. no, really, i do "hear" these murmours,
these whispers... even after i stop thinking,
even though these days, thinking is dissociated
from being "audible"... solipsitic...
i experience these whispers...
post-cogitans... and that's... almost a claustrophobia...
which is isn't... but it's certainly
an insomnia; lucky for me i'm quick to retort
to phantoms; since... my comment section
never grows enough to entertain trolls;
and i haven't received a personal email for...
eh... a donkey heaves a decade...
about that long.

the "schizoid" bubble says:
oh you, you think you're oh so smart...

no, not really darling...
i'm just happy to not be thinking that
i'm drunk...
but merely being: oops'e'daisy...
no driving license...
that sort of: a responsible pedestrian...
will not ride a bicycle drunk...
instead: takes... a bus!

which i am...
but there's always a memory
of Paris circa 2008
and talking about Nabokov...
freely...
some with canadian fairy
that's a key to boosting my morale
that will never leave me...
in the company of a housewife...
beside my mother;
for all the sins and the crucifixion
reperations that any
individual might mind.

- that's a worthwhile joke i keep running
in my head...
what do you call a bilingual schizophrenic?
a quadratic!
ah... ha ha... ha.... it will never catch on...
since the subject matter is a taboo...
much easier dealing with cancer
and running that pink mile for charity...
much easier too...
living in symbiosis...
borrowing from botany and seeing
cancer as... mistletoe... which is a botanical
variation of a cancerous growth...
but who's going to run an empathy mile
for some schizophrenic?
i know a pair... nonetheless...
being an entrenched bilingual with no
prospect of being a polyglot...
i can attest as to where
this auditory-"hallucinations"
come from... neanderthal mono-lingual natives...
given the power of the spider web
without a spider being present...
a web with flies... but no spider
to harvest them...

where does irrational paranoia of
the ignorant, the mis-informed...
ignorance end and imagination begin?
what is science fiction by now?
what is, "allowed"?
lucky for me...
the outliers of this condition...
allow me to move outside any reasonable
domain of dialectical taboo...

sometimes they call it the mushroom
harvest...
keep those schizoid-fungus-brains
in your closet...
sometimes let one out...
when... the whole of society is...
beyond comprehension...
mad enough to imitate a whimsical farce
of a tale of a would-be-paedophile:
or however else pwetty Alice would
have called him.

there's always one though...
i wouldn't call into question the ego experiencing
dissoance as a precursor symptom for
a sigma: i.e., a personality disorder...
one can keep one's personality intact...
but also have bouts of ego-mania...
egoism...
imagine egoism... with... condoms...
condoms being hallucinatory murmors...
and your thinking: pretty much any thinking
at this point... being littered with
greta thunberg condoms...
those: 'how dare you'... what? think?!

i've come to the conclusion that...
the schizoid condition doesn't affect
the deaf...
and that... at least if i experienced
visual: orthodox hallucinations...
i could resort to the cameo-haven of cinema...
but it's also oh so confusing for the natives
to not speak with an "accent"...
if only the natives knew what i would
tell them, about how they're Adam and Eve(n)
when it comes to diacritical application...
how their metaphysics is not so much:
gott ist tod...
but how they dried up their metaphysical
cul de sacs... because...
they didn't concern themselves with orthography.