To answer your question; No, I am not the one driving you crazy. Had I been, speech would have been one of the inaccessible motor functions for communicating the craziness you would have been experiencing “by my hand” as it were, brought on no doubt by various “end Stage” psychosis scenarios on both practical, medical and metaphysical levels. Further evidence to preclude the need for affirmation of the cause of said “crazy” affliction would have been a rare muscle fatigue brought on by extensive, un orderable self mutilation / damage in an ad-hoc form to be further defined by a calamitous area of effect as “anything within reach” leaving largely, yourself. The extent of injuries would be a collage of wounds inseparable from each other, and so, all somewhat the same through a degeneration of the causal relationships until, not unlike an abuse cycle, the beginning being ancillary to the behavior of the cycle itself, usual relationship i.e., the cutting of a bruise or the shearing of lacerated flesh with lacerated fingernails, should it be determined that the nail can be, in fact, lacerated, supposing of course, the nail remains on the finger at all, would render all wounds, coincidentally family. This would contrast the even, measured strokes left from an ordered mind that “cuts” on oneself, in rows, neatly, to engage an endorphin cascade for intended, though arguably subconscious results. Hair would be missing like grass from a prairie over grazed by sheep. (It is suggested that a mild amount of research into the grazing habits of sheep vs cattle be done before reading further) To further complicate said communication of the redundant, or as you put it; “Are you the one driving me crazy?” would be the bruised, exacerbated and quite possibly “hyper extended” vocal chords preventing anything but a rasp. I say, not even a moan would be evidence of the level of damage self inspired to cope with the level of “crazy” that you would be experiencing and hence render mute the desire to verify its cause as no doubt I would have been turned into something, metaphorically speaking, akin to an Alien abducting you, or the space ship where you were taken to for, no doubt, a battery of rectal examinations, by your subconscious mind, and so further eliminate the possibility of a corroboration with me on the subject for any reason, in anyway, by anyone, most of all you. Do you hear me. You would not be hoarse from untenanted screaming, instead, your voice, or the capacity to, would be disengaged, removed, litteraly, from a caliber of energy funneled through that means so overwhelmingly beyond its cabability that I can only think of Hard vacume, and a spacestation full of atmosphere moving through you, at all costs (and taking you with it no doubt) through a “tiny hole” (pun intended) in the wall of the space ship you would, no doubt, think you are still in, by comparison.
December 28, 2010
Tiny hole, get it? Ha!