Madness
by Brian Routh

"Time for the doctor Mr.Crawford."
The ceiling talks to me. "Mr.Crawford……….?"
Yes, here I am in the funny farm.
A long room with a dozen or so beds in it. Men being dressed by men and women in white suits.
The black woman in white is standing at the bottom of the bed. She is staring at me.
Next to her is an Indian looking man also wearing white with a stethoscope around his neck.
"Good morning Mr.Crawford and how are we today?"
As I struggled for an answer
"Not very responsive, increase the dosage of thorezene? And park him in the day room right! Nurse next patient!"
I had part of the answer but it was too late, they were gone.
I wanted to go back to the ceiling but I was pulled out of bed and dressed in a pair of jeans, t-shirt and sneakers.
And guided into what I took to be the day room.
The outer space room was what it felt like.
Every single person in it talked or thought to themselves.
No-one communicated with another person.
People talked at each other but there was no interaction.
Maybe this is how it is outside, I thought.
How many of us really communicate and feel communicated with.
It’s interesting that I feel so rational and yet
cannot get it out to the outside world.
Before they pumped me with drugs there was a chance, but now forget it.
They’ve put the robot to sleep and there is no way for me to operate it.
It’s like being horribly stoned.
All of us in the day room are smashed out of our brains on drugs and encouraged to act crazy.
What an odd idea, I thought.
We are rounded up off the streets or from our homes, or other people’s homes and because of some idiosyncratic difference in our perception we are taken to a building pumped full of drugs and let loose in a locked room and expected to act crazy and this is supposed to be healing?
Numbed out and watched.
Interrogated by a doctor periodically who uses head games to probe the robot part of us that is numbed out by the drugs and unable to allow a clear channel of
communication to flow forth.
I know what to say but the machine part of me that communicates with you has been put to sleep.
A sane person held captive in an insane world. Who are they kidding?
If I am not my body then what does it matter?
I will survive this body so good riddance.
The energy waves began to swirl around me as we were all herded together by white clothed sheep dogs and moved to the dining room for our lunch.
I don’t even know what country I’m in or for that matter what planet I’m on and it doesn’t make a bit of difference.
I poured the food into my machine and fell asleep in the day room.
I dreamed of big shiny snakes.
Snakes about 50 feet long and 6 feet wide all moving together in the day room.
I was covered in slime and moved between them like the helpless human that I am.
Gasping for air.
Being moved around by their slimy bodies.
"It’s ok, it’s all part of the healing Mr.Crawford."
One of the snakes turned to tell me.
"More thorezene Mr.Crawford?" Another snake asked me.
A snake in a turban confronted me.

Read on....