Illegal – Short Story #11


the perception for stoic philosophy to which came the second measure of the symphony of time without space of space nor time nor the stuff that makes up the in between. But it matters little what this hybrid determined upon it all that wasn’t to be. Or to not to be or was that what you’d like to change it out with sir? for pillars and cents now? His complex equations of equilateral peculiarity found that none of it meant a gosh darn diddly iddle (though in kindness no one told him such). Fur ruckus and bourbon and all the kings women wouldn’t have deduced the pittalitta mitt fourth tour and welven’t pence. But this was all an instruction from the mouth of the Snake from whence came to time or contemplation and especially tom foolery (of the utmost importance to any man of your years). But why hasn’t any of this come to bye. Was sit this swell lovely you under ramifications stupificioulsissy you understand don’t too oder rum? Ma ma me my mo mumfum. Wasn’t this what fell like rain upon the first riddle of the universe? But that’s not the matter with it isn’t it not the matter at all when she wasn’t mattering anyhow upon tim without it all what’s the difference anyhow about the matters of handing and footing and cashing checks without dignity or or somedays it’s better nut to sway to or fro from under the willa tee where the shade’o hides year if tear yarn torn down once removed cousin in constinitinaul heretical mummifying epiphany. Ssssssshhhhhhhhh slept the sleepers sleeping sleep upon hence wasn’t this falling up or down or neither (an improbably possibility in the universe). Wasn’t nothing ever done with it or was it never said to by to be to die oh why oh why oh. At that moment he was without the capacity or the will or


And as he walked to and fro around the town Mr. Dickens wasn’t sure where all these ideas were coming from. But he was certain of this, they were nonsense. But it didn’t matter. He was thinking again and that is all that mattered. The time of unthinking was over and upon him dawned the new day of academic inquiry the likes of which none of his so called “colleagues” have ever aspired to to date. He’d show the nay sayers and the no claimers, oh yes he would he would.

The facilities hadn’t changed much from his last visit, though many years now, yet he remembered it very clearly. His nonthinking years left his memory very much intact, like an old photo album in the basement of in-laws. Up the stairs thinking—oh yes, thinking once again!—how splendid the day was. He always admired the way the rain made the afternoon feel new again, as if the world was exasperated form all that running around the sun that it finally stopped and took a tall drink of the good stuff. He could use a glass himself, but he was late. Later.

You’re late. Someone said. He forgot who exactly. Excitement will do that to an untrained brain. What was he on about now? Oh who cared, he was thinking again. He was thinking again! What a joy to be full of thoughts and ideas and the pleasure of intellectual stimulation. Never before had his life felt so alive. At least before the accident.

The university housed some of the greatest minds of all time, and yet he wasn’t so sure if he belonged here. Though who was to say what a great mind was or wasn’t. He would, I suppose, get to the bottom of it. But first about that drink. He smacked his mouth. Then again. And for good measure one last time. Just to make sure it wasn’t an illusion. And he drank. Finally. The good stuff. He felt the liquid pulse through his veins and expand them. He felt his organs breath again. Water had always been the stuff of existence. Perhaps that would be a nice title for the next paper he could write. Or perhaps not.


The nurses weren’t sure what to do with Richard. He never worked anymore. He just stared at that wall for hours thinking on and on about liquids and the academy–as if such a thing wasn’t banned. And most of all he looked as if he were a man who had far too much things to say about and no yet he had no way of saying it at all, or worse of all yet, no one to understand.

This was Richard.

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