Chapter 7

 The Siamese cat’s interpretation of a three dimensional cube floating briskly on a string made of multifunctional equations didn’t even come close to the warped mind of the man currently pulling levers and apples out of thin air, the man whom this mere mortal page speaks of is indeed one who he does not say he is.

Sitting in his leather chair, he contemplated the demise of his newfound hobby.

“I give up” – he thought “no more of this madness”

Throwing down another one of the apples he walked over to the only window which wasn’t in the room. There wasn’t much in the room really. A small idea ran up to him, demanding his purpose, and it was briskly answered with a sidekick to the respective thinking area of its shapeless body.

Johnathan was not happy.

The last few encounters with the willywitted man he was made to hate, have all ended badly. So badly in fact, that he didn’t even know where to begin describing them.

Luckily, and as luck would have it, he wasn’t alone. Somewhere in the depths of the Joshua’s mind lived a hermit – One that had planed the demise of Joshua for a long time. Of course it never quite worked out as planned. The foolhardy and the semihardy were never as good as they said they were, which was the excuse that this particular hermit used. And now he was standing before a window outside of the room he was sitting in, pulling levers and apples out of thin air.

The resulting thoughts of the original thought were smashed together into a clump of revolving stripes pinned to a loose fitted suit. The occupying body of the said suit was a cleanshaven and one may even say bold chinned man with striking brown eyes and semihaired facial features. Upon the crooked glare of his eyes sat a pair of monocles, which themselves, in their self-righteous glare held up their own pair of monocles. Of course the whole situation of this gravity made the last pair of monocles request some better frames which would go as far as calling themselves spectacle frames, which in their fake brassy way of gold, would loop around the ears of the so described face. He rims of the spectacles were so proud of themselves that their vanity permitted a growth of a thin moustache which they decided should sit just above the lips of the aforementioned man. Who while being thought into existence had been glaring intensely into the weary brains of its creators. Both of whom shared the same body, brain and clothes. One may even say they were the same person sharing a mind of another who was currently on his way to yet another tea break.

Leanard had no idea about what was happening deep inside his most trusted hidden rooms of the subconscious mind. Utterly oblivious, of the nightmarish plotting currently being done just a few mili-inches of thoughtspace away;

Johnathan and Johnathan stood infront of his creation, the monster was almost complete, the suit tightened, and for a finishing touch, a grey double-ended top hat was added on a jaunty angle.

“Johnathan, I name you Johnathan” – they said to each other.

If only Joshua knew of the terrible evil which was about to be unleashed like a tidal wave of puppies unto a grassy field full of landmines. Luckily for the puppies, he did not.

Intermission 1¹

Not only did the five fourths of ninetyfour crashed into the idealogical musing of a man, but did it also cover a whole range of musical notes.

 

Intermission 1³

Coiling around the snake was the ladder of misunderstanding, as Joshua tried explaining the grand theory of misconception to his nearest walking partner to the left. Shuffling their way to work they were all very busy saying the word ‘nothing’ over and over and over until the idea of over was nowhere to be seen and at that point nothing seemed a very far away concept too.

Leanard was the only one who would not shut up about some conspiracy the world had thrust upon him. Nobody actually cared. Yet as so many of our favourite colleagues, we had to deal with his ever bouncing Mohawk consisting entirely of dreadlocks and the way he would rant on and on about things that actually mattered. Nobody should have to endure listening to things that actually matter. Nobody except for a few chosen by the great bottle of wine hidden deep within the mattress of enlightenment, and even that would run its course as a depressed alcoholic and cower under loud noises of unimportant events happening all around it all the time. Just as they did now – at seven and a half quarters into the workday of the coffee everyone had drunk.

The coffee was laced with sugar, by some very secret society that always sneaks in to the coffee factories to spoil everyone’s day.

Of course, everybody knew of this and dared not thank the evildoers, as the coffee tastes rather awful without a five heap of cocaine.

The doers of such a deed were in fact a subculture of Christian descent.

Chapter 76.3911∕9² ≈ 5

If only he had seen. Luckily, he had.

That’s where the trouble began.

Not only a slight nod or a subtle smile but even a casual smirk were all seen and noted down into the wiry blocks of Johnathan’s ever sprinkled nerve endings which resulted themselves into action by sending further signals down to the spire of the revolving bricobracks of the brain.

Revolving and sometimes revolting, the brain of the subconscious half formed semithought, was working at its minimal effort for maximum potential, at such brilliant speeds in fact, that any other independent thoughts floating in the subconsciousness of Joshua Leanard would have been marvellously jealous.

As there were no such other threatening thoughts, the brain continued its miserable crawl towards fame.

Outside..

Outside the outside, which is still inside an office building, was air.
Outside of that..

Walls.

Then some more walls.

Then air.

Then, there was the inside of the same outside that followed the first.

There. Right there, was the only place where nothing was happening. Nothing at all.

And when it did happen, nobody was there to see it. Except for one man, who wasn’t a man but a thought, similar just as my own.

Johnathan was ready, purple lion print slippers nowhere to be seen, he was casually walking up the marble corridors of the VIP though corridor. Stopping occasionally to look at the fine frames of the modern paintings that hung on the walls.

He was a well defined man, having to cut his left dreadlock from the right side of the top of his left armpit, he was on a very important mission: To deliver himself to the food-chained command of the neutrio clump junky that calls itself the brain.

Nothing was in the way now, no not anymore.

It was just up to getting to the brain when Leanard remembered to look at the time, it was after all Time, and you can’t ignore that thing. Some have been known to live and die within seconds of being born, if only they had a watch to double check that life was going at its normal have a mile per square blues.

Much to Leonard’s dismay, it was not. Even more to his dismay, nor was he.

And to top everything off: his watch was missing and it was only thirty seven seconds past nineteen minutes before fifty-nine hours were to pass without notice.

Leanard got out of bed, after realizing that no time has passed between those two unnoted moments, he made another note and fell back into bed.

Chapter 1

One Evening.

On a very fine midmorning Leanard Joshua Hillcolm had woken up from his four hour nap as per any usual morning at eleven hours, fourteen minutes and three and a half seconds to the fifteenth minute of the twelfifth hour in the fine day ahead.
Joshua only had ever had a four hour nap through his eleven years of working at the Postscrture Insurance company. He had never really achieved any promotions as such, yet he kept up his hopes. He was a mid-height, just as the sun on the way to a peak of life, at the age of thirty two. His short cut brown hair sat in its usual place on the cupboard. Joshua was sadly bold from the age of nineteen.
Today was just any other day when Joshua had forgotten the wig that still lay on the wooden old cupboard given to him as a birthday present by his long dead mother.

Just as any other day, Joshua Leanard went out of his miniature appartment to the streets of a rather small town on the edge of a somewhat small country. We need not worry about the specifics of the date when this all happeed, but happen it did.

As the sun was making its way up to the midpoint of the day, it is exactly at that moment when Leanard stepped out, out onto the paved streets, onto the busy, grouchy and disgrunted desidents of the business-life.
Shiny and wet, just like the solemn foreheads of a common worker, the pavement steamed and smelt of rock, which of course no man would smell, for every one was far too busy rushing around in groups of four. Joshua was too, bound by this system, grinding and pushing the wheel, the wheel which pushed him onwards. With each step the wheel ground up more, and with more came more. The world was smooth polished and carefully planned by the people who were not even in charge of the entire system, which did not bother the people in charge whatsoever anyway. It just meant the vacation hours were longer.
Joshua of course was one of the people... not in charge that is. He was rather pleased with himself for not being something which is just so difficult to achieve and payed just slightly less. The hours were good, but being dead just didn't seem appealing at the time ~ Fifteen minutes past three post meridiam. Leanard was rather late for his well deserved break from work which he had the pleasure of spending at the cafeteria, four floors down of his office which was only four floors up, in the forty-nine floored building. The cafeteria was indeed the lowest and most miserable place in the building. To which, and it comes as no surprise, nobody except for Joshua, Leanard and a few others went to. The cafeteria as the name might suggest did not sell food and was merely a secret name for a gambling club in the basement to which of course nobody went to anyway, as it was at a later date (no point being specific) changed to a cafeteria in a basement, which still received no attention. At an even later date it became closed off to the public, becoming one of the most notorious drug labs in the history of the small town.
On his way to the cafeteria Leanard had a sudden spontaneous thought (it may be a good idea to note the date of this incident which will soon trigger a cataclysmic chain of extraordinary unordinary with a hint of ordinary and sublimely twisted horrow events). The thought (even if we had forgotten to note down the time of which it happened) was discarded. Just as any other normal thoughts about eating jelly beans with a scalpel from the bosses younger sister's belly. That may not have been the thought which struck the conclusions of the mindstrings dangling from the everlasting minty breath of the brain, but it was the thought to have rebelled against all others of its kind, to have risen from the decaying ashes within the dull subconscience which ever dribbled nonsense whilst sucking up and governing fallen thoughts of the regular pinstriped mind.
Joshua leaned over the railing, a ten piece coin spun freely just underneath him.
The thought was making its way back, along the cavities of its fallen comrades, it wore a grey suit, with a sickly green tie, blue shoes and an orange shirt to match. Striding, it knew it belonged in the brain. It had defeated the othermind, the army of its degradational thoughts, It knew that it will start a revolution.
Toilet. I need to go to the toilet.
Thought Leanard.

Not even ten hours passed before Leanard was back in his small apartment chizling at corn crackers with a small twisted breadknife in shape of an 'L'. To any normal person, building structures out of corn chips and butter at your home, is not a daily pass-time. It wasn't for Leanard either, but when one has explosive diarrhea seven hours straight it may be suspected at a great length of sixteen feet of human perception that Joshua had felt the need to satisfy the remainder of his dullened senses with the construction of so far so well unheard of, 'tower of nacho crackers'.
It was not only untill the next day, after another ten hours not even passing, he was able to get the four hours of sleep which his body did not even dare to ask for; in which case it would have been beaten half to death with caffeine and other food safe and busisness smart products.

Another day which in this case, was the day where the wig is not forgotten. Joshua left the house in the same ordinary fashion which was of course orchestrated by the subconscious mind. Which as dull as it may have been, kept a good record of days and when the wig should be forgotten and when not.
The Sub-minds best symphony was of the "I am really a crossdresser when Im asleep" What made it a hit single was the fact that Leanard had a sleepwalking problem. But this day (not the day before or the few days before that) it was on this day when the thought had truly outdone itself. When the thought (not only just a call for a severe action of the bowels) had gained its master plan.
As Leanard was walking up the street, down to work, something caught his unprecise, attention:
A news paper, with a headline. It may not seem any strange to you dear reader, but in this small town, there were no headlines. Really, there were no newspapers either. Every now and then some rich man would order one in and pretend to read it. Because everyone knows there's no news unless you find out about them. And who would want the stress and worry about the sandcastle built by a ninety year old monk in the far lands being destroyed by the local populace.
The news paper was not of any unordinance.
It wasnt really a newspaper, rather an old magazine with the headline:
"What would you do if you were young again?"   
And right then at that moment the thought had its hour, pushing through all other thoughts, running yp in its inglorious suit to the front of the brain yelling at the top of its lungs: Dont Pick It up!
But. Of course as the society of thought works, whatever the thought says is instantly reversed and outspoken, hence by the time it came to the front of the brain it sounded like this:
You must pick that up and read it thoroughly
Which then turned into itself and again told this: Do It.

Leanard walked up to the strange piece of published paper and read it. "Dear reader we apologize to infrom you that your contract with reality has expired, please contact your latest Psycho-The-Rapist.
Joshua did not really understand what the magazine actually offered but was pleased to know that it wasn't anything bad. 
Must be another one of those new age neo-paganistic christian magazines he thought. (Anybody would have liked to think they sound smart by putting a 'neo' in front of something)

The time of this next incident is just as important as the last, seeing that the last few incidents were forgotten, the times were just as important.

By Johnathans words, the words of Leanard were quite sane to somebody who only exists in the figment of their own imagination, whilst wearing a semi purple suit and waiting for a yellow car labelled 'Taxi'
Joshua began some serious work with the future psycho therapist (at this point which he had not met yet) it is rather arguable that he will ever meet.
Johnathan was a good mannered man, skinny build, with a semi floor length hair which ended up in braided dreadlocks, he wore a yellow checkered shirt, with a white trim and a brown jacket with a missing tail. It may not be surprising to him that the grey suit was left behind and the clothes completely changed, but what mattered was the fact that he was ready to face the man who made and broke him. Condemned him to a life with morons, condemned to living amongst the dead. Forgotten. But no more.
 Leanard scrapped that thought, and the entire conversation. He just thought it was going a little too far.
He got into a taxi and made his way home whilst listening to foreign music.