The Dream Ripper
“At this instant as I think that I am talking to you I don’t know if I am asleep or awake. I have to take into my own account that I am awake. So since I am awake and before I fall into my dream I will tell you why I am in such a state of mind and body, because as you see mi body is all tight up by belts in this called bed which I call prison in this asylum which they call hospital. If at any moment I stop talking is because I either feel the presence of the dream ripper or he is in the room. He is a psychiatrist and I believe that inside each of them there is a squalid and repugnant atavism that makes them see an enemy in each artist like myself or in any genius and their mission is to destroy us.”
There was a silence and I look to the door and this person who seems like a doctor was coming in at that precise moment, and asked me; “Is everything all right?” looking at me, which I reply; “Yes doctor, everything is all right.” I pretended to be just awakening opening real wide my eyes and yawning. He stepped out as fast as he entered and that was a great relief.
Why I am here, you ask me? I will tell you, is because I am a dreamer and a poet and an authentic alienated which is a person who prefers to become crazy before committing treason against a superior idea of human honor. The genius inside me can only find in the state of delirium an escape from the oppressions that life has in storage for me. Out there the so called civilized men especially psychiatrist are monsters that have developed to the extreme absurdity the faculty to derive thought from our acts instead of identify our acts with our thoughts.
Please get me out of this place. Places like this which are asylums are consciously and deliberately refuges of black magic and the thing is not only that doctors promotes magic by their hybrid and disruptive therapeutic methods but they also practice it. The doctor makes me take all kinds of pills and to be true to you I can’t take them anymore. Three times I have acted totally crazy and refuse to take them and this acts of mine have allow the doctor to take me down the seller where there is the electroshock machine and I will never forget the pain of not knowing who you are or where you are. Agonized in the electroshock is breaking apart the non I, when he was I and I was him.
There was silence again, and I closed my eyes to feel and hear, but this time it seems deeper, because even in the hall there was no sound. I got up and could not resist looking at the “patient’s chart” and it said; “this man calls himself a dreamer and a poet”. Then I realize what was going on. In this place the doctor’s explanation brings the dream into line with the formation of psychical disease which has to be ripped from the patient’s mind. I had to break off the relations of my dream thoughts in the analysis of my dream because I found some experiences which I do not wish strangers to know especially the psychiatrist, and which I could not relate without serious damaging important reconsiderations in my process of leaving this asylum. I have dreams where the content is obscure and intricate, thoughts which call for secrecy. I will always be a dreamer and poet, the ink on my writing can be blood and I can kill you with one word.
At that instant I saw myself inside the dream ripper bloody eye; his other eye was my own. It was 3:54 a.
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