Troy Burroghs: and the Doc

Surrealist-Traveler

At the Doctors Office

“What’s the difference between a crazy man who kills you and one who is not crazy (?) I would think they both are crazy, or both are not. Isn’t killing without motive, simply against our values?” said Troy to his Psychologist.

The good doctor looked at Troy, smiled, and laughed a little, “You been watching them courtroom battles haven’t you?” Troy smiled.

“Well, it’s simply documentation,” commented the good Doctor.

“Do I have good documentation,” replied Troy.

“I think you are thinking about suicide my good friend,” commented the doctor, adding “…please tell me about your week. You know what you got to do so get it out, off those rounded shoulders of yours, so you can let go, go forward in life, smell the roses again. My job son is to bring you back, back, back to being a healthy person.”

“Say Doc,” asked Troy, “I wish I had more friends to talk to, and then I wouldn’t have to see you. Spend all this money so someone will listen to me. Do you believe doctors are simply good listeners?”

“Troy, get back into telling me about your week, you are avoiding the real issues. I will feed you back your distortions, generalizations, your incomplete white lies so you can look at the real issues,” said the doctor with a slight slant towards irritation.

“Maybe all I need is a good listener; do you know where I can find one? Maybe I do not need an interpreter, I’m not a Picasso you know,” replied Troy.

“Oh, that is quite a good analogy my friend, quite good, quite good, but you are avoiding again, yes indeed, avoiding the real issue!” exclaimed the doctor.

“Well doc, if you must know, I have been a little mixed up lately; things have been somewhat confusing this week for me. First, I went running around trying to find a camera, a Browne camera; like my mother first bought me in the l950’s. I know my childhood is coming up. But you know, you know I like taking pictures, it relaxes me.

My next stop was Tuesday, that last one was Monday (‘I know‘, commented the doctor) the Browne that is. As I was saying, going to say, got to say, I had a gun in my hand in my old house where I grew up, where my grandfather and mother and my brother lived with me years ago. I shot all the rounds in the gun, except three didn’t go off. I took out all the bullets then, to include the ones that didn’t go off: the bullets and shells that is. But I put one back in, I think that it is the one you called the suicide bullet.” The Doctor shook his head in agreement, and said ‘continue.’

Then on Wednesday, I found myself on top of that house again, and I had to mend a big hole in the roof, but in checking it out—you see I had bought the house, I do own many properties you know, and they all bring me headaches, but they bring me money also—I found myself going through the roof down onto the kitchen creating a second hole. I think you would say doc, I am having distress with the whole show of reality, and that is what can happen, will happen, in such cases; and simply look forward to more things like that happening, thus, you get more stressed out, you’re in the wrong business—this is what I think I should tell my second self. You know, all that kind of stuff and garbage.” Again the doctor shook his head in agreement, and said ‘continue’.

“Well, then it was Thursday, I found out my grandfather was richer then I knew, and I was brought to this warehouse he owned. I was given a tour around the place and they had all these distorted animals, as if they were breeding them as hybrids. One got to me doc, but I think it is the whole gamut of events, so, the world I live in now, and sometimes the demon world it seems like, it all got to me. Something else I remember now that we are talking, that I am talking; my old female boss’ daughter was there. She was working for my grandfather; as if it was a conspiracy against me, gathering information to tell him to fire me.” The doctor’s eyebrows went up, and said, ‘good, continue.’

“But doc, can’t we look at this a little deeper. Here are my bosses…”

“I said continue Troy!”

“Well, doc, we’re up to Friday,” Troy looked at the doctor waiting for an answer. Put his hand on his head,

“Can we not have a dialogue instead of this one man conversation?”

Replied the Doctor with discontent, ”If you think I am going to pay you for listening to me you are crazy.”

Having said that Troy continued: “Well as I was saying, I’m at Friday and I find myself a little mixed up, and tired, fatigued if you will. It keeps coming back in my mind, everything, so many doors, and meetings,” the doctor starts to write this down something, “and I just can’t figure out what doors, and who the introduction is intended for.”

Commented the doctor, “It is my doors, and I am the person you are producing the introduction for. But really it is not an introduction, since we do not have a theme, plot or ending.”

“But I do have an ending, and theme, I just haven’t got to them yet—with my story here. You know, when you read a book, it’s got its insertions you never expect, and you must read the whole book.”

“Mr. Burroghs are you the doctor now!” said the doctor with a heightened voice.

“Sorry sir, I mean doc.”

“Then continue Mr. Burroghs,” added the doctor.

“Well, I’m at Saturday now. I don’t know where I’m at, I forgot. You know doc I don’t really want to continue with Saturday, Sunday, Friday or this Monday. I just want to put the garbage under the rock and leave it there for the worms.”

“No, you must let the worms come out. Leave the rock where it is. If you must, skip to Monday, and let me know how you feel now…so do it,” moaned the doctor with a deep release of air from his chest.

Troy didn’t say a word, mimicked the doctor with a deep sigh release from his chest, and simply pulled out his handgun, .357 Magnum, pointed it at the doctor and shot—but it wasn’t loaded of course, the doctor was trying to find his pad, where he wrote out his bills. The doctor never looked up at Troy knowing what was happening he was too busy writing. Then Troy simply stood up, walked out of the office, it was close to lunchtime and the secretary was gone. He left the handgun, with a note on his desk (paid in full), and went home for a good days sleep.

3-2002/Revised 12/29/2005;modified 2/22/06