Joanna Gilman Hyde

"Good Morning, World!"



The Hawk Kitchen Outpost 11:02am

EYE have to sell

M(EYE) Mental Health

to  M(EYE) New Psychiatrist:

nails done

HYDE INQUIRY pant suit

file folder of photos

showing sculpted heads

Certificate of Congratulations

from Concept 2 Rowing

New Painting started on basement floor

EYE have to sell

M(EYE) Self


The Hawk Computer 6:04 pm

My Husband, Dr William Hunter Blair, now believes

that My World Trade Center Roof Top Painting from 1984

titled Self Organizing Galaxy

may have given someone the idea

for 9/11


EYE have not been writing much —

EYE have been making recordings into M(EYE) cell phone

in-which M(EYE) Husband does not seem very interested.


The Hawk Dining Room 6:49pm

Like the flocks of tiny birds

We watched this morning —

there has to be

a Collective Shift —

a Collective Curve

& Undulation

of Our Global —

No — Universal



There is no such “thing” as “mental illness.”  There is no true illness which can be said to be entirely “mental” unless it is derived from an organic source such as a brain tumour.  There are no physical attributes in the human body which can point to this description.  There is no pre-determining test for “mental illness.”  The psychiatric diagnosis used to determine the supposed state of “mental illness” is opinion-based at best, and most often this opinion is not shared by the individual in question.  At worst this opinion is often shared by family members, friends, and society as a whole, creating a kind of trap or “Catch 22” for the individual.

What we see when we attempt to use this stigmatizing and false description of “mental illness” is an array of human self expression which may be affected by, or resulting from, changes in environment, sleep patterns, physical activity, thought, perception, interaction with others, or any conglomeration of naturally occurring factors which can and do affect all of us as human beings.

We are variable and complex.  To lump any of us into “categories” of “mental illness” is a grave disservice to humanity.


Written by Joanna Gilman Hyde Blair


The Tomato-coloured Couch 3:45pm

Long ago & far away

I was housed in a place

I did not want to be

I did not want to be

& so I was stationed

in an artificial unit

of nurses, doctors & cafeteria food

for weeks at a time

yet I have no memory of what day

or year, I got out

it doesn’t really matter

that I cannot recall

the end of that terrible time —

all that matters now

is that I am happy

& I DO want to live —

My Life is full

in This Glorious Place


The Hawk West Desk Window 9:26pm

Something weird just happened to Me

when I was handing My Husband

2 Tylenol for His Sore Back

— and then handing Him

The Glass Of Water

to drink Them down —

I had a flash

of reliving the constant nights

of being fed medication

in The Yarmouth Psychiatric Unit

where The Nurse handed Me first

a little plastic cup of pills

which I threw into My Mouth —

I stood holding The Empty Cup

The Nurse filled It with an inch of water

from an ice cold stainless steel pitcher

for Me to swallow down


The Hawk Portico 2:22pm

Yes, It was MY Depression —

It wasn’t anybody else’s

yet It affected so many —

like My Mother’s Brain Tumour —

Yes, It was HER Tumour

but It affected so many —

and My Shower of Silver Lights —

Yes, It was MY Shower

It affected so many —

and Yes, It still does


The Tomato-coloured Couch 5:45pm

I Am Able To Set The Table

As I Am

Your Reason For Schizophrenia —

a played-out conundrum

I Am The Reason

The Intellect Behind

Child-like Frankness

I Am The Purpose

Behind Hallucinations

Sleep Deprivation

Voices From Afar

As I Am The Human Being

Capable Of Imagining

Any Vision, Any Dream

Capable Of Consuming

The Place Set

For Our Changing Minds


Yarmouth, NS 8:30pm

I saw that institutional building

in the sunset haze

over Yarmouth Harbour

perhaps for the last time

— Oh how I can taste being entrenched there

“Patient X”

a basket case

“with delusional aspects”

Who wouldn’t eat

for years it seemed

yet turning out of Yarmouth

a pink ray fell upon My Page