Fiction – The Paranoia Helix

This guy’s mind and personality really go down the wobbly way when stories about him spark up in the outside world and go inside his absorbent cranium, and this is what makes his peculiar perceptions of himself multi dimensional. He isn’t vain or weird; he just knows that every word spoken and written by so-called interesting and informed people is about him. And no, his conscience isn’t talking to him; what he hears is distorted, like miss-synchronized English subtitles shown during an Irish movie in Bulgaria, and he’s the obvious translator. The monstrosity is that these cookie words are always negative. That is what journalists and tittle-tattlers like, word weaponry. And they use these kinds of nasty words for him. They’re jealous. He does things nobody else does, which makes him special. He likes to go to special places. He likes to think only of himself. He likes a prank or two. And his tears are low salt too!

There’s a lot of him in the newspapers and social media. A troublesome story about him is emerging somewhere. It might be on the front page, or in a letter to the editor, a Twitter feed, a Facebook comment; they will be all about him. And when he’s upset by them, with a flick of the wrist he transforms his flat into a rubber box full of rubbery furniture and rubbery knick-knacks so he can’t see or hear himself doing things. That way he stays in control. And when he bounces around the walls he doesn’t hurt himself. He’s got a rubber bike helmet for that!

His rough shaven picture got online recently. When people saw it there was a lot of chaos and important people became involved. A lot of fire and water, and a big mess of Car Bomb aftermaths. His one and only girlfriend took the picture of him after an all night bender. He looked like Jet Black on the Stranglers Black & White album cover.  But Jet’s a single personality and this guy’s multiple and dysfunctional. The picture’s still going viral. Funny how seedy photos always look the bleeding same. Sorry Jet.

He doesn’t drink now, which makes him witness to the basics of his raw rooted self. His mind’s images aren’t very flattering or nice; yet his loathing self has a knack of looking fresh and he hates himself for it. He dreams of good stories and gossip. There were many in his youth. Stories like when some guy jumped into the sea and saved a drowning child, or tell all stories about good deeds done by astronauts and cameramen. Why can’t he be like normal people! In the shops and in the cinemas where he goes they appear so nice. He’s not nice. Oh he’s pleasant enough at the counter but inside, deep inside, he feels like a botoxed wreck on shallow shoreline packed with jagged rocks. The carcass looks great, but inside the wreck’s shell it’s all gutting and disemboweling.

Is this the symptom of alienation sociologists talk about? Anomie, Durkheim called it. He read about it in his book called Suicide. It’s the only book in his flat. He thinks about suicide but he doesn’t understand it. There are a lot of causes but he hasn’t found one that suits him. The book gathers dust underneath his grubby single bed. He’s read Kafka as well, and Kierkegaard. He used to be very scholarly.

On the internet he’s an Every Likable Anonymous Person – an ELAP.  He spends hours on it surfing, drifting, following links to see where they go. He’s been to some strange places. He’s thought of entering online parties and chat rooms. However he would have to join up but he couldn’t think of an original ID appropriate to the situation, and he’d instead stay on as a guest. Maybe what these party moochers are saying is that they are all alienated and empty. That their lives are nothing except when they’re online. Like they’ve got to have likes, lots of them to feel unique, special, wanted, desired. Like they have no self esteem until they do something stupid on webcam to get another bouquet of likes thrown at them by anonymous likers, and trolls perhaps. Is this the social dislocation concerned psychologists are talking about?

He’s going to die like everybody else. That’s the only certain thing he has in common with other people. He’s looking forward to it, but he worries he won’t be able to share it with the rest of the human world. Who’ll be there when the first chime of his Big Sleep rings? He’s been a Christian Charismatic for a long time now. It’s the only Christian sect which offers a genuine opportunity for one to re-engage with death by regularly meeting with the dying Jesus on the cross, and because the Charismatic conviction is the strongest; it has men’s heads speaking in Fortran tongues and the women in Pascal tongues, and God only knows what it all means.

He’s come to accept that he’s probably paranoid. But wait, the rest of the world is paranoid too! His paranoia can’t only be his to worry about! It is something the whole world shares, shouldn’t it? Every word spoken is about every person other than the person speaking it. People don’t talk about themselves anymore; they only talk about other people. And if they do talk about themselves like celebrities do, they are really talking about other people. He knows! He just wishes it wasn’t all bad.

And when he was exploring mental illness he thought he was schizophrenic because his conscience spoke loudly about what is right and what is wrong, like it did with Gollum. Then he found out it was normal. His time in the asylum proved it. And Gollum’s voice is very different to his!

He’s decided to write a novel about his life. The work will have to be fiction because it will be about himself as everyone sees him. He’ll have no trouble finding the right words. They are absolutely everywhere. He knows he’s unable to stump up one original word for himself. He’s not a thesaurus. All he need do is cut and paste words and push them here and there, and shape the plot and characters already been written about him. He’s got to begin with the bible. And maybe end with Catch 22. A lot of people will read it because it will be about him but it’s really about them. It’s going to be a bestseller. Bestsellers are rich with stereotypes and passion, that’s how the pages always turn. People relate to them. Look at fantasy fiction and horror, look at romance; look at how well they sell!



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