{ ... }

۞

°Do I value myself?° thought Anon..  

{rhetorically}

Anon. recountèd the tale of the destruction of Anon.'s passport in Paris, destroying citizenship to become stateless.  It was the worst state to be in.  

“By losing your identity completely you preserved your own truth,” said Psi-Qolog.  

It wasn't the first time Psi-Qolog had had to say something along those lines.  Psi-Qolog was a very rhetorical man.  He thought that to restate the statement addèd some consistency to his therapy.  Psi-Qolog massagèd his temple more thoroughly before continuing.  

“A revolt against institutional oppression, which you believe has commodified and therefore alienated your liberty.  The situationist action you describe was too reformist.  Instead of interpreting it as revolutionary passivity, we would do better to understand it as resistance to reformism.”  

{time passes over}  

The white office-misrad clock hanging on-the-wall span one full revolution.  The secret hand moving backwards in time went one full gyration.  The sun shone into Psi-Qolog's office-misrad, and onto that new maidenhair fern he had employèd to treat his recurring headache.  Psi-Qolog had read that paracetomol could treat an ailing plant, so if the leaves would start to show signs of wilting he would treat it with pharmaceuticals in order to treat his recurring headache.  Psi-Qolog never prescribed his patients with pharmaceuticals.  

The maidenhair fern; the dowager.  

°Thence come the maiden mighty in wisdom° thought Psi-Qolog.  

His thought was a referent to the old dowager who had walked in; his next patient.  She sat on a chair, surroundèd by the children's echolalia in the creche.  The maiden in the chair was slightly losing her hair.  

°Just look at her over there!° thought Psi-Qolog, °that maiden in the chair, slightly losing her hair.  I mean, it's just ironic that her maiden name was Fern!°  

Psi-Qolog heard the ticking of the clock's second hand breaking the silence between himself and Anon..  

“The One,” continuèd Psi-Qolog, “will therefore be empowered to fix the dual movement of progression and regression that expresses the nature of the Dyad.  A singular consciousness appears as a Monad.  The psychosis fragmented the Monad into a Dyad.  The Monad is a circle with a gravitational centrepoint of cognizance relating to the fixity of identity.  Its circumference, the boundary fixed by your institutionalized liberty.  The Dyad reproduces indefinitely, and can only do so in disorder unless The One imposes the effectiveness of its unity at each successive stage of the reproduction of the Dyad.  Each progressive stage of your psychosis has expanded the circumference of the Monad, as if it had to in order to contain the multifarious reproduction of the Dyad, rendering the centrepoint less gravitational and your identity less fixed.  That which separates, divides, splits, must be taken away from the Other, from the feminine, the feminine in your story, the alluder'er, the dark stranger, momentarily solipsistically fragmentary.”  

“No, doctor.  My avatar,” replièd Anon., “she crossed over into reality.”  

“And where is she now, this Sarai?” askèd Psi-Qolog.  

“Alone,” replièd Anon., “alone in the closed circle of my soul, this theatre for the representation of likeness, that vertigo of the self that recognizes nothing but itself now.”  

“The self, the very self, the self-itself, defining itself,” spoke Psi-Qolog.  

۝