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help get you back on your feet, so that, one day,
you're strong enough to return and tell them to
take their moralistic bullshit and go fuck
themselves.
I went to see my cross-therapist, Dr. Our, about
this.
"Sorry," he said. "But we are no longer providing
treatment or services for that issue.
"You see," he continued, getting up, now, and
pacing slowly around his office as he spoke, "We
are sick of people like you, who just waltz in
here whenever you feel like it, to ride the
undocumented code at the edge of human behavior,
and then waltz right back out again, loaded down
with priveleged insight, taken from
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the pain of others -- which you then recast into random theories of consciousness and nature, that try to validate themselves by pretending to predict all of human history and civilization and superstition, while, in reality, predicting nothing but the evolution of prediction itself." "Ummm," I said, once he'd finished and sat back down, with that righteous smirk on his face, "You may have me, uhhh, confused with somebody else. You see, my only desire in life -- my only desire -- is simply to have never lived. -- Period." But he wouldn't buy this and just shook his head. "Do you know who I am!" I screamed at him. But he wouldn't buy that either.
Book: TABLE OF CONTENTS |