The madman in my head

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Sifting through my own mind, there was no beauty in what I found. Madmen within madmen. Unending. A most horrible fractal, so much that now even the most intricate mathematical renderings now only fill me with fear.
But that is not what you see, now is it? You are not mad. Are you?

But what, even, is 'mad'? A label... for those whom society dislikes, for those who disrupt the peace? Society seems to hate me, at any rate. Get that after burning down the only mall in the area.

I had to, though. It was full of memories.

I rather think I am mad. Nobody said it to my face, of course. Too busy actively avoiding me, like they thought I might burn them down, too, or something. So all on my own, I decided that I must be mad. But that wasn't enough. I also had to prove it. So I did, did the proofs and everything, sat down and did the maths, calculated and formulated and analysated... they verified my hypothesis and then some.

And this was before I found the madman.

Going Mad[edit | edit source]

A person doesn't go mad all at once, you know. It comes in stages. Layers. It's like peeling off the layers, first skin, then muscle, tendon, bone... and then the meal is over. Ate the roast bird, onto dessert.

But I lost all track of everything. Each successive stage, each progressive layer, I couldn't even keep track of the madness. Time, space, presence, reality, normality, these were as lost as... as something lost. Keys, perhaps. Keys to the cupboard, lost in the couch.

Like my mind.

Then there was nothing, aside from the odd hallucination. A very odd one indeed, at that.

Ten thousand dancing lemurs is odd. It couldn't be real, of course. It was a hallucination, right? Like this tree. Trees don´t grow through cars. A hallucination. I am certain of it.

But lemurs aside, all I can really say is that it is not what I expected, assuming... assuming I even expected anything. I remember it, though, so it might have happened. Perhaps it was not what anyone would have expected, though. Assuming, of course, they even would have expected anything. Would they remember it, though?

In time, in losing myself, in losing my mind and my keys, I found something, for there is always something, is there not? A bit of pocket lint, perhaps. Another set of keys that doesn't go to anything at all. An old bag of chips that has begun to sprout.

We hear the stories. The lost and the found. The mirror of reason, equivalent exchange, opportunity cost, equilibrium, physical laws at which in losing something, something is gained. Look inside and see what there is to see, perhaps. See a banana. See a world. See an infinity of dreams... or of butterflies. Even see one's self...

But what I found was not myself, nothing so cliché, nor so simple. No, I found something so much more mundane, something far more ordinary and yet somehow so extraordinary. A key.

I found a madman.

In my head.

The Madman in my Head[edit | edit source]

But why should there be a madman in my head? I am rather mad, of course. I checked. I really am. Checked and verified: wonko, nuts, bonzo, unaware of one's facts, crazy, three fries short of a happy meal, missing things, bats in the belfry, utter, raving lunatic. Insane.

But that should not mean there should be a madman in my head. I was just fine without one, thankyouverymuch, in fact, I was quite better than fine. Oh, yes...

This madman in my head, he is a rather strange fellow, really, and quite mad. Almost madder than me, but A madman. There is a madman in my head.

He complains of a madman in his head.

The madman - the first madman. Well, second, really; would I not be the first? Or would I be the last? I´m not in anyone´s head. Am I? I... I digress. The first of the madmen in my head, he says his name is Dalloric. Strange name, although he is rather mad, so perhaps it truly isn't his name. Perhaps he forgot his name; I forgot my name long ago. Kept thinking my name was Laura, of all things. Going mad is like that. So easy to lose track of things in the long weird descent.

Yet Dalloric insists that he is not mad. No, no, no. Quite sane, in fact, far saner than the world that went mad around him, such a mad mad world. No, he just has a madman in his head. Perfectly, pristinely, unequivocally sane. Aside from the madman. In his head.

The Madman in my Madman's Head[edit | edit source]

Yet what of the madman in the madman's head? Who is the madman who would dare intrude? At first I thought it might be me. Reciprocality of the madness, and all, but I should have known such logic would hardly have held in this so illogical realm of madness. So illogical.

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