After the emergency admissions with the “competent” doctor. Everybody knows everything about looking for medical services in our system if you do not have good connections. I do not want to spend excess words. People abandoned to die in ambulances, peasant people with heat troubles from clinic to clinic, corruption in clinic beds, years waiting for tests for the diagnosis of a tumour… we all know it all. I was not close to one of those. The interesting thing is – the perspective. So, you are psychotic, but they did not diagnose you as psychotic, and you must find yourself someone who will say anything whatever to you or help you in any way at all since you are in fact fucked up. Something like: you are mad, they are confused. And confused, it is commonly well-known, does not fuck mad! So that is how it was. Nobody f.. you nor for prunes. Happiness in adversity is a way of survival. Gaunt stare the only means of communication. “We can’t admit you” .. “Not with us..” … Maybe I did not knock at the right door. Maybe. But it is good that I knocked at any door, in the condition I was in. According your kind of wisdom I would do best to die. The best was the doctor who I caught in an abandoned corridor in front of her surgery with a coffee in her hands. “We are full, I am sorry!” she told me kindly while energetically shaking the plastic spoon. Before a gaunt stare at her and her spoon I cast a gaunt stare upon the empty bench in the waiting room in her lazy realm at the forgotten floor in the health centre. The voice did not come from me from clenched jaws, my heart banged through below in toes, and I feel splashes of sweat all self while seeping down my spine in the cleft of my buttocks. All my nerves jangled like Tesla’s transceiver on Long Island, and a menopausal grandmother clad like a hippy twittered to me: - But why don’t you try again at beginning of next month? All the same, I can’t guarantee anything…
Aha. If I try again… Like always those days, the action very much in slow motion, but certain actions, the whole world, visible and invisible, slowed down just like a film, voices as if heard from a long way in some barrel like moans and my only true, strong, instinctive and healthy impetus is that I am so inflamed by her plastic cup that I would throw it far, far away from that empty corridor. I remember only that I clearly thought how she would choke to see that coffee as it will fall apart now when I am in slow motion. Why don’t you try again…
But of course, my only lawful was here all the time. She knows beforehand all my looks, psychotic or not, and her hand already gently, but firmly, draws my hand. Hand eagerly shakes there where she was, and the coffee disappears into return together with the talons that were carrying it.
There must exist somewhere some competent doctor for me, I think, and my wife nods her head. Still I think that it is enough and too much for this day and she nods again. We start off home, slowly I return to speed, but what does not leave me is the portrait of the head hovering over coffee in the whiteness of the hospital waiting-room and the scream that would come from somewhere from the depths of an invisible barrel.
20.09.2007. (19:54)
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Reader
The Odyssey: at coffee with Polyphemus
After the emergency admissions with the “competent” doctor. Everybody knows everything about looking for medical services in our system if you do not have good connections. I do not want to spend excess words. People abandoned to die in ambulances, peasant people with heat troubles from clinic to clinic, corruption in clinic beds, years waiting for tests for the diagnosis of a tumour… we all know it all. I was not close to one of those.
The interesting thing is – the perspective. So, you are psychotic, but they did not diagnose you as psychotic, and you must find yourself someone who will say anything whatever to you or help you in any way at all since you are in fact fucked up. Something like: you are mad, they are confused. And confused, it is commonly well-known, does not fuck mad!
So that is how it was. Nobody f.. you nor for prunes.
Happiness in adversity is a way of survival. Gaunt stare the only means of communication.
“We can’t admit you” .. “Not with us..” … Maybe I did not knock at the right door. Maybe. But it is good that I knocked at any door, in the condition I was in. According your kind of wisdom I would do best to die.
The best was the doctor who I caught in an abandoned corridor in front of her surgery with a coffee in her hands. “We are full, I am sorry!” she told me kindly while energetically shaking the plastic spoon. Before a gaunt stare at her and her spoon I cast a gaunt stare upon the empty bench in the waiting room in her lazy realm at the forgotten floor in the health centre. The voice did not come from me from clenched jaws, my heart banged through below in toes, and I feel splashes of sweat all self while seeping down my spine in the cleft of my buttocks. All my nerves jangled like Tesla’s transceiver on Long Island, and a menopausal grandmother clad like a hippy twittered to me:
- But why don’t you try again at beginning of next month? All the same, I can’t guarantee anything…
Aha. If I try again… Like always those days, the action very much in slow motion, but certain actions, the whole world, visible and invisible, slowed down just like a film, voices as if heard from a long way in some barrel like moans and my only true, strong, instinctive and healthy impetus is that I am so inflamed by her plastic cup that I would throw it far, far away from that empty corridor. I remember only that I clearly thought how she would choke to see that coffee as it will fall apart now when I am in slow motion. Why don’t you try again…
But of course, my only lawful was here all the time. She knows beforehand all my looks, psychotic or not, and her hand already gently, but firmly, draws my hand. Hand eagerly shakes there where she was, and the coffee disappears into return together with the talons that were carrying it.
There must exist somewhere some competent doctor for me, I think, and my wife nods her head. Still I think that it is enough and too much for this day and she nods again.
We start off home, slowly I return to speed, but what does not leave me is the portrait of the head hovering over coffee in the whiteness of the hospital waiting-room and the scream that would come from somewhere from the depths of an invisible barrel.
20.09.2007. (19:54) - - - - - promjene spremljene- uredi komentar - obriši komentar - prijavi ovaj komentar kao spam - zabrani komentiranje autoru ovog komentara- učitavam...