The Myths of Perception
Here's an odd thing. Last Friday I had two meetings planned. One was scheduled for a specific time. The other involved me waiting at the convenience of another. Needless to say I missed the first because I was waiting for the second. This is not the odd thing. The odd thing is that I could have spoken to somebody about bumping my way up the list to get the second meeting out of the way. Thereby managing to achieve the first meeting. But I didn't. The reasons why probably go some way to explaining why I'm currently having a mental breakdown whilst residing on a psychiatric ward.
I'm in a similarly odd place right now. I'm about to sign for a flat. It's an empty shell. Rationally I know what's required. Emotionally however I have no idea what to do. I know I need a bed, fridge, cooker, carpets, and all the other paraphernalia of modern existence. I know where these things can be bought. I can probably even afford one or two things. Yet I'm stuck. Unassisted I'm completely unable to achieve any of what's required. I'm due to be thrown out of Hospital on Wednesday As things stand it's looking like I'll be living in a place only marginally better than the gutter.
I knew it I would be like this. I tried to highlight my problems to the professionals responsible for my care. I told them I was completely unable to accept or reject the offer of the flat. I told them I needed assistance. But they bullied me and pushed me and didn't listen. Their perceptions had been warped by the character I sent to view the flat - an oddly disassociated form of myself. In the end I rolled a dice, and the dice told me to accept the flat. The dice is now telling me to do nothing with regards to my flat. So I'm currently actively doing nothing. It's the only way I can cope.
I'm on a psychiatric ward. I'm one step away from being a gibbering wreck. So far I've coped by running away daily to a place my laptops can get online. The support and assistance one would expect I should be getting has never materialized. The only thing I have been offered is more medication. I've been promised lots of things. Only to me these promises are nothing but platitudes professionals utter to make themselves, collectively speaking, feel better.
I bet my psychiatrist drives a flash car; my money is on a BMW. Drives himself to and from work each day. Truly believes he's helping people. Never once questioning the underlying assumptions of shared existence. Believes his patients live in the same Universe as he does. I know he thinks my leaving the ward daily is a good thing. I doubt he's considered it's actually a form of dissociative fugue. But then I doubt he's ever considered the degree to which owning and driving a car dissociates him from my world either.
Re Programme!
The system keeps throwing me back into myself. In ways which defy reality. Because it's all real. Only I feel something I need to bottle-up. So I do. Walk within the relity tunnel of others. Never able to find the words to express myself. Then I take it out later. Open it up and discover a well of anger bourne of frustration. See the patterns of my life playout in my mind.
I find I'm looking for something. You only seem to show me what it's not.
{ Tuesday's }
The problem when you've got a quantum computer is not entanglement, it's disentanglement. I'm currently working on the numbers.
{{Title}}
The Old (ld) Testament is currently repeating on me. Four week cycle approximately. I had a good Friday. On Saturday I got a bit pushy. Started playing with cars. Got within eleven centimeters of getting hit. Not bad really. Got a nice skid effect uncertainty with a nice wet road. Then we worked out a thorough understanding of why the issue of others becomes problematical. Or rather telling them the truth.
Got back to the Hospital and wrote myself a little note. I little contextual meme. Designed to go off at just the right time. A little note to self which would meander through the day allowing me to learn something. On that day I met a friend in town to the strains of Iron Maiden's "The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner". Which on occasion has instilled a mood on me. Then I saw Tom Courtney repeat some very specific words. Words of my own from the night before. Back to me, as I sat in the cinema.
A superb film. Teaching the children how to read. Not books. Symbols. Give any child who has seen it a deck of Tarot cards and they'll probably be able to do what I can do. Not that it matters. There's only three children and five people in the world. Everything else returns void.
The meme exploded when I got back to my place. A singular subjective experience which transcended reality. Forces. Feelings. Things worked out the day before. Things the others would not accept as real. Things I can only accept because I once chose to be ignorant and still hide them away in public. I used to smoke in public to help me hide it. Then that stopped. Now I smoke in private and get my message across. But then in the right mind throwing a tin in the bin can have the right effect. So what I think is the only thing which is important.
I'm ever so uncertain about who's there so I get cautious. And rarely say what I mean to say. Sometimes in my dreams I write my past. Sometimes my future. Sometimes the now. Then I manipulate the stuff and it happens. Then the patterns become apparent.
Tomorrow I'll be born again. Wonder what you'll expect me to be? Soon it will not matter. Things will change.