“Do you think that we are part of a story that people read?” Jojo asked.
“Oh come on. That’s a wild thought even for a conspiracy theory.” of course. I mean, me, Horace Spencer – extraordinaire and genius part of nothing but a product of someone’s imagination oh come on…
“I had this patient brought in the other day. He said he has discovered evidence that we are a story. Ceising to exist whenever the page is turned, and coming back alive when another reads it.”
“Does he have evidence to back this up?” I asked. Of course such wild imagination can never be proven. It was wild. And imaginative.
Love though, makes you support weird shit you normally wouldn’t. I mean, this story that I found myself getting into. Laughable to say the least.
“yeah. He pointed out to how we suddenly find ourselves in relationships and friendships we hadn’t been aware of and how we sleep in Nairobi and wake up in Windhoek or in a boat in the Mississippi… Evidence of the authors wandering mind. Creating and placing us where he sees fit. Forging alliances and friendships as we sleep. There’s a whole load of argument to back him up, and I was convinced he speaks the truth!”
Fair point, I think.
But from a nutcase.
Lucid dreaming and drugs do things to people. You place yourself in places and contexts you normally wouldn’t and when you’re sober and awake, accuse another being – that does not exist – of shit they prolly ain’t aware of. Seeing they ain’t aware of their existence. 😁
These are stories you read in comics and adventures of deranged, heartbroken artists and writers. Finding a need to place themselves in other places or ideas. For the sakes of humanity though, I decided to keep on listening to it. To her. Love.
“so, a man checked into an insane asylum convinces you – a sane human – that we are in a book? Or story? And you believe him? I hate to say this Jo, but, are you sure you’re still with us?”
“Look who’s talking?! Aren’t you the person we had a discussion with a couple of days back about how insanity and sanity are nothing but social constructs? You’re the one that introduced me to Rosenberg for goodness sakes! He might be right for all we know. How do you explain us? Friends in one day, fighting lovers in the next. Don’t you think that is evidence of his wild imagination?”
“Well, humans are bound to forget. And our minds are capable of constructing alliances while we sleep, no?” I insisted, “The human mind’s capabilities are yet to be understood let alone known. We cannot simply put everything aside, science especially for the sakes of the wild allegations of a wild man. Wild and mad! You are the psychologist here, diagnose that!”
Don’t judge me for my tough love. We cannot let insane people destroy everything we have built due to his or her “imagination.” we have come too far. Men have walked both on water and on the moon, that cannot be put aside and let believed that they were imaginations of an author or writer who most probably was on dru… I am a writer. On drugs, damn!
It doesn’t prove a thing.
“say, what’s the profession of this young man?”
Curiosity got the better of me.
“he’s jobless as of now I gather.”
This is a headache. Dealing with.
“An empty mind is the father of all imagination. Wild, insane and absurd. And the absurd does cling to someone’s mind and at its edges for quite the length of time,” I said to her.
“He said, I’m supposed to be with you. That that’s how it’s been set in the mind of the author, but the audience thinks different.”
Absurd. An abandoned woman clinging to straws.
“Engage me in this, who do the audience wish I be with?”
This story was getting the better of me. Heck, I might even write it!
A book where characters become aware their existence is for nothing save for entertaining some people or their audience. What a fallacy. Existing to put a smile on someone’s face or prove how good a man’s imagination can get! Is this a book already? It’s so damn… (lacks the word) it’s so damn engrossing!
“Her name’s Jenny. You haven’t met her yet.”
She was convinced. Her face was sad. A lot sad.
“Baby, I’m with you. That matters, right?”
“He said I have a different story. With a different set of fans, audience and people to meet.”
She was a fucking Hippie! We never believed in this, your destiny is written bullcrap! We were free-spirited beings. Go where the water is and let the wind upon your back lead you. Now, it had led her astray.
“are you to tell me that you’re gonna throw all this that we’ve worked for away because of some wild bullshit story from a mad-man?!”
Unbelievable. Fuxking unbelievable. It’s like throwing awa… There’s no fucking allegory to compare shit with. There’s things that cannot be packaged differently. It simply was.
The sad thing was, Jo, my Jojo, my rainbow monkey, believed this lunatic over me! And seemed convinced. Like, okay, there were things I was starting to question myself over… I mean, I had once slept in Milan and woken up in Bordeaux naked and in a room full of drugs, but that was beside the point, we cannot be in a story existing for the sole purpose of entertainment and tools of the writer’s imagination and popular demand. I cannot be fiction!
“are they mad for looking at the world differently, or for not looking at the world same way as us?” she asked.
“baby, I am an accountant. Not a philosopher or philosophy student. You are the one that read psychology. You’re better at answering that. At least tell me you are.” That was my answer. Not to everything but hey, we don’t and shouldn’t get carried away with the affairs of the mad.
This whole affair could be compared to nothing save the writings of Nikolai Gogol in his mad-man chronicle where a cow entered a shop and asked for a pound of tea. Point to note here is “mad-man.” Ramblings rather than writings.
But I like to think, it isn’t quite removed nor far-fetched that as of now, someone is reading this smiling at themselves at my doubt of their existence. But oh come on, would people have believed the mighty Jesus Christ had they not seen him tiptoeing across the seas in stormy weather?
“so, what are you going to do about it?” I asked.
“well, I have to do my own research on everything. I have to find out if all these things he said are true. Then, my heart will be at peace.”
“I need some time away.”
From me? That was the first thing that came to mind.
“From what exactly? And, where exactly are you going?”
“You. Everything. I’ll be back. In due time.”
I don’t what you think, but it’s tough when someone decides to leave you to find “peace” or some other shit. Are they the Dalai Lama? Peace and answers aren’t to be found through isolation from the world. The folly of humanity is believing humans are a problem. No answers can be found outside your self. If they can’t, you have to introspect into the soul of the universe. And it will be enough. How I wanted to tell her this.
“I’ll try wait.”
“My workmates think I’ve lost my mind.” Aaah, if it isn’t the universe making a mockery of everything. She fuxking was crazy! Yet here I was. Trynna make her feel sane.
I am a big fan of The Joker as a comic character. See, comic character. He’s insane and is aware of it. He is said to then, become saner than the rest of us, he had conquered his own insanity and pushed back it’s boundaries. This is why Scarecrow’s Fear serum doesn’t work on him. He’s conquered everything that existed in his mind and could be. This was what she was planning to pursue. Understanding herself and pushing the boundaries of her understanding. The only difference between her and the Joker though, was one, he was a comic. He wasn’t a real and being of flesh. He was therefore as flexible as the Rubber Band Man. The writer could do with him whatever he willed. Which is different with her. She tries match him mentally and she’ll crack. There are things whose answers we shouldn’t pursue. It is akin to cupping water in your palms to put out a roaring flame. It wasn’t that these answers were useless to us, rather, their being found lowers the quality of life. I bet, the mad-man was mad because he thought of such shit and turned into a prickly little paranoid bitch.
Jo left. Good riddance for a bad mind. I mean, we had witnessed, Nikolai move from talking to dogs to thinking he was the King of Spain.