Surreality

When my brother is off of his meds conversations take on a unique and mind-boggling quality that is difficult to communicate to anyone who has not been party to the actual conversation. This, I suspect in large part, is due to having known him his entire life and remembering many of the very rational and intelligent conversations of the past. It is the saddest thing to realize that in the past his greatest asset, his genius-level intelligence, has now evolved into one of his greatest detriments during the times he attempts to live life free from the aid of various anti-psychotic medications. Despite this sobering and grief-causing fact of his life, my brother's very active imagination can still, at times, bring a smile although, now, tempered with sadness. His latest spate has produced some fantasies that, when he is discussing them, obviously amuse him to the point of delight. I do not think I will be able to fully convey all of the texture of his tale, told to me a few minutes ago, but I will try.

According to Mike, there is a group of rather rabid feminists out to get him for an article he wrote for a magazine of dubious reputation when he was about seven years old, or so. The article was on PMS, before it had been officially discovered - he has gotten there first on so many things I have lost count - and the feminists are blaming him for inventing PMS, although he claims that he was only reporting on it and is not responsible for these rabid females' monthly woes. I jokingly told him if he did invent PMS, I just might want to get him, too. He paused for a minute, while I realized I had better let him know I was just joking, before launching into an explanation of PMS that would certainly raise eyebrows in scientific circles, among other things. Think "puerile fantasy" coupled with "male wish fulfillment" and then throw in your best, and most erotic, Greek mythology and you will have some idea of what I ended up listening to before I could excuse myself from the telephone conversation. No wonder the feminists are out to get him! (Just joking)

The records, which have not been very diligently kept, of his various daydreams and delusions, read like a crazy drive through the mind of a sex-crazed demon. Either that or the world's greatest philathropic hero - it waivers depending on his mood and how long he has been medication "free."

When he said the feminists wanted to kill him over the article, I asked him if he was sure they didn't just want to castrate him. He decided, in the blink of an eye, that no, he didn't really think they did want to either kill or castrate him but merely to string him up by the.... let your mind do the rest here.

If he remains relatively stable (as in calm enough), I will see him for lunch sometime in the next few days and, while he is not eating, I am certain to hear more about his rather unique predicaments or scientific ideas - all completely original to him, of course, although I cannot imagine too many people ever vigorously contesting his intellectual ownership of these theories and discoveries nor finding his claims of being in mortal danger very newsworthy.

I must admit, though, that there is something about the thought of roving bands of rabid feminists looking for my brother so they can do *that* to him, that does rather grab the imagination in a rather horrifying way, sort of like diarrhea's hold upon the intestinal tract, threatening yet full of anticipation. What if there really are....

Never mind.