ask my wife.

That being said, being prepared is really redemptive.

The two most helpful forces in my life– my job and my wife, are helpful to a large degree in that they break my patterns up. They throw me curves. Thanks to them, I have learned that I am able to react to sudden problems and new issues without panicking.

When schizophrenics isolate, they often settle into a kind of predictable medicated haze. This is accentuated by television, the internet, cigarettes, cheap booze, and so forth.

The way to get better is to get out and experience life. And, let’s face it– that won’t always be easy. A person has to learn to roll with the unknown.

In short, you have to do the opposite of what many health care professionals might recommend, protective as they can be. You have to leave your nest and fly a bit.


Are there any advantages to mental illness?

For me, one might be a lack of contentment.

“LACK of contentment?”, you might ask?

I believe my schizophrenia is a main factor in helping me to be a producer, rather than a consumer.

I enjoy, not just writing for this blog, but also composing music, recording phonography, painting abstract paintings, creating prints, writing poetry and essays and other forms of art.

I am so accustomed to creating (and enjoying) my own media, that I have fallen out of touch with popular culture. When I join my wife in the living room, I tend not to like or have patience for what I see on the television. I also feel uncomfortable consuming other people’s art, rather than creating my own.

From my perspective, it seems perfectly reasonable to create over 5000 audio works in 15 years. Others might immediately suggest that that is an absurd amount of music, connoting mental illness.

Can’t I just make my point and quit? What keeps me going?

It’s a sense of feeling incomplete, of wanting to create more, or, at least, to express more– to do it better, to fill in the gaps. There is so much that goes unexpressed in this world. In my free time, I try to remedy this.

I can’t help but to imagine that a sane person might be patient enough to pense silently.

Not a crazy man like myself.