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Insanity - My Mad Life. Charles Bronson
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isbn 9781782192527
Автор произведения Charles Bronson
Жанр Биографии и Мемуары
Издательство Ingram
Some will be drugged up, with psychotropic tranquillisers, but that is only control. Some will be given electrotherapy — shocks to the brain, torture. Nothing works, nothing ever will. How can it?
I’m now gonna shock you with some true facts. I’ve mentioned some of these nutters already. Now it’s time to meet them properly. Let me take you on a journey to hell!
• He sat in a chair, silent, shaking, depressed! On the edge, and then he jumped up and started to scream. He was still screaming as the white coats carried him off to the ‘silent room’. He had stabbed himself in the eye with a needle! I can still hear his scream inside my head. That’s insanity. He lost an eye, but that’s not all he lost — his mind went with it!
• Another swallowed a pen, a whole pen. Could you swallow a pen? Who wants to swallow a pen?
• He was locked up safe for the night, but his mind was in agony! Insanity was back. He was crying out for help, but behind the door there was nobody to help or listen to him. They found him swinging off the bars at 6.00am in the morning. He was 22 years old.
• The pyromaniac felt the urge coming on. So he set fire to the dustbin whilst he was pulling himself off watching the flames. The nurses put it out, then locked him up in seclusion. It was funny to see; he was still watching while they carried him off. Insanity at its best! Violence out of control, that’s what it is.
• One guy, who climbed a building, flapped his arms to fly, and when he landed he broke both his ankles. Something inside him told him he could fly. The insanity came back. It never really went away, it’s always there. It’s there until you die. It just goes to sleep at times, but believe me, it wakes up and starts to scream!
• He sat in the corner of the cell looking at his hands. They looked deformed, old, tired and worn. He punched himself in the face, again and again. He began to laugh as he pounded into his ugliness. When the door unlocked, he steamed into the white coats. It took ten to restrain him. Insanity is beyond reality. Don’t even try to work it out. That’s insanity!
• He walked around the yard, hunched up like an old man. Hands in his pockets, eyes on the floor, nobody took a lot of notice. He had been walking around for 25 years, no trouble. Why should he be any trouble? It was just another day, until he jumped on another madman and bit his throat out. That’s insanity! It was bubbling up inside him all the time! Nobody ever knew why, or how it got there. So what good are the doctors and nurses and the drugs and the therapy? I’ll tell you — no good. Insanity is incurable and you’d better believe it!
• He put his cock on the table and hit it with a large, square PP9 battery in a sock. Anyone else would have screamed. He does it for fun, pain and pleasure. You should see the size of it! Awesome! He must have hit it a million times. There is no more pain. Tell a doctor that. How does he cure that? He can’t. That’s insanity; pain is insanity!
• She sat crying in her room, in the asylum, alone, depressed. She began to peel off the flakes of paint on the wall. Do you know how sharp these flakes of paint are? Sharp enough to cut a wrist and pull on the tendon and artery. They found her in a pool of blood the next day. Took her out in a body bag; 26 years old, a pretty little thing. That’s insanity!
• He never did like the loon with the funny eyes; it was his eyes he never liked, so he stabbed him … 28 times. The loon never once said a word to him.
• Another one got stabbed in the ear; it pierced his brain, cabbaged for life. He’s in a chair, shits his pants. What a way to end up. He was 32 years old. That’s insanity!
• The gay psycho loved a bit of fresh meat. The new loon was only 21, with a lovely tight arse. The psycho left him in a heap in his cell with a bleeding arse. The lad got eight stitches and a scarred brain.
• What about the guy who ripped out his testicle? Why? No one knows, no one ever will know! They can guess, they can pretend to know, but they never will know!
• Then there were two madmen who took a fellow madman hostage. (Durham) Dead man. They took half his brain out, cut his bollocks off.
• He hated his face so much he smashed it to bits with a bottle of Ribena … 850 stitches. Now he loves it!
• He had a toothache, ‘bad’; it took him all night to cure it. He tore out all his teeth! ‘PAIN!’ Then pain free. That’s insanity!
• A man, 38, spent 15 years of his life in the asylum. He picked up the razor and began to cut. The screams could be heard all over the asylum, but why did do it? He had his cock in his hand as the white coats rushed in! Insanity at its best!
Yeah, I’ve met them all! Hey, I’ll tell you who’s mad — Chris Brand. We call him Brandy, and he’s one sad bastard. He killed a con in Norwich Jail 20 years back; he was only 20 years old at the time and he drowned this old lag in the bath. Brandy gets bad bouts of madness during which he does mad things like sticking razor blades up his arse! Ouch! Sets fire to his hair, cuts himself up. He is a sad case.
Last I heard he took an overdose … and survived. How many fucking lives has this guy got, I ask? But he’s a game fucker; he once cut big Fred Lowe down his face. Fred killed two cons in ’93. If he gets a hold of Brandy, Fred’s 18st, Brandy’s 10st! Not good odds, is it? But Brandy never runs away from anybody. He once said to me, ‘Chas, do you know why I’m not scared of anybody?’
‘No, why?’ I replied.
‘Because one day I’ve got to die and the truth is the sooner the better!’
Brandy will die inside and, no doubt, violently. What a fucking sad world. Insanity drove him mad!
I’ll tell you who’s also lost the plot — Dougie Wakefield. I met Dougie in Armley Prison in Leeds back in 1975. In the ’70s and ’80s Doug had the label as Britain’s most violent man. He was a Yorkshireman, having been sentenced to life for stabbing his uncle with a garden fork. The poor bastard had more perforations in him than a tea bag when he finished with him.
Dougie just lost his mind in the ’70s. I don’t think he knew what day or month it was; he took a screw hostage in Long Lartin and demanded a cat! Why a cat? Fuck knows! Then he half-strangled another screw, then he killed Brian Peak in Parkhurst. Brian was the wing barber, and often trimmed my tash for me!
Dougie got another life on top. Broadmoor refused to accept him and he spent years in solitary; two years of that was spent in the box in Albany. That’s where he started to deteriorate mentally, so they moved him to the hospital wing in Parkhurst. Whilst there, a little Jock stuffed a coffee jar into the face of the Yorkshire Ripper, and ripped him right up. Jock Costello got ten years on top for that attack. He should have got a medal.
The Ripper was right chopped up; 100 stitches, he was a beauty. But Dougie made a statement to the pigs that it was his coffee jar and he gave it to Jock, which helped to convict him, so Dougie lost his good name. All his years of suffering finally took away his morals. You don’t fucking make statements to pigs. Full stop.
I lost touch with him for some years, then in the early ’90s I bumped into him up in Full Sutton Prison — he was still very strange. I noticed his walk, it was pathetic, 15st and wiggling his fat arse, and he seemed to talk in a high-pitched voice. Twenty-plus years had turned him into a fucking lunatic.
Then in the mid ’90s, I was blown away, I opened the Guardian newspaper and there he was, looking at me. PRISONER WANTS A SEX CHANGE. After 30 years of being caged up, he had finally lost his mind; he believed he was a woman trapped in a man’s body. Dougie Wakefield was insane, he was still 15 fucking stone and looked like a rugby player. Who the fuck’s he gonna hitch up with? The Elephant Man? What man would date him? Fuck me, your life would be at stake! Still, the facts are simple; Doug lost it over the Ripper attack in the ’80s at Parkhurst.