I sing myself to sleep
A song from the darkest hour
Secrets I can’t keep
Inside of the day
I swing from high to deep
Extremes of sweet and sour
Hope that God exists
I hope I pray
Drawn by the under tow
My life is outa’ control
I believe this wave will bear my weight so let it flow
Oh sit down
Oh sit down
Oh sit down
Sit down next to me
Sit down down down down down in sympathy
Now I relieved to hear
That you’ve been to some far out places
It’s hard to carry on
When you feel all alone
The wisdom that I seek
Has been found in the strangest places
Feels a lot like love
That I feel for you
Now I’ve swung back down again
And it’s worse than it was before
If I hadn’t seen such riches
I could live with being poor
Oh sit down
Oh sit down
Oh sit down
Sit down next to me
Sit down down down down down in sympathy
Those who feel a breath of sadness
Sit down next to me
Those who find they’re touched by madness
Sit down next to me
Those who find themselves ridiculous
In love in fear in hate in tears
In love in fear in hate in tears
In love in fear in hate in tears
In love in fear in hate
Oh sit down
Oh sit down
Oh sit down
Sit down next to me
Sit down down down down down in sympathy
A schizophrenic out for a walk is a better model than a neurotic lying on the analyst’s couch.A breath of fresh air, a relationship with the outside world. Lenz’s stroll, for example, as reconstructed by Büchner. This walk outdoors is different from the moments when Lenz finds himself closeted with his pastor, who forces him to situate himself socially, in relationship to the God of established religion, in relationship to his father, to his mother. While taking a stroll outdoors, on the other hand, he is in the mountains, amid falling snowflakes, with other gods or without any gods at all, without a family, without a father or a mother, with nature. “What does my father want? Can he offer me more than this? Impossible. Leave me in peace.” Everything is a machine. Celestial machines, the stars or rainbows in the sky, alpine machines— all of them connnected to those of his body. The continual whirr of machines. “He thought that it must be a feeling of endless bliss to be in contact with the profound life of every form, to have a soul for rocks, metals, water, and plants, to take into himself, as in a dream, every element of nature, like flowers that breathe with the waxing and waning of the moon.” To be a chlorophyll- or a photosynthesis-machine, or at least slip his body into such machines as one part among the others. Lenz has projected himself back to a time before the man-nature dichotomy, before all the co-ordinates based on this fundamental dichotomy have been laid down. He does not live nature as nature, but as a process of production. there is no such thing as either man or nature now, only a process that produces the one within the other and couples the machines together. Producing-machines, desiring machines everywhere, schizophrenic machines, all of species life: the self and the non-self, outside and inside, no longer have any meaning whatsoever.
— Anti-Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia. Deleuze & Guattari.
(Trans. Robert Hurley, Mark Seem, & Helen R. Lane)