Some thoughts jump out complete when hatched –
like Blundelhöffer the Unmatched, that
great
magician who, when he convinced a psychiatric
hospital to take him on as a physician quickly
donned his turquoise satin cape and waved
his wand with legendary grace to prod a falling
bloom of floral showers all throughout the place.
As petals dropped, as if from some unseen
divinity’s celestial towers, suddenly not only was
each patient’s room supplied with flowers, but
every patient had been lent through their enticing
scent precise equivalents of brilliant Blundelhöffer’s
powers! What feats this meant! What lovely havoc
this would wreak!
Choked with strange emotions
heretofore unknown to them, from this point on
no one transformed by Blundelhöffer’s wand
could speak. Miraculous alacrity! Happy silence!
Thoughts quick to carry out a mission with which
you’d not known you had endowed them, rarely
disappoint. But other thoughts – here prematurely,
underdone and embryonic – will undertake to put
you out of joint, cause psychic violence. Three such
lurking interlopers came to me last night: turned
the fragile February moonlight into murk; two
grumbled in a snit, the third looked backward out
a window as if he had never heard of, seen nor
understood the function of it. Proto-notions
flaking off them left thick tracks across the floor.
Their effects? I can’t! – I can’t say more.
Blundelhöffer’s hospital’s attendants came today
to take my sorry self away. Careful of the thoughts
you’ve picked. They frequently afflict.
.
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