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Paperback Writer

by P. S. Gifford
A well accomplished writer, P.S. had so many stories to tell, we had to give him his own space. Enjoy this new style of blog meets fiction!

Friday, March 17, 2006

Threshold of Reason

"Bloody brilliant," I said. "So I gather that I am now completely screwed. How far gone are these procedures of yours?"

"You mean the procedure in your mind?" The doctor asked.

"What else!" I retorted as I examined the leather straps that bound me to the stainless steel operating table. "How flippin" much has been wiped out from the insides of me old noggin?"

"Well, according to my approximation, it has maybe been six hours since the zyloid transmitter within your brain suffered a total meltdown. Of course, I use the term meltdown as a crude figure of speech, naturally it did not actually melt, please understand none of your brain has actually melted in fact. It is just a term of convenience so that you, being a rather dimwitted and uninspired writer, can understand.

"So you mean to say that my wacky imagination is slowly being purged and replaced with thoughts that you feel would be more appropriate?" My anger was intensifying...

"Well, we do not like the phrase purged. It seems to have far too many negative connotations. We prefer to use the term, cleansed and redirected. By now your brain has already began to rebuild itself. That is to say filling in the spaces where your previous memories, the ones that both created and inspired your pathetic attempts at writing, used to exist. As your subconscious factory changes you are automatically making adjustments via a channel to surface consciousness, in affect a whole new and, dare I say, vastly improved you is being gradually reborn. Fresh enhanced memories are being formed, and you are reassembling a new world from them."

"Reassembling a world?" I echoed.

"Yes you heard correct, you silly foolish man. Please understand that at this very moment you are preparing to move into that entirely new world. So the world you are experiencing right now is hastily changing to adapt. The world that you have lived in prior, you should know, is only one out of endless possibilities. You see as your memory, and perceived life experience changes, so in fact does that world that you comprehend to live in. It is actually a remarkably simple process."

"But what about time?" I asked, as I began to frantically consider a way of escape.

"Good heavens...Time is simply a paradox within the mind. You see as you assemble new memories, you are in fact creating a parallel world." The doctor chuckled to himself.

"So all that I currently understand will be changed?"

"Absolutely and good riddance in my opinion; never again shall you endeavor to compose a feeble, ill conceived, sarcastic horror story, or a wacky anecdote... Your stories, please understand, have completely no worth in the ideal world that I dream of, stories that no-one of any merit would even find appealing. Instead all that you will be able to write is out-of-this "world science-fiction type prose utilizing clean logical thought of the highest order. A metamorphosis of staggering proportions, you shall finally be a writer of worth. You see in that enlightened world I envision, everyone will enjoy and appreciate precisely the same things; whether it is food, music, religion or literature."

I helplessly peered about me, and realizing that I, like so many before me, was now doomed to my fate, I closed my eyes and inwardly screamed"




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