“You may find yourself with a beautiful house…with a beautiful wife…with a beautiful life. And you may ask yourself: “Self what is this beautiful life?” – And you may ask yourself: “Self –How did I get here?’
I love that song; it’s so surreal, dada even. It touches my inner anhedonia; it tweaks that itchy place in my soul. I hear it every Saturday morning, buzzing in my ears, as I prepare for my trip to the Woodland Park Episcopalian Medical Center in Heavy Rapids. The buzzing starts in my teeth when I awake, drowsily, and realize, again, that I’ll have to subsume myself to the pain and vibration. Again and again, the pain wipes away the stirring of my ego; it wipes the scowl emanating from the uncanny valley of my personality’s resurrection. That uncanny valley, the unsettling psyche in my soul where my Self takes on it’s human aspect, abstract, androgynous and unsettling; it is a peaceful place, warm and fuzzy, womblike. The buzzing pulls me from that womb; I remember being born, every Saturday, through the anticipation of pain –like someone behind you – the chalkboard noise - the anticipation of a chilled knife to your spine, the expected fear of these things awake me, and buzzes, and vibrates, and fills me with dread – every Saturday morning. Every Saturday morning, I go to Woodland Park for my Court-ordered electroshock therapy.
“Same as it ever was...same as it ever was...same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...same as it ever was...same as it ever was...Same as it ever was...same as it ever was...”
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