Friday, March 18, 2011


The man takes his seat and says 'I want to be psychoanalyzed.' He forgets to mention where he comes from. 'I see in my dreams,' he begins, 'fat white men sodomizing their kids. When I shout stop, I hear them shout back: Oh! Sure join us. Not choosing to stay, I step outside. I stand under a leafless tree and jerk off to a winter breeze. My act is witnessed by a hunchback granny and I’m ashamed. Before I could stop, I ejaculate and it is blood that I ejaculate. In this recurring dream, at various times, the players that people the dream aren’t always human -- they vary from wolves to bulldogs. Every time, I wake up breaking into a cold sweat and this is the only time I have an erection and it is very painful. My wife left me because I could no longer be aroused. Whose fault is it?'

'You are an Irishman,' the analyst says, 'and I think you’ve idolized the Brit at one point, and perhaps your unconscious still does it. I am afraid it is beyond my expertise to decipher your dream. You only need say you’re Irish and I know who needed the cure. It is not your fault. That whole nation needs therapy. I am sorry though it is not in my hands. On your way out, please let the Pakee in.' 'Say Indian, doc,' says the man, with J bastard under his breath. He analyzes me and then says he couldn’t! He leaves the office hands over his head.

As the doctor exits the restroom, he finds his seat taken. Are you normal, am I, are we? asks the patient from the doctor’s seat. The analyst shrinks in the patient's seat. 'In my entire nomadic life, that is adult life, the man resumes, I have met a billion people from all walks of life -- bureaucrats inside to homeless outside, I haven’t met one person you would certify as normal and I do not have a glimmer of hope that I ever will. I think you should go tell it to the world wind. On your way out, doc, let the Yankee in.'

On the way out, doctor meets his pupil and gets lost in conversation. He then never recalled in his life the incident narrated except but for in fragments.

Meanwhile, one after the other, these men get home and nail on their walls a writing on the wood:

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