I didnt want it to get a foothold, do you see? Not even a toehold.
I had put the key back into the torn envelope and tucked the envelope into my hip pocket, but I was still holding the Baggie. Without really thinking about what I was doing, I raised it in front of my eyes and looked at the stones through it. They were a little distorted, a little bleary even when I pulled the plastic tight, but still clear enough. There were eight again, right enough, and that perceived darkness
That funnel
Or tunnel
was gone. (Of course it was never there to begin with.) I lowered the Baggienot without some trepidation, I admit itand looked at the stones dead-on. Eight. Solid as the foundation of the Taj Mahal. Eight.
I walked back down the road, successfully fighting the compulsion to take one more look. Why look again? Eight is eight. Lets get that straight. (My little joke.)
I have decided against the article. Best to put the whole business of N. behind me. The important thing is that I actually went there, and facedI am quite sure this is truethe insanity that is in all of us, the Dr. B.s of the world as well as the N.s. What did they call it in WWI? Going to see the elephant. I went to see the elephant, but that does not mean I have to draw the elephant. Or in my case write a description of the elephant.
And if I thought I saw more? If for a few seconds
Well, yes. But wait. That only shows the strength of the delusion that captured poor N. Explains his suicide in a way no note can. Yet some things are best left alone. This is probably just such a case. That darkness
That funnel-tunnel, that perceived
In any case, Im done with N. No book, no article. Turn the page. The key undoubtedly opens the lock on the chain at the end of the road, but Ill never use it. I threw it away.
And so to bed, as the late great Sammy Pepys used to say.
Red sun tonight, sailors delight shining over that field. Mist rising from the hay? Perhaps. From the green hay. Not the yellow.
The Androscoggin will be red tonight, a long snake bleeding in a dead birth canal. (Fancy!) I would like to see that. For whatever reason. I admit it.
This is just tiredness. It will be gone tomorrow morning. Tomorrow morning I may even want to reconsider the article. Or the book. But not tonight.
And so to bed.
July 18, 2007
Fished the key out of the trash this morning and put it in my desk drawer. Throwing it away seems too much like admitting something might be. You know.
Well. And anyway: its just a key.
July 27, 2007
All right, yes, I admit it. I have been counting a few things and making sure there are even numbers around me. Paper clips. Pencils in the jar. Things of that nature. Doing this is strangely soothing. I have caught N.s cold for sure. (My little joke, but not a joke.)
My mentor-psychiatrist is Dr. J. in Augusta, now Chief of Staff at Serenity Hill. I called him and we had a general discussionwhich I framed as research for a paper I might deliver this winter at the Chicago conventiona lie, of course, but sometimes, you know, its easier toabout the transitive nature of OCD symptoms, from patient to analyst. J. confirmed my own researches. The phenomena isnt common, but its not a complete rarity, either.
He said, This doesnt have any personal concern for you, Johnny, does it?
Keen. Perceptive. Always was. And has lots of info about yours truly!
No, I said. Ive just gotten interested in the subject. In fact, its become something of a compulsion.
We ended the conversation laughing and then I went to the coffee table and counted the books there. Six. Thats good. Six is a fix. (N.s little rhyme.) I checked my desk to make sure the key was there and of course it is, where else would it be? One key. Is one good or bad? The cheese stands alone, you know. Probably not germane, but something to think about!
I started out of the room, then remembered there were magazines on the coffee table as well as books and counted those, as well. Seven! I took the People with Brad Pitt on the cover and threw it in the trash.
Look, if it makes me feel better, what harm? And it was only Brad Pitt!
And if this gets worse, I will come clean with J. This is a promise I make to myself.
I think a Neurontin scrip might help. Although its an anti-seizure medication, strictly speaking, in cases like mine its been known to help. Of course
August 3, 2007
Who am I kidding? There are no cases like this, and Neurontin doesnt help. Tits on a bull.
But counting helps. Strangely soothing. And something else. The key was on the wrong side of the drawer I put it in! That was intuition but intuition is not to be SNEEZED AT. I moved it. Better. Then put another key (safe-deposit box) on the other side. Seems to balance it. Six is a fix but two is true (joke). Good sleep last night.
Well, no. Nightmares. The Androscoggin at sunset. A red wound. A birth canal. But dead.
August 10, 2007
Something is wrong out there. The eighth stone is weakening. There is no sense telling myself this isnt so, because every nerve in my bodyevery cell in my skin!!proclaims its true. Counting books (and shoes, yes, thats true, N.s intuition and not to be sneezed at) helps, but does not fix THE BASIC PROBLEM. Not even Placing Diagonals helps too much, although it certainly
Toast crumbs on the kitchen counter, for instance. You line them up with the blade of a knife. Line of sugar on the table, HA! But who knows how many crumbs? How many grains of sugar? Too many to count!!
This must end. Im going out there.
I will take a camera.
August 11, 2007
The darkness. Dear Christ. It was almost complete. And something else.
The darkness had an eye.
August 12
Did I see anything? Actually?
I dont know. I think I did, but I dont know.
There are 23 words in this entry.
26 is better.
August 19
I picked up the phone to call J., tell him whats going on with me, then put it down. What would I tell him? Besides: 1-207-555-1863=11. A bad number.
Valium helps more than Neurontin. I think. As long as I dont overdue it
Sept 16
Back from Motown. Covered with sweat. Shaking. But eight again. I fixed it. I! Fixed it! IT! Thank God. But
But!
I cannot live my life this way.
No, butI WAS JUST IN TIME. IT WAS ON THE VERGE OF GETTING OUT. The protections only hold so long and then a house-call is necessary! (My little joke.)
I saw the 3-lobed eye N. spoke of. It belongs to nothing from this world or this universe.
It is trying to eat its way thru.
Except I dont accept this. I let N.s obsession get a finger in my psyche (its playing stinkyfinger with me if you get my little joke) and it has continued to widen the gap, slipping in a second finger, a third, a whole pulling hand. Opening me up. Opening up my
But!
I saw with my own eyes. There is a world behind this world, filled with monsters
Gods
HATEFUL GODS!
One thing. If I kill myself, what? If its not real, the torment still ends. If it is real, the eighth stone out there solidifies again. At least until someone elsethe next CARETAKERgoes heedlessly prospecting up that road and sees
Makes suicide almost look good!
October 9, 2007
Better lately. My ideas seem more my own. And when I last went out to Ackermans Field (2 days ago), my worries were all for naught. There were 8 stones there. I looked at themsolid as housesand saw a crow in the sky. It swerved to avoid the airspace over the stones, ziss is true, (joke) but it was there. And as I stood at the end of the road with my camera hung over my neck (nix pix in Motton stix, those stones dont photograph, N. was right about that much, anyway; possibly radon??), I wondered how I ever could have thought there were only 7. I admit that I counted my steps back to my car (and then paced around a little when an odd number brought me to the drivers door), but these things do not let go all at once. They are CRAMPS in the MIND! Yet maybe
Do I dare hope Im getting better?
October 10, 2007
Of course there is another possibility, loath as I am to admit it: that N. was right about the solstices. We are moving away from one and toward the other now. Summer gone; winter ahead. Which, if true, is good news only in the short term. If I should have to deal with such wracking mental spasms next spring and the spring after that