Insane conversations of a cracked psyche: You.

“You are more complex than that.” said the squirrel as he sat hunched in the garden, eating an original salted peanut. “That is the mistake many of you humans make with each other and yourselves. You are a sum total. You are like a radiating white light and each moment, as your life evolves from when you were an idea, to when you were in the womb to this moment, slowly sculpts you and you develop like a crystal, prism and mirror – projecting, bending and refracting that white light into a variety of colours that interact with each other and other people’s chaotic light. You are not just a white light…well, you are and you aren’t” said the squirrel. “You are a beautiful complex being, the sum total of seemingly chaotic colours but behind all that, you are a beautiful white light.” He finished his peanut, licked his squirrel lips and dashed up the nearest tree, never to be seen again.

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Insane conversations of a cracked psyche

He hobbled loudly in to the room, crutch under one arm, a bottle of rum in the other. An eye patch covered his left eye, while his right was wide with disbelief: “WHAT?! No, boy! Not Brandy, Rum! What pirate drinks brandy, boy?! Brandy is for narcoleptic giraffes and northern sleuths! NO! Pirates drink rum, boy! Or indeed grog. Tis what keeps the gums healthy and the rickets at bay! Don’t ever let me catch you singing songs or praises of brandy, boy! No pirate’s assistant will be drinking that unpalatable hogwash!
Now, where be my one-legged pantaloons, boy? I’m sure I gave it to the fish to wash?” he shouted unabashedly, as saliva and rum sprayed from out his mouth and on to his beard. He backed out loudly to the toilet, where he flushed himself back to the seven seas. Peace and quiet returned to the room and sanity was restored, but who knew for how long…

Somewhere in the Multiverse

The following has swearing, please use own discretion.

He had been sitting on the hard wooden chair at his desk for nearly two hours. His back was aching, but he sat perfectly still facing forward into a blank wall. A few feet to his left was a large window overlooking traffic and a small park. On the desk sat a vintage typewriter that performed better than it looked and in the typewriter awaited a blank white sheet of paper. He stared at the wall with his hands on either side of the typewriter just sitting. Waiting. His apartment was quiet, except for the moan of afternoon traffic and the songs of various birds. He had been staring so long at the bland cream-coloured wall, that the texture of the paint on the wall began making odd shapes and he had to blink his eyes several times just to make sure it really was what he was seeing.  He banged his fist on the table which made his cat, who was lying lazily on the foot of the bed behind him, jump awake.

“This is fucking useless!” he said to no one, but directing it at his cat, who simply went back to pretending to sleep. “I have sat here for so long. We should have had at least something by now!” He turned and looked at his cat, who wasn’t in any way interested in his problems. “Thanks a lot!” He said to his cat. “You couldn’t perhaps try be a little more helpful, no? An idea or two? No?” He paused, almost expecting an answer. “Lazy shit.” and like a little school boy, tossed a pen at his cat.

“WHAT THE FUCK, MAN?!” Meowed his cat. “What you do that for? Are you fucking nuts?”

“I’ve sat here for nearly two hours, trying to write a story, my back aches, my eyes are seeing weird shit on the wall and you haven’t contributed a fucking thing!”

His cat sighed and rolled his eyes “Could you be any more whinny?!”

“Yeah. Shall I do an impersonation of you at dinner time?”

“Get stuffed.”

“What does that even mean?” The two looked at each other and gave each other a half-hearted shrug. “Could you just help me please, instead of sleeping all the time?” he said to the cat.

“Fine.” Said the cat through a yawn that almost unhinged his jaw. “Where are we?”

“Nowhere.” answered the guy.

“So, at the beginning then?” questioned the cat.

“We need an idea to be at the beginning. Right now, we are before the beginning. We are in the middle of nowhere, without an idea. How are we suppose to get around without an idea? Ideas are like the vehicles of the mind!” he said, as if high on MDMA.

“Jeez, chill out man. Take it easy!” said the cat as he got up to sit.

“You know, for someone who can tell great stories, you’re really shit at coming up with ideas.” said the guy to his cat, whom now sat licking his right paw.

“Ooh, ouch! Project much?” retorted the cat.

“Project? What?” muttered the guy confused.

“Yeah. You’re projecting because you can’t come up with a good enough idea. Its you, not me.” and the cat went back to cleaning his paws.

“Get stuffed!” The two looked at each other, paused and shrugged.

“Well you could at least help me a bit.” said the guy. “You’re good with stories.”

“Oh snap. I thought I was a lazy shit?” retorted the cat.

“Well, in some alternate universe you are.”

“Oh yeah? Well in some alternate universe you’re douche bag.” proclaimed the cat.

“Some would say we live in that universe.” replied the guy.

The two laughed. “Wait.” Said the cat. “That’s brilliant. Tell the many stories of the multiverse.”

“Great! How do we start it?” Asked the guy

There was a few moments paws…and then the cat answered “Somewhere in the multiverse…”

Words of a stranger

The stranger was ignored by all. They would give small change and food out of pity, even though he never asked for anything. The man had seen the stranger for decades, wandering the streets in dirty shabby clothing with a limp in his stride. The stranger was nearly always in conversation with himself, yet very rarely spoke to others. The stranger sat in the shade of the large acorn tree, giving his troublesome foot a rest. Even sitting alone he was deep in conversation with himself mumbling words, which to others, seemed unintelligent.

The man walked past the homeless stranger, giving him a smile and a nod. As the man walked by, the stranger unexpectedly spoke at the man, “Do you know what I think is wrong with the world?” queried the homeless stranger. “People have allowed their environment to dictate their personalities, instead of discovering themselves and developing their own personalities and through this slow process, eventually creating an environment suitable to their personalities. Most people have no idea who or what they are.”

“Interesting.” said the man with surprise. Never before has the homeless man stopped him, not for money and certainly not for conversation. “What about in your case?” asked the man. “Does your environment not affect and dictate your personality?”

“Yes, but I spent many years discovering myself – who I was, who and what I wanted to be and who and what I didn’t want to be. I decided I wanted to be free. I know who I am. Many see me as a homeless bum, but I never beg for charity. I walk the streets of the city, like a ghost. I see people for who they are. I see how they treat one another and speak to each other and much of the time I don’t like it. I prefer holding conversation with myself. I see the poison that spews from some people’s mouths and how it infects others, I don’t want to be that. I don’t want to live everyday a slave to work earning a concept that has no meaning in man’s survival. I decided years ago to remove myself from society, because I saw the direction society was taking. I now live free, free from the baggage of material possession. Free from useless fads that are alive no longer than a blink of an eye. My only concern is living, because I know who I am.”

The homeless stranger got to his feet and looked at the man. Although his clothes were dirty and he smelled, his eyes radiated an intelligence the man didn’t see too often, even among his educated colleagues. “Don’t let your environment dictate the person you are. Know who you are and dictate your environment and what elements surround you.” said the stranger with a smile.  He turned his back and continued to talk to himself as he limped away. The man stood in the middle of the road and watched as the stranger took to the streets once again talking gibberish to himself and wondered if the stranger was as crazy as people perceived him to be.