I Am The Only Person Who Has Ever Converted A Dolphin To Capitalism
His name was Jerry and he was very intelligent. He had a pet ant that he used to play with. He would push it on the swings and do other stuff and things. They were like that (I am crossing my index and middle finger; I mean I was, I’m not now; I’m typing). One day the ant (Patty) fell down an escalator and broke her neck, never to recover. She died instantly. A Polo mint was placed around her dead body so that no-one could stand on her and mutilate her further. Jerry was, of course, devastated. He spiralled emotionally. I had taught him how to ‘online shop’ six months before, thinking no harm would be done. After Patty’s death, harm was done.
He would stay up all through the night and buy disco balls and panic buttons and pay for tattoos he would never get. He’d buy legal drugs and illegal drugs and practice snorting things before they came. He snorted talcum powder and salt and became so addicted to them that he didn’t even touch the real drugs when they came. At his worst he was up to four 200g bottles of ‘talc’ a day (he used to call it ‘talc’; he said it sounded cooler, I thought) and whatever salt he could get a hold of. Since salt is very easy to get a hold of, it was a lot.
One day the police arrested Jerry for ‘grieving inappropriately’. They took him to the station and made him sit in a small room all by himself for what seemed like forever and when I finally got out of there I was in a psychiatric hospital though I didn’t immediately know that. I didn’t know where I was. It was a whole new reality. Whole new faces. I had been spending so much time on my own and now all of a sudden I was surrounded by people. It was actually good. It was actually fun.
Of course all good things must come to an end and so too did my perception of hospital as good and fun. By the end the energy in there was hectic and mad and angry, and there was a new patient in there who I can only describe as a ‘shit-stirrer’ who was literally (not literally) stirring all the shit he could stir (I said not literally). He was stirring shit that no-one else could even see. He was so adept at shit-stirring I could not wait to get away from THE CUNT (and I was ‘mad’, remember).
I thought to myself, thank fuck I’m not like him. Even if, on some level, I was. We had both ended up in the same place, after all. We both ate the same meals, at the same times. We both woke up in the morning. We both emptied our bowels (completely separately, I must add, and in a completely unaligned way; look, there was nothing weird going on in that regard, I can assure you; get that filth out of your mind right away). We both breathed and had the deepest possible yearning for Love that you could ever imagine. We just expressed it in different ways. Or it revealed itself in different ways. I, for example, wasn’t a shit-stirring little cunt. He, for example, wasn’t, like, really great actually.
And so we parted ways. My one true Nemesis. My greatest teacher. My mirror.
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