The Adventures of Schiz The Boy and A Bear Named Kayota

-Schizophrenia is like love: there is no specifically schizophrenic phenomenon or entity; schizophrenia is- -the universe of productive and reproductive desiring-machine, universal primary production as “the- essential reality of man and nature.”-Deleuze & Guattari

An Introduction:

In an effort to speak with as much clarity as possible, a stunted cough emanated from a dark dank corridor. A slightly more clear, but still slightly quite raspy voice bounced throughout empty hallways as if this were the last soliloquy that voice would ever give,

“Look and listen…or is it see and hear…hear and listen… no…no…listen to me and see yourself…no hear me and look inward towards yourself,” There as a momentary pause followed by another attempted throat clearing, “Anyways…concerning one’s propensity to desire desire itself, a wise man once said something along these lines: It works everywhere, sometimes working smoothly, other times working in a spurty, jerky fashion. This feeling, this knowledge… it breaths, it warms up, it eats. It even poops! What a mistake they made to have ever separated the notions of natural instinct and reason. Everywhere it embodies machines— real ones, not fake ones. You know!?” The voice now spoke as if it were seeking reassurance and then continued with an intensified urgency, “Machines driving other machines and in turn being themselves driven, with all the necessary coupling and varied configurations. I think, whoever said that meant something along the lines of that our souls desire to know the nature of things and they desire the desire to know. And, and, and, and, and…” the voice trailed off into a rhythmic, repetitive pattern consisting of the word ‘and,’ until once again the voice found its way back on track, “that we do this desiring together. We have to, or at least we ought to. But sometimes we forget how we are suppose to desire that desire. That same wise man then said: It is always better to go for a walk as a crazy man who will desire again; even if he is confused and frustrated, or even if he is sad and angry then it is to sit still on Sigmoond’s yellow sofa complaining.’”

A different voice questioned, “Who is Sigmoond and who is they!? You always do this! I never know who you are talking about!”

To which the first voice said, “I don’t know, thats just what I remember to say, jee wiz…It doesn’t matter who I am talking about, but what I am talking about. Don’t you get that by now?… So, shush and be quite so I can tell you another story.” There was silence for a short time. Maybe minute or an hour. Time seemed to stand still. The voice began again, “This one is a little more difficult to remember….” Another clearing of the throat, “A man once ran down from the a mountain where he had remained from many years contemplating that which was meaningful. During twilight, whilst a tight rope walker set up his stage, Zarasnoostra had run down from his mountain accompanied by none other than Hawk and Snake. People began to gather as Zarasnoostra shattered his lantern on the ground proclaiming, “Have you not heard of that madman, who running into the market shouted incessantly, I seek Desire! I seek Desire!” Many who had gathered did not believe in Desire, so Zarasnoostra induced a great laughter. “Has he lost himself?” Said one of those who gathered. “Has he become lost such as a child?” Said another of those gathered. “Or is he hiding himself?” Said yet another of those who had gathered, and many others continued in similar fashion. “Is he afraid of us?” “Has he gone on a awry?” “Emigrated from his own mind?” Those who had gathered cackled and jeered at the confused Zarasnoostra. He jumped in the middle among them and menacingly pierced through their mendacious gaze. “Where is Desire?” he cried, “I want to tell you! We have killed him, – You and I both! We are all her murderers! But how have we made this? How could we drink up her sea? Who gave us the sponge to wipe up the entire horizon? What did we do when we unchained this earth from it’s sun?  Where is it moving now? Where are we moving ourselves? Away from all suns? Are we not perpetually plunging backwards, sideways, forwards, and every which way? Is there still an north and a south? Are we not wandering through endless nothings? Do we not stir up the empty space? Is she not becoming colder? Does not the night come again and again? Will we not yet again ignited her lanterns in the morning? Do we still hear nothing from the noise of we gravediggers, who bury Desire? Do we not smell nothing from her divine decay? Desire also decays! Desire is dead! Desire remains dead! And we have killed her! How will we comfort ourselves, the murders of all murderers?! This tremendous occurrence is not yet underway and yet is always wandering; and has not yet penetrated the ears of men. Lightening and thunder require time you know. Whereas the light and stars require even more time. Time requires time. It must to be seen and heard. You must look and listen to it. Yet again time is still more distant, further than the furtherest star…” The last syllables trailed off, wisping there way down the dark, dank, empty corridors. There was silence and then, yet another attempt at a throat clearing. “You know what I am saying?”

“Yeah I guess so.”