Chapter 10: The descent into madness

"Some people, compair living to a fifth of a matress; Its never big enough or long enough. Others, compair it to the comparison between a dinosaur toe and a lion's hair.
Joshua was one of those which could not be bothered even thinking about the huge comparisons and the price rise which they included. It was a busy world after all, who could allow themselves all this nonsense.

Joshua span the fork fifty five angles to the right of his left toe. Which was a little swollen from the last thursdays toe battles in the caffeteria. The fork kept spinning around its own axis, and then around the axis of the toe itself, not shortly after, the toe followed suit and before Joshua could recite the fiftieth verse from the good book of the evil names (which was hidden upon the bookshelf of the great mage hoodini) he was also spinning around the axis of the fork, which was now severely entangled in his toe.

This may be a good time to mention that there is nothing more worth mentioning than the mentioning of the above statement.

'Circulosis they call it.'
Johnathan span around. Madness, dressed in her usual blander than nothing anyone has ever seen coat was standing between the arched pathways of the brain.
'what do you mean.. Circulosis?' he asked her, while trying to not sound too obtuse.
'Well look at him, spinning around like the bonfire of paris!'

This maybe a good time to note that G minor, was not included in the soundtrack to Johnathan's history lessons (((Lessons he never actually recieved) merely tried taking the credit for Joshuas extended studies of Parisian nightlife) which he only learned about form foreign magazines)

'Paris!' Joshua exclaimed.
'Yes.. What about it?' Said his boss, who was kindly waiting for Joshua to stop spinning and jumping on the spot from the fork which had somehow embedded itself into his foot.
'Just.. Paris.. and nothing else' Joshua wasn't actually sure why he spat the half chewed potato/carrot (cooked slowly under a severe surveillance of a crooked nosed chef) into his bosses face under the exclamation of 'Paris'

'Have you ever thought of a jobchange?' said madness to Johnathan
'A jobchange?? to what??'

'A professional winethrower??' Joshua was enraged. How dare some snobby nitworker dare him to change this beloved job as a professional wine thrower.. ..wait a minute.. how did he know how to throw wine so well anyway? and since when did he work as a wine thrower anyway?

'Stupid question, i know, but when someone decides to rule the world, how does he intend to do it?'
Madness was getting  brighter by the second of the hour (which fitted into its own little compartment on the ship labelled Dandeline Shores. the captain of which was none other than the man who lives across the road from that place where the sun never stops shining and the people always march up and down the concrete stairs in pairs of three or more)
Johnathan wasn't liking all the questions. Something wasn't right..

'No, No No! Its left! look!' Joshua grabbed the map from a specific passerby, one that was holding out a map like a lost tourist in the only place which did not have  any tourism or attractions for the people of their kind.
'Look. Turn left, then left, then, turn left, Then. Turn Left.. and finally..'

'That's what I meant by Circulosis. A terrible case actually' Madness shook her red hair and smiled like a crocodile before having a meeting with a human, suspended on a fishing line from a bungee tower.

Joshua unlike his counterpart, didn't notice anything odd about this actual situation and continued rolling stones made of tiny strands of hair from his arms, down the unforeseen events of the human eye. Although in his deep unnerved endings he felt a chill.
His counterpart also known as Johnathan, flustered, because for once in his single moment of all sub-mentioned existance he realised something of grave importance..

'I think there has been a terrible mistake' Joshua said as he looked at the map.
The map was upside down.
So was everything else. Not just that, but everything was not quite affected by gravity as it should have been.
And by that, Johnathan didn't just mean that the Montreal Express had crashed. But the rails which it was running on, had warped and twisted so far beyond recognition that not even nine-tenth of fifty, became a rotating orange, an orange upon which villages and societies sprawled and expanded, each with their own specific craftsmanship, each living a philosophy so vastly different to any that anybody knew, that both, Johnathan and Johnathan, could not have even come close to perceiving the great theories and ideas of those worlds. So beyond in their own right that they were, that in realizing what they were,  they wrote themselves out of existence.

Joshua had a headache"  - Leanard thought to himself.

How can it be that the idea of the idea can grow so vastly unimportant that even the slightest notch on the bump of its mediocre appearance could go unnoticed in our modern day.

Leanard sighed and kept walking back home from a long day at work.
                                                                              

Prologue to Interval 11 of intermission 4

The droplets of condensation sat harmlessly on the glass of the window overlooking a small town, in which the said glass resided. Occasionally the droplets would quiver from the oily skin which the nicotine smoke gave them. The Nicotine and its partner - tar, were very much filling up the small apartment room, overlooking the window which was in turn over looking the town.
Leanard Joshua Johnathan was planning his demise. Many days he had spent on this exact spot, swirling a glass of wine in the small goblet shaped goblet made of thin glass, somewhat resembling a wine cup, which could have been said that it resembled a glass. Alas, say so, it could not, and so it continued resembling a cup in shape of a goblet.
Every now and then, when the cup neared its fullest, Johnathan would empty its contents onto the passing men, and occasionally women, who were happily stalking the streets, under the forty ninth level of the building.
Joshua Leanard was never awake during these fleeting moments of passing time, and perhaps it was all for the best.
But it wasn't.
Indeed it was perhaps for the very worst.
But it still wasn't.
In all fading fact, it was for a very neutral.
The consequences of these episodes were so minute that even minuteness had left to attend better business elsewhere.Nevertheless, and the less was never. Johnathan carried on plotting against the great oppressor of crushed dreams and undying thoughts.
Having to dedicate most of his energy on staying in control  of the vessel body, Johnathan had only some time to think, the rest of his time was currently flying down and dispersing slightly in a manifestation of sweet red Lambrusco, which within minutes of seconds, it would hit a very calculated position.
"Damnit" Johnathan mouthed.
The wine splashed onto a patch of pavement, missing a white dress of a bachelorette, who was coming uptown from a very lousy party, which she was never invited to anyway.

Meanwhile, Leanard stumbled through his own intestinal passages of the submind.
"Dreams" he said bitterly. "that's the reason why I never get any sleep at night"

But we all know that the reason for his insomnia was in fact the same reason why he couldn't sleep at night:
Cheese..
Was the very fine and genius idea Johnathan had instilled into Leanard' mind. This was of course after Johnathan had pleaded innocence to an entire range of various mutinies against the mind itself. But hard boiled wit was no match for a sleepy brain, which had to process a billion of these thoughts every year. And a year was of course a long time when one is trapped in the grey goo lurking just beyond the stream of conscious thought, so the decision to eat nine grams of cheese before bed, was overthrown by the thought of eating 73 times that original amount.

So there he stood. Smug, at the fact that he could smoke up the entire appartment and repeatedly refill his goblet of wine just to empty it on the nearest passerby.
If only he knew that this was the beginning of leanards carrer as a professional wine thrower.
If he did know, then he made no show of it, so for now, let us make an ass of you and me by believing that he didnt.
He probobly did.
Not like we'll ever find out about it.     

Interval 12 of intermission 4

Cats.. Cats.. The word repeated itself over and over, spinning freely inside  a small marble implanted directly between Leanards toe – Johnathan was overjoyed, finally, Leonard stepped on the marble which had been waiting right there, on the carpet woven from cat hair. In-fact, Johnathan was the one who put the marble there, in the first place. Leonard on the other hand, had many a marble glued to his fingertips so another marble between the toe, didn’t quite bother him as much as the question why he had marbles glued to his fingers anyway. Johnathan, never really did ever figure out the fact that that wasn’t his own making, but he thought so anyway. With so many evil deeds, some would have to slip your mind pattern wouldn’t they? 

 

Chapter 8000-7992

Madness took the chair to the furthest corner of the closest wall of that same said corner. She wore a red dress, with intricate patterns of green, in-fact the red was so patterned over by the intricacy that it may as well be called a green dress with some red patterns. The dress itself was made of extremely thin strings woven together to make something that looks like an evening dinner jacket, with a subtle hint of the eye, the jacket could turn either green or red, it all depended on the sanity of the onlooker. In this case, the tuxedo that madness was wearing was a bright yellow with pink chequers. Of course from this observation, the onlooker of the onlooker could easily tell the reader that the Montreal express has just derailed due to some maniac tying a young lady to the tracks. The maniac as the onlooker has gathered, was Johnathan who has just successfully derailed a train formerly called the ‘train of thought’, but only in the last few minutes of its demise, it was renamed to the ‘Montreal express’. Johnathan took the second chair to the left of the right, from where madness got hers. Neither of them said anything for quite a steady of passing of time, yet when a catastrophic situation occurs, it is a well known fact that time as one perceives it, slows down. As the Montreal Express began its second revolution around itself in mid air, Johnathan started to see a problem in this plan. Madness was still sitting in her leather-bound mahogany chair, only this time she was looking rather bemused. Finally she asked – So, Johnathan, This whole derailing thing that you had so well planned out, it wouldn’t be all for me, would it now?

Johnathan steadied himself against the rising anti-gravitational tendencies of the flying mandarin and replied with a tone of voice, which said of course I planned for this to happen. “Madness my dear, of course all this is for you, now look, all that stops us from ruling this pathetic brain is the fact that the owner is too stupid to even acknowledge me- I mean, Us, As real beings.”

Johnathan paused for effect while a fruit bowl made a very interesting manoeuvre through the air, by reverse pedalling with an apple and a half filled cup of chocolate juice, while keeping tune with a famous classical piece which is usually only played during slow motion movie moments. “You see” he continued “we simply need to bring him into direct contact with us! Make him afraid, make him believe in us!”
Madness, while twirling her scarlet hair around a finger, lifted an eyebrow and replied – “And when you take over his body? What then?”
Johnathan was taken aback by the gravity as his chair slid onto the roof of the train cabin. “Then!” he said “ Then I will rule his body! Then I’ll rule his miserable life! Then, Ill rule his miserable world!”

“So negative” Madness cast a red eye outside the window and continued, “so you want me to help him take you seriously is that it?”

Outside Johnathan was laughing madly at the derailment in progress and for a moment, in his multiglass eyepiece he caught the red eye casually glancing past him.

Johnathan lit up his cigar and replied.

Madness smirked and disappeared with the rest of the train. Leaving Johnathan and Johnathan outside. Before them, the tied up woman was squirming on the tracks. “Should we release her now?” one said to the other. “Yeah, she’d get out anyway, besides, she’s seen enough now”

With that, Sanity was yet again free to roam the green fields of France with her blue vein cheese and caramelised onion dip. Yet, Deep inside, corruption had begun.

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.