nubian pharaonic art

Spent an entire afternoon confusing American tourists by posing as an Egyptian artist. Stopped them at the sidewalk and forced them to pose for me while I drew potatoes with moustaches. Told them it was an interpretation of old Nubian Pharaonic art.
I must say I achieved nothing from this meaningless lie except entertainment but that was achievement enough. How do you reckon I spend my time between patients? Read an improving book on fiscal deficits? Clean the workspace? Bollocks.

I’ll see you in a while, some Germans are in approach and my next patient isn’t in for another two hours.


open letter to salman khan inquiring about his thoughts on astrophysics

Dear Sir,
Your film was remarkably entertaining. I wretched in wounded mirth post the first 5 minutes. It made me think of the Theory of Relativity and Einstein’s example about how when sitting close to a stove, 10 minutes seem like an eternity. Of course, in this case, it was more like stove sitting upon me.
What are your thoughts on the flame nebula? Looks a lot like your raging fist, I suppose. In the expansive dullness of astrophysics, nebulae are the only saving grace. Much like the credit rolling sequence of your films.
How did the universe come into being? Indeed, how! Some say its with a Big Bang. I am doubtful. I believe it is God’s wrath spitten upon us as colorful nausea. It seems more plausible than the whole idea of a blow hot/blow cold mass of stuff. However, its is a spiffy name for your next action adventure. You must consider it.
A physicist friend of mine points to the fact that physics is not as dull as we may perceive it to be. That’s the scientific equivalent of the argument that your films are a post structural satire on our current society. Basically, its all tosh.
All except, dark energy. That shit is the snizzle, yo! Though I have my doubts about the Lambda-CDM model. You could say I find it a little “WIMP”ish. Haha. Typical physicist jest.
In all honesty, I don’t quite understand physics, as I am not a physicist but a carpenter.
If you ever you are in need of a multipurpose sofa, do get in touch with me.

Yours Energetically

Whose ravens are these?

I am about to inflict a gaggle of ravens* upon a patient.

*A group of ravens is called a murder.

i think my scrotum is descending into my stomach

Say this to the average homo sapien off the street and he is likely to respond with a frightful screech while serving you a rightly deserved left hook to the nose. However, you say this to a psychologist, the most likely repsonse you will elicit is – “Ah! onset of koro inspired nosophobia. How long have you been feeling like this?”

We are all lunatics in this profession.

Wrote a note to the patient – “See you in the lowest infernos, cur. Love. Beelzebub”
That ought to teach them a lesson. Forever cutting into my exfoliation and pedicure time droning about their “troubles”. What of your troubles?
A return to the system of leeches and electric shocks will do us all some good.

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poets make me want to vomit with rage

Whilst writing a contemplative email, I contemplated a few truths. The most pertinent would be this.

I have come to realize that poets can get away with a lot of tosh, don’t you agree?
Last evening I was trying to win someone over to the side of Atheism by supplying examples of rampant paedophilia in all manners of institutional religions. She smote me with “You have no faith” typa thing thereby negating my entire value system.
However, if I were a poet, this wouldnt be so.

For instance, this –

Still it would be marvelous
to terrify a law clerk with a cut lily,
or kill a nun with a blow on the ear.

This is the old oaf Neruda. What is so marvelous bout terrifying law clerks, dear sir? Those sods already look like violently abused underpants – discolored and frayed – who would want to bring further wreckage upon them?
And lets assume you were to attempt the said terror-attack, how the fuck would you do it with a lily? A rose I get, the stem has thorns and stuff, but lilies? That too, cut lilies? Who are you? The ghost of Bruno Mafia Past? Do you also deliver horseheads wrapped in taffeta to folks?
That makes no sense. Niether does killing a nun with a blow on the ear. For one thing, you can’t place their ears what with those godforsaken habits they wear. By the time you make approximate calculations about the exact location of her ear, she’ll smack you across the face with one of the heavier testaments. Celibacy and heavy books = violent nuns.

However, since it is he, Neruda, exiled poet etcetra, people look at this and commend his “pathos” and “solitary darkness” et al. If it were me, psychologist, listener to the insane, they would laugh in my face with a “God! you are a nit! take a break from work or something” sort of repartee.

I know this from experience.

Poets make me want to vomit with rage. But I love them all the same.

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i am Nada Brahma

justin beiber made $45.6 trillion by reducing tweens to sobbing heaps of swine, in the past year. I made $5 discounting the tub of chapstick and the 2 goats I received for my services at the Yerwada Prison’s Psychiatric facility. Actually, thats a lie. Those bastards gave me zilch. Woe upon their black hearts. May they drop the soap right next to a hairy inmate with tendencies of frotteurism.
So, anyway, beiber can continue to live his life of love and laughter knowing that he now has enough money to construct a spiral staircase all the way to the top of the flame nebula. While I may not be able to shake my ribcage with an agility similar to his, I know more about the Halstead-Reitan Neuropsychological Battery than he ever will. On the flip side, I know less about Halstead-Reitan Neuropsychological Battery as compared to J.G. Beaumont. However, what does J.G Beaumont know about “breaking a beat”? I triumph that moose fucker with straight aces on that one.
So, essentially, I am the equilibrim that keeps this universal chaos systematic. I am the center of this trampoline and all of it is bouncing off of me.
It’s all about perspective, dear louts. Perspective. And I have tons and tons of it.

the sins of our fathers erupt as discoing popstars

“What was antigone’s sin? asks a young toadette on facebook. I know I should have deleted the mudlet the moment I added her. To wake up from an unamusing dream about Ryan Seacrest getting hulked off by a giant owl, only to have this sheep-biter pelt me with such dastardly and confounding queries.

What was her sin anyway?
Dog knows. What the fuck are you asking me for? Do I look like a dead Greek to you?

However, as luck would have it, Dog was around the corner from home and decided to pay me a visit. I presented the quandry and he did really know.

“She was having it off with her brother.” he proposed.

Why am I not surprised. All that these Greeks did back in the day was jump the bones of their nearest in kin and drink paper wine. End result – an entire race of sub-human popstars now polluting the shorelines of the Aegean.


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