The story of a smart guy

Just start writing down your thoughts, and the ideas will follow, said the monkey, gently whispering into the artists ear. Then as it was vanishing away, our man was wondering: Does it not seem a bit too strange for my muse to be an ape? So what! The answer came promptly, seemingly from nowhere while his mind started to ride gently through the Hell that rolled down from the top of the four-story apartment building where he was leading his existence. The landscapes which shown through the window of his room were gray with red dots, as of an Amanita muscaria mushroom, and on the outside, everything seemed to be made of lead. Autumn has come, and drops of raw meat were raining down outside, gifting the ravens and the crows a feast. Hell seemed to be at home, and no one cared about it at all. Intoxicated by the venom of a society, which at that time was unable to tolerate and accommodate him, like a piece of a puzzle within the machinery of the great circus, Gregg had no other choice but to merely try to accept his fate. Cruel Moirae()!!! he said to himself, trying to roll a second joint as big as the white-robed incarnation of destiny. Nakedly, he plunged into his warm bath water, thoroughly enjoying the fumes. The smoke was everywhere, covering all the swamp in which he lived. It gave him a breath of faith, and while the smog of kind bud was floating like a white flag of hope covering everything, his confidence was rising. Tomorrow, Ill look for a job! he said to himself. Though well into his thirties, he had never worked. He had his reasons. Staring out the window, across the street, the great hospital was plainly visible. It was lying down with doors open like a fat call girl with gracefully spread legs and a gangrenous breast. The sick berth was nourishing death, and the community seemed to perish away, but Gregg was hardly trying to be reborn.

He was a simple man. Taking his last pain pill, Gregg could barely dress himself. The non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drug and the opioid substance that now was dashing through his veins numbed his thinking, reversibly eliminating any sensation, and he was hardly opposed to the great pandemonium moment. He felt lost, and it was not bad. The painkiller became henceforth his utmost friend, and together, hand in hand, they traveled to a far and distant land, across seven heavens and even further to where lights were blinding his eyes, and in the presence of a goddess who at that time was guiding his steps, one by one, carefully down the stairs, he found himself on the way to a job interview. Today is the day! he said to himself floating, seeming to break through the act of rising (by a presumably spiritualistic means), and it was not bad. And God saw that it was good. Genesis The Account of Creation (footnote). While floating, embarking on the journey and to cope with his hope for a better world, he dreamed of changing everything and leaving the past behind. All that belonged to the time elapsed brought him no joy. He dreamed with eyes open, and with the hope that all these creatures gathered in the nearby hospital to recover their sanity were merely honest earthlings struggling in the darkness of the day to live their existence, he tried not to judge the Universe and at the same time to practice tolerance and learn not to give up. It was a harsh struggle, and the mummies were everywhere. The mummies were jostling with each other with the rhythm of a fast fox trot to the hospital, and they seemed to form a river, one of blood and pus. Hell was at home. Though outside it was raining cats and dogs, Gregg just kept ambitiously going on the road ahead. Two different worlds seemed to collide: the world of the hopes of a dreamlike world, a utopian universe, and the world of cruel reality with angels and demons on the same platform. However, Gregg just kep walking on and armed with the good spirit of Shiva (the destroyer god or transformer, the Hindu

trinity of the primary aspects of life), he tried not to abandon and not to go out of his way. Once he got to the street, the smell of burned meat hammered his senses and knocked him down to the ground. It came to his nose directly like a punch in mere seconds, as if a form reminding him not to give it away. The theoretically perfect job was waiting for him, and the bright future had already been promised to him, though his nose was still bleeding. The road to the office was full of obstacles, and it took so long that it seemed infinite. It was still raining heavily, and the process of experiencing the worst of it did not come to him with the pleasure of an orgasm. Gregg was born into this world without a technical training card and around the highway going up and down the hills of life; there were a multitude of choices: roads, streets and paths. Some of them were straight, but most of them were tangled up, and the mummies were everywhere. The road appeared to take him through the valley of shadows and Hell. Everyone flocked to the streets, and the air was suffocating. People were coming and going as if the world were destined to run out in few seconds, and Gregg just felt no more energy to fight against these old archetypical windmills of destiny, although, he already knew this world from the outside. Each day he could see through his window this entire masquerade never thinking it would be so harsh to fight against the flow. And now, experiencing the terror of an eternal war, he felt himself embraced by a spongiform plague covering his entire body. Suppuration and morbid matter were running down his fingers and with clinched fists, he tried to pray: Loving heavenly Father, I come to you this hour asking for your blessing. I pray for guidance in the matters at hand and ask that you would clearly show me how to conduct my way with a spirit of triumph and fervor. Please! Give me the desire to

find the required method to excel in my way and help me now if you can. Im lost, but you may show me the path. Amen. But no sun seemed to shine in his sky, and the horror just kept putting more and more pressure on his shoulders. And just a few minutes later, a drunken man, crossing the street, accosted him saying: We are guiding our existence in the darkness of life, night and day, and trying to coil up around the power of understanding. In the end, we insist on getting up on the surface of heaven because life is Hell. Otherwise, the Bible in its entirety makes no sense, and if Im wrong, just tell me: Why should we go up if it is not down here? Greggs vision had become blurry and while the game of Fata Morgana showed him the streets of a city full of prostitutes and beggars, at the end of the road he saw the company, the big promise and the theoretical perfect job inviting him to take a place in the community of normal people. All these things gave him hope, and in the darkness of the moment, rays of lights seemed to shiver. At the end of the tunnel an angel appeared to wave his hand, and invite him inside. Gregg accepted his destiny and entered the white building of the company, exhausting hope and trust with confidence. He thought he reached the source of all welfare and with protruding eyes, he looked curiously around. All the employees were dressed with white robes, and according to protocol, he had to go through an interview with the manager of the institution. The interview took place in the main office, but while he had to wait in the hall on the first floor, Gregg had just enough time to think of what happened previously to him on the way there and what he should expect from this day forward. But, he saw no sun shine up in the sky. His eyebrows crumpled, and though depressed by the fact that the outside world was full of demons, from inside, he felt the same. The colorful mummies from outside looked alike from within, only dressed in white. Actually, nothing had changed and the trapped looked like they were in a rat race.

White demons were jostling each other maintaining the rhythm of a quickstep to the manager. They seemed to form a river, but at this time, a river of dissolute pus, clearer, but in essence, the same. Yes, the music had changed at least, the rhythm was different but everybody was dancing on the same-old song: Well I'm standing by a river, but the water doesn't flow. It boils with every poison you can think of, and I'm underneath the streetlight The light of the joy I know scared beyond belief way down in the shadows. And the perverted fear of violence chokes the smile on every face and common sense is ringing the bell. This ain't no technological breakdown; Oh no, this is the road to Hell. Come in! A loud shouting voice pushed him inside from behind, and within a few seconds, Gregg found himself in front of the great manager, having to face reality. With calm eyes and a warm smile, the manager seemed to be surrounded by a great aura, and standing relaxed, well-sunk into his big throne-like chair and enjoying a huge cigar, he made Gregg switch ideas superficially and accept completely that God was speaking him. Everything was full of a vibration from every atom, every part of the atom, every electron, and every elementary particle, even his own thoughts and consciousness were vibrating at once. Miraculously impressed by the bliss of the moment, he took a seat and having breathed no more he was expecting the unexpected. God was talking to him and while Gregg hardly tried to understand his words, he heard no more voices; he saw no more colors, just the lips of the manager moving slowly. Gregg was listening to him and understood Gods words. He asked him about his age, about studies, about parental values and all sorts of stupidities. These made Gregg so angry

that now he saw no more sense in staying to listen to this obsolete man. Gregg stood up and was ready to go. He felt pity and sorrow at the same time, and willing to go crazy, he started to think of a solution to get rid of all these feelings and go home as soon as possible, avoiding the entire inferno if possible. He became angry yet willing to take a nap. He was thinking very seriously about going crazy for real; this would not be the worst solution. He was still hearing Gods voice rumoring something about the company and major instruments of social stability when he asked himself for the second time: What would happen if by accident I really go crazy? And God gave him the answer, We would call the ambulance! Gregg thought it would really be a great idea. With a huge smile on his face, Gregg began to imagine the entire situation, how the doctors would come and by giving him some cheap sedatives, they would put him aside in the bed of the ambulance and having no other options than to take him home. The hospital, to his favor, was next to his block. This way, he would avoid the entire snake pit that he went through coming here, and everything would end shortly. He had no patience anymore, and God seemed to be tired as well. See Lord, all this for a job!? So, what do you think? Greggs body started to scramble and shivering like a wild psychopath with a head injury, he threw himself on the floor. The atomic bomb hit the ground within a few seconds, Greggs mouth started to spit out pus and flowers of froth all over the room. The office turned a green color, and all the stunningly volatile perfume of the sweet basil and the other incense that sealed before the room now instantly evaporated and faded away.

The spell had been broken and accompanied by a melancholic sound of buzzers and sirens; the ambulance was already audible. Gregg's eyes dilated quickly, and with pupils as big as Hell, he saw the choir of angels dancing around his corpse. They came to give him help, and while everybody was agitated, they calmly sang a (happy) song. The ceiling was dripping blood, and everything was melting. People were running up and down, and the time had been watered down to the moment of his birth. Greggs brain became spongy, and after the first shot from the syringe he had gotten from the doctors on duty, he saw the shifting lights of paradise. The heavenly moment took him out of this world, and while the medics were carrying him on the stretcher to the ambulance, Gregg took his last fight with God through the small window of the already speeding vehicle. The sky was smiling with a grimace, and everything turned out to be of velvet. Gregg was tripping heavily, and while the happy song of the chorus of angels tried hard to tie him down, anchored in reality, a huge black octopus from the underworld was thirstily trying to slip out without any restraint using all his vigor. The huge ghost of the shades was shifting colors, and Greggs blood started to boil, and then it turned to blue. Small balls of fire were whirl-pooling in his eyes within a hypnoses of tranquility, and while thousands of flames were dancing frenetically around the galloping ambulance, Gregg started to have a vision of a child. His hands were white and small like those of a midget and trapped between the mirrored images of a freshly born human soul, and the child whom Gregg had always wanted by becoming a father, or the child of someone else to whom he had already given his love; Gregg felt reborn. All he touched repulsed him no more, and everything seemed to be made new and fresh. His mind was fast excavating toward the core of the Earth and while facing all sort of strange faces from different demons, he learned to smile at death.

He felt fear no more and enjoyed the ride as he tumbled somewhere in the middle of the galaxy among stars and a beautiful colored nebulous was filling his entire heart. From there, with shimmering eyes he looked toward the small blue planet. With the power of a great telescope, he zoomed in fast as he could to see the city where he lived in order to catch the view of the ceaseless ambulance. The equation of the moment was timeless, and in the frozen framed picture of the present, Gregg was able now to dissect everything in the smallest detail. Each cell of his body welcomed the universe, and blossoming like a lotus flower, he seemed to be in the key of a funeral dirge. His face turned pale suddenly and then silence. No more noise. No more movement. The ambulance had stopped, and the emergency physicians, very slowly and carefully tried to carry Greggs body to the hospital. Silence was everywhere, and while the ghostly nurse moved floating like a chalky cashmere scarf in the wind toward Greggs hand for the last injection of the day, he gazed appalled with huge opened eyes towards the ceiling. And once the substance got in Greggs veins he throbbed all of a sudden and frigidly asked: Am I not home yet? Yes smart boy, now you are home! The answer came from the nurse and while the slamming doors of the asylum shut; the darkness fell over the city with an outrageous frivolity. Yes, you are home now!