Little Green Pine Needles (Μικρές Πράσινες Πευκοβελόνες)

I am slightly shocked.

2010-04-15T21:03:00.004Z

The hard work I had put for 2 years has borne sweet fruit.

I could almost believe that there is some justice in the world. Thankfully, I have a strong enough faith in randomness not to allow myself to be fooled.

Mission accomplished for now

2009-10-15T20:46:00.001Z

I have found myself for once in the right place at the right time.

This means I am going to have proper holidays next summer.

Twists and turns

2009-10-02T17:54:00.003Z

I find it kind of spooky when I wish for a chance and I get one.

I don't mind losing my faith once in a while. I know in my heart I'll find it again sooner or later and this knowledge gives me enough comfort to carry on.

Another work year gone by

2009-07-16T08:29:00.002Z

Things have not quite worked out the way I had wanted them. In fact, what I would have described as my worst nightmare when I started this job has turned into reality.

Nevertheless, I've taken a few turns that lead to a path which might prove more suitable and meaningful in the long run.

Sometimes it takes a failure to push one out of complacency.

Beyond sentimentality

2009-06-02T19:21:00.002Z

Love seems to be more about one's capacity to care and to be curious about the other rather than about excitement and idealisation.

But the secret lies in one's ability to process hatred. There is no love unless one accepts and goes beyond the hatred that comes with the frustrations caused by imperfect intimacy.

(These days people who like to see me smile make me happy...)

Yesterday I found

2009-03-27T23:05:00.000Z

my Oedipal Complex staring at my face.

Such impudence.

Πονάει η ψυχούλα μου

2009-03-15T16:24:00.003Z

There are phrases that don't make as much sense when I attempt to translate them in English from Greek.

'Psyche' just doesn't sound the same as 'ψυχή'. It doesn't convey the same emotional content.

Sometimes it hurts me to have to describe emotions in a language different than my maternal. They don't ring true.

I have this nagging feeling

2009-02-24T20:23:00.001Z

that living one's life is more important than reporting on those of others.

And I had a chance

2009-02-06T17:57:00.004Z

to take pictures while on the train the other day.

(Almost five years down the line I can now make sense of my first consultant's closing remark in our last supervision session.

"It's just a job.")

I can't complain too much, though.

2009-02-06T17:54:00.003Z

While driving home I saw a wonderful sunset, one of those that I was blessed with every so often when I had a back garden.

My new motto

2009-02-06T17:51:00.003Z

"Bad luck builds character".

Got it wrong.

2009-02-03T22:10:00.002Z

Hofstadter refers to recursion and self-reference rather than recurrence and self-similarity.

Silly me.

I caught myself today

2009-02-03T20:55:00.003Z

going off on tangents while talking to the medical student.

The issue of the predictive value of risk assessments took me to randomness, Gödel's theorem, Hofstadter's book and my understanding of his hypothesis that consciousness arises through the interplay of recurrence and self-similarity, and fractals (they were so fashionable when I was a student; I was surprised my young colleague-to-be knew nothing about them. Have they perhaps fallen from grace?)

Yes, maybe fMRI is the way forward in terms of researching the hardware basis of mental disorders, as she suggested. It sounds appealing to be able to see the human brain functioning in real time, becoming colourful with activity.

But how far can a human mind go in terms of studying the human mind?

In the end I gave her a copy of the HCR-20, a book title- Why Love Matters- and the suggestion that if she were to keep something from our discussion I would like this to be the notion that it is important to remain humble, open-minded, curious and caring when studying humans.

And off she went.

Fermentation

2008-12-27T14:24:00.002Z

I have found a new friend in Bion through his concept of Faith as the scientific state of mind that accepts the unknown.

What's rotting within will be the base for the creation of new substance.

Don't ask me how and when. It doesn't matter.

The process has always already been in place.

The only difference now is there's some yeast in the mix.

Herr Mueller is concerned

2008-11-01T21:36:00.003Z

I might start (s)talking about mirrors once I'm into therapy.

We struggle

2008-10-29T18:40:00.003Z

all our lives with our representations of objects that we take for the actual objects that they represent.

Step back. This is just a construct of your mind.

Don't take it too seriously.

Epiphany

2008-10-29T18:31:00.002Z

Today I realised I have lost my sense of loss.

I've always considered myself grief-laden and psychically allied with the black-clad death-stricken Greek Wailers.

Somehow this has slowly dissipated within me.

Curious.

Mental snapshots behind bars

2008-10-15T20:15:00.004Z

Inmates carrying their new mattresses across the yard of HMP 'Bedlam'.

Humans are fascinating to watch.

The more I come in terms with the absurdity of prisons from a clinician's point of view the more I grow fond of visiting such institutions for the purpose of providing some therapeutic input.

To be honest, I find prison staff more puzzling than the prisoners. I sense a culture of toughness and fake aloofness that resists reflecting and precludes receiving the support necessary to keep one's sanity when dealing with the darkest and most disturbing aspects of the human soul.

I feel sad on their behalf. At least I don't feel vulnerable for being able to experience, discuss and admit to emotions.

(Just try explaining the concept of projective identification to prison staff that are struggling with severely personality disordered inmates.

How can we help these people keep themselves safe so they can offer containment to the inmates?)

The 'paradox' of forensic psychiatry

2008-10-02T19:37:00.002Z

Seduction vs perversion.

Ian burned a CD for me

2008-09-28T21:19:00.003Z

the other day.

It included Regina Spektor's Chemo Limo.

That song tore me apart. A woman resisting chemotherapy almost in an attempt to deny the fact she will be dying; a woman looking at her children, being perhaps aware that she won't be there to see them grow- but still not being prepared to give in. She'd rather have a limo than pay for chemo; besides, it is making her tired.

Paul in his case presentation touched upon the sentimentalisation females suffer.

Can a woman afford to express healthy aggression or to develop an irreverent sense of humour?

I'm not a feminist. I refuse to see women and men as two tribes in war.

I still struggle, though, with defining what a woman is from a woman's perspective, beyond being an object of men's desire or a potential mother.

Regina's song captured what I was after in a few minutes. A woman facing her mortality; a woman as an existential subject, as human as it gets.

Peer pressure

2008-09-15T18:34:00.002Z

No, I don't like In Rainbows as much as Amnesiac, ok? Even though I gave it an extra chance after I got frowned upon by the lads for slagging it off.

But Reckoner is cool.

(I can't believe I am having such arguments again in my life. I'm overjoyed.)

Gratitude

2008-09-11T19:01:00.002Z

I have this very intense feeling I'm rather lucky after all.

I'm pitching up in my job; I am reasonably healthy; I have friends who love me and whom I love, even though we live far from each other.

What more can I wish for?

Yeah, more time to read about sexual deviance.

I think I like it where I am

2008-08-21T21:16:00.002Z

even though I seem to have almost lost my kna'ack temporarily.

(I have been feeling normal recently.)

My life in boxes

2008-08-07T20:39:00.001Z

I'm not even sure what I've packed where.

Right place, right time

2008-08-01T19:36:00.002Z

My first day in my new job has made me so happy I can't believe it's for real.

There must be a catch somewhere.

After a year of surrealism

2008-07-23T15:53:00.005Z

I had a year of hard work that bore disproportionate results.

I am feeling itchy at the moment. I need to find a middle position for the years to come.

I suppose 'creativity' is not a bad buzz word. I'm old enough to hope I can integrate whatever has excited me, hurt me or made me feel curious so far.

Let the fun begin.

It's nice to be real.

2008-07-04T18:01:00.002Z

A colleague and I had a discussion earlier today about car accidents we had and how important life seems after escaping death closely.

(Report. Application form. Ward review. Interview.

Dreamless nights.)

It must be summer judging from the blue sky and the pleasant temperature.

(Patient Movement. A group of highly dangerous patients surrounded by staff walk slowly.

We stand aside and let them pass.

Two ducks having waited patiently cross the road after them.)

Rather than sitting by the sea I'm stuck in an office, dictaphone in hand.
My leave will be spent moving house. New job, new town. Lots of cleaning.

I look at the clouds when I'm driving on the Motorway and smile.

I'm still alive.
That's all that matters.

For years now I've been dreaming

2008-06-16T16:24:00.002Z

of becoming a psychotherapist.

The circumstances threw me in Forensic Psychiatry twice; once when I had no experience of psychiatry whatsoever; the second time when I was on the verge of considering a career change (what stopped me was my lack of confidence I had enough talent to devote myself wholeheartedly to art.)

Forensic Psychiatry got under my skin.

(What is the difference between a risk assessment and a gamble?)

It's a fertile ground for applying psychotherapeutic principles.

(In a risk assessment you're concentrating on what might get lost.)

You want to understand what caused the offence to happen and how to prevent re-offending while being there for the patient.

Forensic Psychiatry is about integrating information in a cohesive, accurate narrative.

Suddenly, psychotherapy made more sense in such a context.

And much less sense outside of it.

I feel like a traitor.

I'm sure that Winnicott would understand, though.

(Application) Form is Emptiness.

2008-05-25T09:34:00.001Z

However.

Emptiness is Form.

There's still hope, then.

"What the hell were you doing last year?"

2008-05-15T19:56:00.003Z

I have been advocating the importance of being realistic recently. This seems to contradict my natural tendency for turning things on their heads until they collapse.

What does 'realistic' mean, after all? To which reality am I struggling to adhere? How likely is it that any of us will ever be able to perceive the Real beyond consensus reality?

Sometimes I wonder if what sets apart those who are not psychotic from those who are is their ability to remain unconvinced to some extent by their version of reality.

A good friend of mine believes

2008-04-26T14:55:00.004Z

I love listening to people's stories, that's why I went into psychiatry.

I left my home country at an age when the only serious change I should have made in my life was to get married.

I started my training in a foreign language. I was very disappointed to find out that medication and neurotransmitters were the thing.

I played the game grudgingly, occasionally allowing the time to 'service users' to be people.

It's funny how much change can come out of actually giving a chance to a person to revisit their story and to look into alternative interpretations of what they might have perceived as concrete facts.

Thinking in terms such as 'shame', 'loss', 'grief', 'despair', 'meaning' could augment the effect of antidepressants - that were pretty useless anyway.

Nowadays I concentrate more on the concept of 'boundaries', probably because of my work environment. Relational security is indispensable where you carry an alarm and a set of keys to fulfill your therapeutic role.

Still, in social context I'm compelled to look into different ways of making sense of 'mental illness'. For one, I find it hard to accept mental illness as something irreversible and all-encompassing. There seems to be a healthy part even in the most mentally unwell person; there's a part that's dying to tell a story, no matter how bizarre this is.

I listen. Perhaps by doing so I allow for some grounding (another of my favourite words...) Perhaps I offer the ground for this healthy part to grow strong.

Perhaps I just enjoy a good story after all.

Damn.

2008-03-31T20:49:00.002Z

I am afraid I am going through one of these transformations again.

It all comes together.

2008-02-15T23:06:00.002Z

Monty Python get referenced twice in public and once in a private conversation in the Forensic Psychiatry Conference.

And I know I'm in the right place.

Mick's sister

2008-01-12T18:08:00.001Z

“If she managed to reach that far
with all her paranoia
then definitely she must have
some faith in people”

Mick

1. Things are not what they seem.
I can argue that all day. But that will probably give you the wrong idea about me.
As much as I enjoy debates I have an affinity for being nonchalantly curious.

Here’s the story. I tend to put myself in the position of having to take responsibility for them. Then they follow by nominating me to be the one to go ahead, make the plan, take the risk and shoulder everything.

And I go by what they expect. Whose fault is it?

2. I shall introduce her to you in good time. Otherwise the surprise might be ruined.

Remember, there’s only one mistake you can make with her.
Don’t make it.

3. I see myself as someone who is settled in solitude. I appreciate company once in a while but can’t bear it for long.

Too many things to do, too little time to waste on social conventions and small talk.

4. “What about intimacy?”
“What about it?”
“You come across as a person seeking warmth.”
“I’m just humorous.”

5. You say you want to carry on sharing intense emotional experiences with me.
I say I want my peace and quiet. That’s something you can’t offer me.
We’ll have to negotiate.

6. It takes a long time to get a true feel for her. She’s first familiar, then distant, then aggressive and threatening, then defensive.
Then paradoxical.

See if you can reach that stage with her. It requires patience and an integrative ability.

She’ll reward you with her trust. What more can you ask for?

Integration

2008-01-10T20:46:00.000Z

My favourite way of learning is through apprenticeship. Textbooks and papers are no substitute for gaining experience while taking risks under supervision.

Ka'at: "So, what should I be reading about psychopathy?"
Zen Senior: "Novels."

Ka'at: "Well, it seems that clinical work gets you nowhere in terms of career advancement these days."
Zen Senior: "You have to be true to yourself and keep your integrity."

Satori.
Ka'at bows in respect and smiles.

The only big word I feel comfortable with

2008-01-03T22:45:00.000Z

is 'supercalifragilisticexpialidocious'.

Otherwise, I am put off by the almost obligatory use of words such as 'love' to express all kinds of mundane and superficial emotions.

There's a query whether I do feelings or whether I am too snotty to admit to any.

It could also be that I am quite pedantic when it comes to definitions.

Those who really know me, though, would make reference to the advice someone gave me a year ago, when in a state of drunkenness I made a fool of myself.

"Love is a strong word; use it with care."

And now, what?

2007-12-15T08:05:00.000Z

I passed my Membership exams. I can call myself a psychiatrist now.

I slowly realise this was only a milestone. There's much more to be learned.

Like, how not to discard the art in Psychiatry in the process of career advancement.

How not to forget the person the patient is while bearing in mind classification criteria, guidelines and research 'evidence'.

How to keep a sense of humour and mindfulness when everybody around you, including yourself, are overworked to the end of their wits.

As much as I envy those colleagues of mine who comfortably deny we are the tool of our trade I proudly declare I'm going to be an old school psychiatrist.

The sort that would have shared a fag with their patients.

I have serious reservations

2007-11-25T09:45:00.000Z

about my ability to fall in love in any different language than my own.

I honour

2007-11-17T11:59:00.000Z

my passion
in silence.

P.S.:

2007-10-27T12:14:00.000Z

We are always already in the process.

Ka'at winks at Kristeva, Žižek and a friend who held the Mirror recently (without hiding behind it.)

Random foggy remarks

2007-10-27T10:12:00.000Z

1. It took me almost 2 1/2 years to notice the sunset in my back garden. This only happened when I felt compelled to share it as a means of communicating. I'm grateful for the person who made this need arise.

2. The Realm of the Impossible and the Realm of Infinite Possibilities are one and the same.

3. There's some pleasure in not acting out.

4. He stepped out of the door without realising he still held the hat in his hands. He then looked at it. I caught a glimpse of sadness and abandonment in his gaze. He returned and left the hat indoors.

Oh, how people enter our lives unexpectedly.

Inspirandum - a utropic temp-o-graph

2007-10-16T00:03:00.000Z

What if J.R.R. Tolkien wrote Sci-fi, on an English terrace after its bombing with hallucinatory weapons of mass deconstruction... A decade too late, his life fades, seven letters, once marking the last of his names, stand stranded on a piece o' steel beneath the lucid sky... The writer once known as the prophet-maker is nothing more than a memory, neither illustrious nor spectacular, for the denizens 'neath that hallucinatory psychosphere once called "AlbionA". She, three letters to mark both her species and her name, strides through marshes of memory, asphalts of obsession and highways full of solitude (a perfect companion if you might ask) cradling her memory operandum 'tween her fingertips, its lens being able to testify the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the psychosphere...

"In a place whence we regard Michael Moorcock as a conceptual liberator, {New Worlds} is a thing of reverence"

2007-10-15T22:41:00.000Z

There's something

2007-09-24T22:19:00.001Z

about the presence of squirrels frolicking within the perimeter of a medium secure forensic unit that throws me slightly off my balance.

Lately

2007-09-23T12:56:00.001Z

I have been inhabiting a universe where nothing makes much sense. Where things are almost never what they seem to be- and when they are one wishes they weren't.

One has to put up a constant fight to survive in such an arbitrary universe.

The catch is there's only one weapon that can be used with good effect under the circumstances.

An irreverent, relentless, self-annihilating

sense of humour.

I won't dispute

2007-09-20T07:37:00.000Z

that history is written by the winners.

Still. Losers have better stories to tell.

It's my birthday on the 6th of September.

2007-09-02T19:56:00.000Z

So, if any of you feel like it play for me DJ Shadow's Building Steam with a Grain of Salt on that day and send me your wishes.

I'm sure your good vibes will reach me wherever you are.

Everything is interconnected.

A long time later,

2007-08-14T17:36:00.000Z

when she had almost forgotten about him she received his response.

It consisted of two words.

"Einstürzende Neubauten"

"It's so refreshing to be proven wrong once in a while," she smiled to herself.

"Why do you like destroying beautiful things?"

2007-08-13T22:17:00.000Z

she asked him.

He kept quiet; he didn't know what to say.

She walked away.

She hadn't been expecting an answer, after all.

I kind of miss them.

2007-07-30T18:28:00.001Z

That's worrying...

They came, they saw,

2007-07-30T17:25:00.000Z

they turned all their budget into comics and books, and they went.

Strangely enough I enjoyed their company.

Don't let them tell you otherwise.

Grandiose fantasies

2007-07-18T22:14:00.000Z

I’m in a twilight state when God and Satan present before me.

God appears rather charming and playful. He strokes his goatee repeatedly.

Satan, on the other hand, has assumed the form of a humorous and good-natured middle-aged gentleman; he has the smile of Robin Williams.

I greet them with a quizzical look.

“We’re not happy with you,” God says.

“What have I done again?”

I’m trying to remember my latest transgressions. Sadly, I can’t find any of importance. Apart from my trademark misanthropy.

But even that I keep under check when I’m obliged to interact with human beings.

“We’re not impressed by your lack of faith,” Satan continues.

I’m even more puzzled now.
“But I do have faith,” I exclaim.

“In what?
Do you believe in God?”
“Yes, in an abstract way.”
“You see?”
God nods.
“Do you believe in Satan?”
“Not really. I happily take all responsibility for my evil actions. Nobody made me do them.
And the demons that torture me, they’re of my own creation.”

Satan rolls his eyes.
“Such a solipsist. I bet you think nothing exists outside your head.”
“Sometimes, yes.
I’m not quite sure why I conjured you two, though.”

Their appearance is stereotypical but for a slight twist.
I’m not that imaginative after all.

“You are guilty of hubris.”
“I always suspected that.”
“And you won’t commit yourself to any of us.”
“I’m not too good with commitment. Never have been.
Fair enough.
I don’t believe much in anything.
Sometimes I doubt if I even believe in myself.”
“That’s more of an issue of confidence,” Satan winks at me.
I shrug.
“I think I can see what you’re getting at.
I’m almost always in between. I do my best not to take sides. I’m neither good nor evil.
Maybe I’m just. Maybe I’m just indifferent.”

“You are lukewarm.”
God is getting a bit harsh now.
I can’t blame him.
He seems like a nice fellow, anyway.

“You’re not even passionate enough to have fun without limitations,” Satan challenges me.
“You’re probably right.”

“What are we going to do with her? She’s impudent.”
C’mon, Satan, don’t lose your cool over me.
God knows better.
“What we have always done with her.
We’ll let her carry on. In limbo.”

They fade away slowly.

I’m totally awake now.
I realise that I’m in my bed in Villa Kirkegaard.

And I scream in anguish.

Note: This is all Luke Haines' fault. It began with Satan Wants Me (from Das Capital) for some reason.

Finally we have reached an agreement

2007-07-10T18:17:00.000Z

with Herr Mueller and Periklis.

They're coming over for the Pilgrimage. I shall have to show respect for their Quest and act as their Guide on the physical plane.

In return they will allow me to to present our adventures in a comicummentary*.

I can't wait.

* documentary in the form of a comic with commentary.

It has all been said before.

2007-06-28T10:19:00.000Z

Still, I like the sound of it.

Hypotheses of a reluctant summer

2007-06-27T19:58:00.000Z

Theory #1
Words as a programming code.
A story as a ritual.
You read it unsuspectedly.
When the time comes the story gets activated within; almost unconsciously you follow the necessary steps to complete the transition to a different level of functioning.

The story as a trail that leads to another- already existing?- reality.

Theory #2
A story as a means of creating an alternative reality.
Hypersigil.

Write as you go along.
You know what I mean.

JULY SPOILERS (HERR MUELLER'S REPLY)

2007-06-13T19:35:00.000Z

"...I apologise for my late reply; I was otherwise occupied...

...And what a jolly fellow you must be, Mr Fenicks. Yes, the Mistress might appear quite dangerous to some and to others rather intriguing; it's all a matter of perspective...

...Ah the underworld, show me a man in his right mind who wouldn't like the guided tour from her who holds the keys; for what is life if not one more step towards nullity..."

July spoilers

2007-06-13T16:46:00.000Z

"Herr Mueller, it is often said that Mistress Ka'at is a scary and dangerous woman.

Others, though, claim she's misunderstood. Yes, she may hold keys to the underworld, but she's a good girl.

I'll let you draw your own conclusions," Mr Fenicks wrote.

Return is impossible

2007-06-09T14:52:00.000Z

“Oh, it’s only her. She has returned.”
I hardly tried to hide my joy.
She was dishevelled as usual but had a bright smile on her face.

“Are you in one piece?”
“Obviously. Make me a brew before I start telling you my stories.”

“So, she didn’t collapse under the burden of her bad luck?”
“Not quite. She cursed and cried and threw her arms in despair but she got over it. She’s not the same but she’s once again complete in her new form.
Some creatures have an innate ability to deal with rough times.”
“She’s just lucky enough not to be totally unlucky.”
“This is another possibility.”

“What is different this time?”
“I’ve given up on pattern recognition. I’m still exploring patterns but I have less faith in them.
I used to get caught up in my perception of meaningful repetition. I held on to whatever appeared familiar.
This time I’ve taken it a step further.
I can’t recognise, I can’t predict. I can only accept everything exists in the fuzzy state of an electron in its orbital.”
“Can you still read the signs, though?”
“There are no signs, that’s what I’m getting at. Everything is arbitrary. Even the conversation we’re having at the moment.”
“It can’t be. There’s some meaning to it.”
“Is there?
Meaning. Pattern. Yes, exploring. How sure are you that you understand what I’m trying to say?"
“Shut up!”
She laughs hard.
“And even if you do. Do I really mean what I say?”
“You don’t like committing yourself, do you?”
“I sometimes wonder whether this choice is available to me.”

The sea of lava sparkles beyond us.

After all, this is the phoenix mating season.

I've been reading BOOKS lately.

2007-06-01T10:15:00.000Z

Does this sound vaguely intimidating?
Good.

I am alive.

2007-05-24T01:45:00.000Z

Or so I suspect.

You see, I thrive on self-doubt.

Thinking back to the tree sides...

2007-05-21T22:50:00.000Z

Perhaps 'meta-real' would be a more appropriate term than 'hyperreal'; let us call 'meta-real' any set of reality that includes and transcends its consensual dimension by becoming consensual itself.

Yes, I am being pedantic now!

Oh, I know how this story ends.

2007-05-14T16:37:00.000Z

I've written it.

(Herr Mueller rolls his eyes in despair.)

One coin, tree sides.

2007-05-03T15:50:00.000Z

I have a mate whose life flows over to psyberspace as smoothly as the foam of a well-poured Guinness in a pint glass. I find him rather intriguing.

His activities transform his share of the virtual realm into an almost tangible domain, practically indistinguishable from his everyday reality. I suspect there might be a compensatory element in his motives, but he is charismatic enough for me to ignore that. In fact, I think he is the product of e-volution. Humans are becoming 'hyperreal'- not in Baudrillard's sense but in the sense that consensual reality is embracing the Net. We are real in the first place; we become even more real by replicating ourselves through a non-local field. Recursion and self-reference...

My kin, on the other hand. Once in a while we become aware of our sleepwalking through the day. We catch odd glimpses of the kaleidoscopic nature of reality- change your point of view slightly and see the picture alter beyond recognition. Rarely do we dare to consciously introduce new variables in the function. But when we do then hs4Co ensues. And it's fun. And it's also a nightmare. And it is (not.)

Real within unreal within hyperreal within unreal within...

Am I doing your head in?

How can you be sure your head even e-xists?

A GLITCH IN THE SCREEN OF THE UNIVERSE

2007-05-02T13:48:00.000Z

We are basically flawed creatures. Unable to see beyond our fixed spots in space and time. Finite and infinitesimal. Alone in a wasteland of conflicting emotions and unresolved frustrations. Coming a long way just to reach a dead-end.
Gone is the era of the optimist who saw a raw potential ready to burst forth, if only we believed. If we were brave enough to reach out and grab the stars and realize the greatness that lurks within. Since long ago we have witnessed unique individuals who spread the good news and delivered a message of awakening but alas, we chose to ignore them. Trading the untamed creativeness with the stability of the Archons, the security of the hive. Just hoping for the occasional trickster to pop up and stimulate our mechanistic lives.
And what about the wilderness outside, that vast unexplored region?
It's there for the real adventurous spirits. True visionaries drank from the fountain of inspiration and gave us food for thought, grandiose ideas ready for exploitation, but again we chose slumber.
The sphere at the bottom of the tree with its siren's call seems so much more intriguing than a simple SMI²LE.
The rebellion that came to pass.
We can read, and think, and rationalize all we like but at the end of the day, when all is said and done I'm afraid we are going to stare at the face of our situation and not gonna like what we'll see, and that is a distortion of unfulfilled promises, a broken world seething with resentment, populated in a large degree by cowards perfectly at ease with the predicament of human existence.
Progress is a lie if it's just for consumption, and evolution vastly overrated if the end product is an obedient drone.
Imagine a universe according the gnostic tradition, oh! the sadness, and by all means we may be living in one. We had the plans for something else but the tools for utilization were nowhere to be found.
When the ship is sinking it's every man/woman for himself/herself, but at least I got my lifebelt on, do you?

Hypothetically speaking.

2007-05-01T10:09:00.000Z

So, one day you realise that a person you have been interacting with for a while is slowly transforming into what you have always wished for.

Let's make matters slightly more complicated. This person happens to be someone you had a relationship with in the past. This relationship came to a halt in its original form for certain reasons but has been evolving since on a different level; it has become more of a (warning: dreaded word to follow) friendship. A well-founded, intellectually stimulating, mutually supportive friendship. One that has survived fierce arguments, too.

(Accordion-player enters the scene. A very familiar face.)

What do you do?

(Accordion-player strikes the chords for Talking Heads' Road To Nowhere. Sings the lyrics in a mellow, passionate voice.)

What do you do?

Nothing.
You smile and carry on.
Why hold onto larger-than-life stories when you can have such fun hanging up in the air?

Love is about letting go.

Let's face it.

2007-04-26T10:27:00.000Z

Emotional detachment is a sexually-transmitted disease.

...and its heated debates

2007-04-24T23:27:00.000Z

Would you class Boney M's Rasputin as a Nietzschean anthem?

Villa Kirkegaard

2007-04-24T23:20:00.000Z

I was barely communicative with Herr Mueller on the phone today; I expressed myself through the music my laptop played for him.

Oh, the side effects of making a living through the Word.

The alarm rings;

2007-04-18T17:26:00.000Z

I press the Snooze button.

Yet another hectic day ahead of me.

Then I think to myself.
It's all an illusion.

RESIDING IN THE BLACK IRON PRISON- A CELEBRATION OF FUTILITY

2007-04-16T17:04:00.000Z

So, what are we doing here, what is this thing? Life?
The accumulation of little moments one after the other in a vast parade towards
what? The end? Or perhaps the beginning. Are we going up or down?
The sad thing is that in all likelihood we are stuck, brothers and sisters.
Stuck and trapped like mice in a maze of infinite possibilities just doing nothing. We had (and still have) our precious experiences but what are we doing with them? Are we going to be any better than we used to be? Are we?
I really don't know and frankly I don't care, just sit tight for the ride, that's wishful thinking for a change. What in all honesty do we seek?
Fulfilment is one thing, but how can you reach it? Through others, those precious others (let's call them friends, lovers, family or whatever) or through ourselves (with the disciplines and rigours of faith, religion, politics etc.)
The road to the uppermost chambers is long and weary and nowhere to be found, so let us relax and enjoy our time in Malkuth 'cause this time we are not going to be crowned kings or queens.
To say that wisdom is for everybody is one thing and a completely different one to know how to grasp it. But do we need wisdom? And what the hell is wisdom? We are here now, counting our days, meeting people like us or not, celebrating every aspect of this tragic charade.
The late great R.A.Wilson wrote that life is a phalanx of maybes with very few certainties, so everything is relevant, time and again, what the thinker thinks the prover proves is a truism, in other words it's possible to work everything out fine this time around, if only we can keep detached and aloof from the low, the gross and the unhealthy, just for this time let's prove the poet right "that which disturbs your soul do not suffer". Let us be each one of us our own private islands of serenity and stimulation and if we are seeking like minded individuals we let them come but more importantly let them go in peace, the moments together count for so much, away from us the attachments and the sentimentalities, not because as Mrs. Good so eloquently put it "...don't expect one single person to stay loyal to you or understand you" but in spite of this.
It's cold and dark in here so let us crowd together for little warmth and then off we go to our separate ways. Travellers all, even without a clear destination.
Biding our time, trying to get through, come with a bang, out with a whisper.
It doesn't really make any difference. If there were or still are sixty adepts in the world (Dr. Baker wrote this in the late '70's) don't count me in, although I can't say the same about you.
And if we indeed speak not in words but in thunderbolts (Nietzsche said it, not me) what will happen? What must happen? Will we force the hands of fate? Let the wheel keep on turning faster and faster? Those terrible questions again. What a load of crap I say. In the end we are not going to make any difference, we are not going to be better men or women, all those great words, the lofty ideals, the philosophizing are just a distraction, a game of sort. We invent and re-invent situations and mindscapes for our amusement, something like a carnival of the intellectual variety.
We, the people of the word, the utropics as Ka'at said. Going through the dark night, with lost innocence and clipped wings. Towards an end that never comes, among sleepwalkers and sad excuses, more awake, more alert,
ha! we wish.

Herr Mueller

2007-04-09T00:15:00.000Z

has given me a warning today.

I am to expect a written contribution from him soon.

I'm dreading it.

MeZza9

2007-04-01T13:29:00.000Z

Scene 14 – Orbital

The hero and the woman are sitting next to each other on the stairs of a dilapidated building. Camera comes closer, climbs the stair, stands behind them. As if it’s somebody watching over them bends between their heads to zoom in to whatever the hero is showing to the woman.

He holds a map of the area. Capital Ms are covering the map with variable density.

The faraway sound of a train passing.
The hero speaks first.

“It’s strange, this is.”
“What’s strange?”
“Look!”

He shows a specific area, almost totally covered with Ms.
Continues.

“This is where we are right now.”
“What’s so strange about it?”
“This is the place I always felt most comfortable in. Even as a child. When I felt persecuted by the MeZza9 I’d run here. If I made it to this building I knew I’d be safe.
It just doesn’t add up”

The woman sighs in despair.

“You just don’t get it, do you?”

The hero seems baffled.

Camera rises, walks between them and goes down the stairs. Gives them a last stare, as if out of curiosity.

They don’t speak.

Camera moves on. Empty street, buildings on the verge of collapsing.
A black cat walks out of nowhere. It moves quickly, then disappears into thin air.

Fade out.

Scene 15 – That’s what friends are for

The woman is sitting at a table outside a pub, cigarette in hand. With her a male her age. They’re having a pint of Guinness each. She seems worn out. The man is bearded and has a caring look about him. Camera is assuming the point of view of a third party.

She has a sip off her pint.
The man speaks first.

“Why on earth are you doing that?”
“I don’t know.”
“It’s draining you.”
“Obviously.”
“Then why?”
“I have to admit, it has borne some fruit.”
“How do you know?”
“I just do.”

The man shrugs.
The heroine gets a drag off her fag. Looks into his eyes. Speaks.

“You’re not worried about me, are you?”
“Kind of. But somehow I feel you’ll pull it through.
You’re determined.
Just make sure you’re sufficiently grounded.”
“Isn’t that what I’m doing right now?”

The man has a sip off his drink, too.
Shakes his head. Speaks.

“You’re in love with this lad, heh?”

She chokes on her Guinness. Looks as if she has been caught in a rather embarrassing act for a split second. Almost immediately assumes a poker face, though.

“What makes you say that, mate?”

The man laughs whole-heartedly. She laughs with him.

Cut.

Scene 16 – Let’s face it

The hero stands before the stairs where he and the woman were sitting on in scene 14. He holds a piece of paper off a notebook. Camera shows his profile and is ready to follow him.

Voice over.

I guess today is the day.
I’m all prepared for it.
Wish I knew what would become of me after the confrontation.
Will I ever be the same again?

He takes one step at the time.

Voice over continues.

I’ve lived in fear of the MeZza9 since a very young age.
Still, over these past few days… I think I’ve started feeling for it. If that makes any sense.
It’s been around more consistently than any other presence in my life. It has defined me. It has made me who I am, for better or for worse. It’s a part of me, let’s face it.
I don’t want to get rid of it. I’d rather we made peace.

He disappears into the dark.

Cut.

Scene 17 – mezzanine

The hero reaches the mezzanine of the building. A large mirror hangs on one of the walls. He stands in front of it. Camera follows him, then halts.

Left hand in his khakis’ pocket. He finds a piece of white chalk. He draws a circle around him. Writes the following clockwise around the circle.

MeZza9

Mezza9

mezza9

mezzanine

He makes sure he stays in the circle.

Cut to:

The woman, in her bed, tossing and turning.

Cut to:

The woman’s mate, doing gardening on a bright day. Kneeling on the soil.

Cut to:

The hero standing in the circle, facing the mirror.

Voice over. The woman’s voice.

Summon the MeZza9.

Camera shows both the hero and his reflection in the mirror.
The hero speaks.

MeZza9, come forth.

It’s time we made peace, you and I.

Words appear on the mirror one by one, then disappear.

MeZza9

Mezza9

mezza9

mezzanine

The hero shakes as if electricity is going through his body.

Voice over.

Welcome home, mate.

The mirror emits bright light that becomes more and more intense. Camera catches a glimpse of the hero collapsing within the circle before it gets blinded by the light.

Cut.

Scene 18 – Exit the Refrigerator

The bright white corridor of the first scene. The hero comes out of it facing the camera. Continues to walk.

Cut to:

The hero finds himself on a beach. Sunny day. Walks towards the sea. Camera stays a bit behind.

The woman is lying on the sand, eyes closed.

He lies next to her. Moves his hand close to hers. His fingers barely touch hers.

She smiles.

The hero’s sisters appear; they’re running, chasing each other in turns. They eventually sit down breathless.

Camera comes closer to them.

The younger one gets up, looks at her sister with a naughty smile.
Runs to the sea. Stops just before the waves. Steps back.

She finds a stick. Writes ‘MeZza9’ with it on the sand.

Her sister comes to see what she’s writing. She shakes her head. They laugh loudly.

The waves come over the sand.

MeZza9 is slowly washed away by each wave.

The sound of the waves blends with the sound of the girls’ laughter.

Fade out.-

To Gaz and his insomnia
To me mate Jase
To Makis and Periklis for winding me up
And to my sis Marina for the concept of Mezzanine.

MeZza9

2007-04-01T02:36:00.000Z

Scene 12 – The bus that never came

The hero is standing at a bus stop in heavy rain. Camera set on the opposite pavement.

The woman walks towards him, umbrella in hand. Stands next to him. Closes her umbrella.

They remain silent for a minute or so. Rain continues to fall but they don’t get too wet.

The woman speaks first.

“You seem to have quite a bit of confidence in me.”
“I do.”

The hero sighs, then speaks.

“It’s nice to be able to dream again. See? It’s raining.”
“Can you make it stop?”
“I guess. But I’d rather not. As long as we don’t get soaked.”
“So, is the MeZza9 within or without?”
“I’ve thought about this one.
It’s both within and without. I can’t really pinpoint its exact coordinates. It almost exists as an orbital. There are points in space-time where it is more likely to manifest. Within or without.
Mind you, it’s been around for that long that it has become a part of me.”
“I think this gives us something to chew on.
Until the next time we meet I need you to map MeZza9’s manifestations.
I’m sure there must be an area where it appears more often and with greater intensity. This is where you should invoke it.”
“You’re not expecting me to absorb it in any way, are you?”

Elusive smile on the woman’s face.

Rain becomes heavier and heavier until the heroes’ faces become invisible behind it.

Cut.

Scene 13 – Mirroring

The heroine sits on her bed. Leaves a notebook on her side table. Gets underneath the blankets. Shades of red and orange.

Voice over. Her voice.

I’ve begun writing my dreams down.
I look for clues and patterns. The more I look the more I notice them emerging.

Cut to:

The heroine is sitting on her desk. Camera sneaks over her shoulder. We read excerpts of her diary of dreams. Written in red ink. Focus on words and phrases such as:

MeZza9 is a part of me

absorb

orbital higher likelihood of manifestation

without

map

MeZza9

empty

Mezza9

mirror

mezza9

within

mezzanine

The woman closes the diary.

Cut to:

The woman rises from her sleep. Switches on the bed-side lamp. Takes the diary, jots down a few lines.

MeZza9 is a part of me

absorb

orbital higher likelihood of manifestation

without

map

MeZza9

empty

Mezza9

mirror

mezza9

within

mezzanine

She closes her diary, switches off the light; goes back to sleep with a smile.

Cut.

MeZza9

2007-03-28T04:39:00.000Z

Scene 9 – Persistent bastard

Camera focuses on the woman. She is captured sideways holding a mobile. The sound of a text received.

Camera zooms in slowly. She looks at the message.

Camera assumes her point of view. Text reads as follows:

“Why have you disappeared?”

Camera zooms on the woman’s face. She looks frustrated.

Voice over. Her voice.

Why don’t you just leave me alone?
I can’t help you.
And you don’t care, anyway.

She deletes the text.
Camera zooms on her face again. Her eyes appear wet.

Cut.

Scene 10 – Tossing and turning once more

The hero is in his bed, under the covers. Semi-lit room.
A black cat jumps on the bed. Curls up next to him.
He turns to the other side.

Voice over.

Why has she been avoiding me?
It’s been a while since she last got in contact. She used to come and find me every so often.

What happened with her?

I didn’t do anything wrong.
It would have only been unfair not to let her know about MeZza9.

He turns around. Sits up.
The cat raises his head, then lies down again.

Voice over continues.

I have the feeling that she can help me.
How I wish she got back to me.

The cat snuggles up to him. He strokes his head until he falls asleep again.

Fade out.

Scene 11 – Unexpected conduit

First light of the day. The woman’s room.

She gets up from bed. Walks to her kitchen. Puts the kettle on. Then walks to the window in her living room.

Looks outside the window. Camera stays behind her. View of her back and of whatever is outside the window.

Voice over. Her voice.

I had a very strange dream.

We were sitting on the grass.

“What are you doing here?” I asked him.

“I need your help,” he said.

“Why don’t you leave me alone?” I insisted.

“I don’t know what you did, but you set something off when I last saw you.
I had a dream. For the first time in years,” he went on.

I must have looked surprised.

“It was a brief one, but still a dream.
You seem to understand things about me that even I find hard to grasp. You might be able to help me face MeZza9.”

“Not again!” I interrupted him.

Heroes speak for themselves from this point.

“Please. You somehow have access to him. And me.
Please.
You know things.”

“How do I know things?”

“You just do, trust me.
I need you to dream of me through my confrontation with MeZza9. That’ll keep me safe.”

“You must be joking! I can’t do that!”

“Yes, you can. You’ve already done it. You did it in my dream. You told me to call upon it.
Are you with me on that one?”

Back to woman’s voice over.

Then I woke up.
Do I really want to do that?

Camera concentrates on the view through the window.
The sun shines. Camera is blinded by the light.

Cut.

MeZza9

2007-03-26T02:47:00.000Z

Scene 6 – I think I know what’s wrong with you

The heroes are sitting on the grass in front of a pond in a park. Sunny day. The woman has her arms around her knees. Camera has the point of view of a third person sitting on the left of the woman.

She speaks first.

“I think I know what’s wrong with you.”

The hero looks at her surprised.

“Do you?”

She smiles.

“What are you dreaming of?”

He shrugs.

“I’m not dreaming of anything.”

Triumphant look on the woman’s face.

“Aha!”

The hero raises his brow.

She carries on.

“You know why?”

He still looks bemused.

“It’s because MeZza9 is stealing your dreams.”

He looks even more puzzled.

“What?”

She smiles again.

Cut.

Scene 7 – You’re on your own now

The woman rises from the grass. Camera follows the hero’s gaze.

Voice over- her voice.

It’s time I disappeared.
This MeZza9 business is doing my head in.
Sometimes you seem possessed.
I wish I could help you somehow. But I can’t.
I’m stuck in a fractal dimension with you. Neither here, nor there.

Perhaps MeZza9 is just an excuse.
Perhaps you just don’t fancy me.

She speaks to the hero.

“See you later, mate. Take care.”

He continues to look at her.

Camera follows her.

Fade out.

Scene 8 – I can read her mind

The hero is still sitting by the lake. Sky turns grey.

Voice over.

How can she know?

Cut to the woman’s face. She smiles quizzically.

Voice over. Her voice.

How can you set yourself free from MeZza9?
Is it within or without?
Go back to when it all started.

Cut to:
The hero’s sisters are laughing and pointing the finger at him.

“You can’t hide from the MeZza9. It’s here, there and everywhere!”

The hero, at his current age, is looking at the girls.

The woman’s voice again. Talking to the hero.

“What is the MeZza9?”

He turns towards the voice but doesn’t see anyone.

“Call upon it.”

He turns around again. Sees no-one.

“Summon the MeZza9!”

Cut to:

The hero has fallen asleep on the grass. Camera zooms in. Painful expression on his face.

Voice over. Her voice.

Somehow this seems to be working.

Cut.

MeZza9

2007-03-25T05:21:00.000Z

Scene 3 – A dangerous woman

Camera sneaks slowly from behind. We see the back of the hero. Next to him we notice the back of a woman – short haircut over red sweater. They don’t speak.

Sound of water.

Camera sweeps the horizon left to right, then right to left. Returns on their backs. Continues to approach slowly.

The hero sighs.

The woman speaks.

“So, are you convinced MeZza9 exists?”

He nods.

“Right.”

Camera catches the smoke from the hero’s cigarette and follows it until it dissolves.

Cut.

Scene 4 – I can read your mind

The woman from the previous scene. Standing. Face lit up by the sun. Camera zooms at her face.

Voice over- the voice of the woman.

I don’t know what to make of him.
He never speaks much.

Cut to hero’s face. ¾ take.
Voice over.

A clutter of thoughts.

Cut to woman’s face.
Her voice.

I always get the sense, though, there’s a clutter of thoughts in his head.
He puzzles me. He’s a tense little fellow.
How come I feel so happy around him?

Cut to hero’s face. Camera moves slowly to show greater proportion of his face.
His voice.

I get easily carried away.

Cut to woman’s face. Camera moves slowly to show ¾ take.
Her voice.

Perhaps it’s because he gets easily carried away.

Cut to hero’s face. Zoom in.
His voice.

She scares me. Sometimes it feels as if she can read my mind.

Cut to heroes’ backs. Zoom out.

Cut.

Scene 5 – On the run

The hero is running in an area with desolated buildings. Camera follows him closely.

He gasps for air but continues to run.

Voice over.

I only feel safe in desolated buildings for reasons unknown.
There MeZza9 can’t get hold of me.

He continues to run.

Voice over- the woman’s voice.

Is MeZza9 within or without?
Haven't go a clue.
One thing I know for sure.
I hate his sisters for invoking it.

Fade out.

MeZza9

2007-03-24T01:45:00.000Z

Scene 2 – Another sleepless night

Dark room. Sound of a body tossing and turning between cotton sheets. A cat meowing.

Voice over.

I am an insomniac.

I’ve always been.

At the small hours of the night, when other people are happily asleep, I’m stuck in a transitional space-time.

My eyes are closed but my mind remains active.

Camera moves closer to the bed. Zooms on the hero’s face. Eyes closed. Expression of discomfort.

I experience brief periods when my thoughts seem to slow down and I feel grateful for sinking into nothingness.
Soon after, though, I’m alert again.

Sleep seems to slip like water through my fingers.

Camera zooms out. Cat meows again.

Cut.

MeZza9

2007-03-22T23:06:00.000Z

Scene 1 – Enter the refrigerator.

Young chap, of medium height and slim build. Camera follows him closely. He stands before an empty corridor. Bright white walls.

Voice over.

I must have been 5 or 6 at that time.

My sisters and I were playing in the garden. I can remember rays of light coming through the pine needles.

“Beware of the MeZza9,” my younger sister said.

I looked at her bemused.

“What is the MeZza9?”
“It’s an evil monster that eats little boys like you.”
“That’s nonsense!”
“No, it’s not! It’s true.”
“No!”
“If you’re not a good lad the MeZza9 will come for you. There’s no escape.
Tell him, Kath!”

Kath, my oldest sister looked at me and smiled knowingly.

“You see? It’s a fact.”

I still wake up at nights frightened, dripping sweat.
My little sister was right.
MeZza9 is evil.

Looks sideways towards the camera.

An evil bastard who’s been following me all these years.

Cut to:

Two girls, around 7 and 10, laughing loudly and pointing the finger at a 5-yr-old boy.

“The MeZza9 is coming to get you. Run, run as fast as you can.”

Zoom to the face of the boy. He looks frightened. On the verge of tears. He sighs.

“There’s no such thing. NO!”

Cut to:

Camera zooms into the eyes of the lad. Sea-blue eyes. Calm gaze.

It’s getting colder these days.

Steps into the white corridor.

Sound of creaky door.

He disappears into white light.

Fade out.

2007-03-13T23:52:00.001Z

Hiding is revealing, and vice versa.

2007-03-10T17:17:00.000Z

Still, there's something I'd like to share with whoever cares to read it in a slightly more straightforward fashion.

This is an excerpt from a mail to me mate Stephen.

Even though I'm a doctor I have not witnessed many deaths. It's probably because of the specialities I've trained in so far.

I'm still trying to put my finger on what made this particular death such a mystical experience.

Is it perhaps that I was present with this person while he was fading away? I was watching over him on and off for a while as he had not been very well on that day. He was not to be resuscitated; there was not much I could do for him apart from administering oxygen and keeping an eye on his oxygen saturation. Every time I went to see him he looked more and more waxy in colour. His breathing was becoming shallower and less consistent. It must have been the first time that I felt so clearly that somebody was going to die soon- and there was nothing I could or should do about it apart from giving him time. And letting him go.

At a point his blood pressure dropped dramatically in the monitor. His oxygen saturation appeared very low, too. He was no longer breathing. I checked his vital signs. No sign of life. Then I closed his eyes and wished for God to forgive him. I couldn't find the words to say anything else. I was overcome with a profound sense of sadness. This man was dead. Fullstop.

Oh, the human condition.

Yesterday I discussed the whole thing with my Consultant, who seems to be a reasonable person. The way he described his encounters with death was as "a humbling experience." I couldn't agree more with that. My take on it had been "feeling larger than life but mortal." I prefer the simplicity of his description. I'll be quoting him on it.

I finished my duty in a rather philosophical mood, and came home. Only to find out by a friend's mail that Liz, the child psychotherapist I was sharing an office with in my previous job, had died from a stroke a few days earlier. I really liked this woman; she had a very dry sense of humour. She had had long term physical problems but was very dedicated to her work. I learned a lot from her. I shall miss her.

Parenthesis. When I was a wee lass my parents used to play a particular album for me to put me to sleep. It is called Θητεία (thetea), which stands more or less for "service for a specific period of time, especially in the army." The album starts with the cry of a baby and ends with the irregular breath of an old man. There's one song I always liked. The lyrics go like this:

The summer goes by;
another bird comes to the nest.

On the first day you discuss about expensiveness.
You gather wood for your fireplace on the second.
You converse with the fire on the third and the fourth.

Angel of Death has been warming my bed.(1)

I guess my parents have always been wise people. Even though it was their unconscious that made them choose such lullabies for me. Bless them.

Right. This might have put some previous posts in context.

In memory of C.H. and E.G.

(1)
Original Greek verses:

Περνά το καλοκαίρι
και στη φωλιά του θά΄ρθει άλλο πουλί.

Την πρώτη μέρα συζητάς για την ακρίβεια.
Μαζεύεις ξύλα για το τζάκι σου τη δέύτερη.
Μιλάς με τη φωτιά την τρίτη και την τέταρτη.

Άγγελος θανάτου μου ζέσταινε το στρώμα μου.

"Το καριοφίλι, μάνα μου" ("Give me the rifle, mother")
Θητεία (Thetea), 1974
Γιάννης Μαρκόπουλος (Yiannis Markopoulos)
Μάνος Ελευθερίου (Manos Eleutheriou)

You preferred snail mail.

2007-03-08T22:17:00.000Z

And you had a taste for ginger biscuits with bitter chocolate.

Your sense of humour was rather sharp.

R.I.P. Liz.

Say hello to Melanie Klein when you meet her.

I had to close somebody's eyes today.

2007-03-08T22:12:00.000Z

I was overwhelmed with a sense of profound sadness afterwards.

Time. Is. Now.

Don't let anybody tell you otherwise.

Missy, are you taking things too seriously again?

2007-03-06T19:34:00.000Z

", he said, and closed the door behind him."

SMC

2007-03-06T18:53:00.000Z

stands for Sodomising Medical Careers.

It's a new imaginative game.

You take a few thousand doctors- preferably from overseas. You invite them to your country and you train them appropriately.

Then comes the real fun.

You change the training system, reduce the training posts, and ask them to reapply for their jobs.

It gets even more exciting.

You shuffle them around. Like a deck of cards. You move them from where they have been working to the remotest possible area.

Does it matter whether they have families they will need to relocate? Or that they'll have to leave their social network behind?

Not at all.

Doctors have to be flexible and vigilant. Ready to adapt to all changes and able to survive any kind of stress. They're indestructible by definition. Otherwise they wouldn't be doctors. They would be mere humans.

The ultimate goal is to devalue their specialty exams and to introduce work-based assessments that will distract their mind from clinical work.

I kind of admire the people who created this game.

It sounds like the ultimate reconditioning experience.

It'd be a shame to waste it on doctors only. I'm sure we can adjust it for other professionals, too.

Hm.

2007-03-04T19:46:00.000Z

It seems to me that no matter how tightly and affectionately you embrace cHa0s you can't escape some order.

Damn.

Of course we're not for real.

2007-03-04T14:12:00.000Z

What did you expect?

However, there is a plan.
One of those that never work entirely as we might have had in mind.

Another slice of Dada, dear?

2007-03-03T15:47:00.000Z

Aleph.

That's what we'll start with.

Perhaps.