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Rated: E · Chapter · Nonsense · #1924635
Monthly sample of a current project. Two days of an eccentric psychiatrist's life.
Part I:


8,000 questions I wrote upon my wall. 8,000 questions, great and small. My quest for these to answer all. 8,000 questions, one and all.


Outside the Café

Making Tea

On Mondays, I take two and a quarter tea spoons of sugar with my tea. I commit this amount towards the following three days. Subsequently on Tuesdays I accompany my sugared tea with cream. On Wednesdays I permeate a cultural whimsy. After the act of cream applied I perform with my matchsticks to create a certain brulé upon the summit of the dairy. Thursdays sees the end of cream covered tea. The sugar grams still remain applied. Although on this day I tend to with a pipette seduce the garnet sea with Vanilla extract. The colouring remains unchanged however the taste is certainly genteel to my Argonaut palate. Friday beckons the disestablishment of tea drinking. All morning, noon and night, it is crass to welcome Freya on a pot of simple brew. Therefore I liberate with the preference of straight coffee. Tiny black and oaken nuts spread darkness much becoming to a Threstrel’s nose. Sour scented; fumigate the ceramic bath till the cup runneth over. Strange for tastes to be felt upon the tongue, the debonair of flavour and arbiter to nutrionessence.
I discovered in my erratical mathematic that:

2.25    X  4  =  9

A no doubt inspired study bestowed upon me by a capricious delirium. Three has been prised as the “Lucky” number of all the infinite digits of the entire world. My simple and precision sugar stirs indicate a coincidental truth. In theorem, three representing the number of gratuitous kismet, the operation of three upon itself would incur a mass revelation of providence. Hence we praise the arrival of fortuitous nine. A number soaked in multiplicities of desirable chance, the emersation of three by the power of two additional threes births a symbol of perfection. Nine is trifortuitous. It secondly appeals to a numerical variety of my liking. The most alluring digits are those who are greatest towards their next ascendant. Other perceivedly “whole” numbers such as ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty, sixty, seventy, eighty and ninety all bother my irksomnity. It is that hideous falling suffix “0”.

But This is not about my supinunfavourable idiosyncrasies. No, this is about a story. A story that will unfold over a prescribed set of hours: 49, to be precise. And here we are in hours before the hour that I will make clear the beginning. Now don’t be confused. I willed due, my best to guide the arch of narrative somewhere in the time continuum. Now, without further a due, a due must be given, and the dew that must be given is the morning dew. Therein sit back, intact. The stories about to begin;
I sit here. On the plain arch of baroqued arches swirled incongruously around in floral orchestrated designs spread along my back, indenting the good flannel.
Consequently, I wait here. At the end of a crescent steel pole spread into tricots that curled up trig mentally as it were, making its stand. At this outdoor table I wait. For my order and ordinates to arrive.
Well at this precise condescending moment of transient existence I have to say that where I am at is a former beatnik resort. Pleasant outings, great ideas. But loathsome, refolded people who have a disposition that’s more delightful on paper. Or plastic sir?
I wait here. Four people coming who I don’t really like. And whistling comes from no longer the stellar train but from the downloading of the coffee strainer into the Styrofoam cupsules. Capped off, the liquid’s roasting inside.
Where vaporous wyrms make their way through the air. To take a byte here and there from the coconous caffeine info-site. Weird wired things, cant be seen. No directive but to do bad. But maybe they do bad so that they can become butterflies. Clackety clack, away business typos made her and their. Never two late err than the one who always comes a fashionably sized entrance of prestision. So still I wait. And the time it took for the waiting. The wake would sooner have started to have happened. But there’s no-one hear to pinch me, that way the realness of reality has to be subverted into non-reality. If it is so. I cannot tell sometimes. I can be forever lucid. Lucid as zith last Assamption. But der wil be time lactose for diary talk and Pythagorean consentrithmetic. Here, I start with ordering my cup from a young boy wearing a black and white waistcoat. I order several more cups as Arundel. For then my colleagues can conspire over something a teensy bit…There now I wait, to arrive about soon…

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