Mental Fatalism, Fanatism, Fantasm

I have done well. I toyed with Jung while Freud was watching from a distance. He (or rather it) needs a more schematic approach. Not only on Mondays.
I began to write again. Poetry… without convention but surely with a concept taking shape.
I was mistaken all this time… Creation in (not on) paper goes together with the creation of my Self. Two fates forever entwined.
Only when I grow, my work grows with me.

– My red pepper plants, by the way, survived winter and already produce new leaves, in time for the year of the horse –

The lady pulls her chair up to look me in the eyes. I stare at her folded arms while she asks me: “Why have you taken the decision to come here?”
You must know the ward was on the third floor in a modern building complex. Neon light drowned the left-overs of natural light coming through two large office windows. None other than the truth she got from me.
“You know…” I wince “I am only here because of my grandmother.”
An awkward silence. Did she really check I was faking it?
No turning back now.
For real, there is a chance I was born for more than one purpose.
Ha that’s why hand reading is child’s play.
We know already I’ll tell a frightened mother death won’t hurt.
That’s why we are muses… for divine guidance.

In the last 24 hours I had more good ideas than in the last twenty-four months, so here we go… for Anita Ward – Ring my bell

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