The more entangled within her cloistered world of make-believe the more beguiled, and in no small part intellectually curious, I become. Eve is certainly one of a kind. On the one hand her dream world, so very real to her, is outwardly impregnable. On the other, it is as if she is pointedly moving heaven and earth to invite me in. Such a thing I have never recognized in a patient’s behaviour previous. Furthermore, whilst it is the case I am focused upon freeing her from all delusions, a corrupted train of thought encircles me namely, that I am becoming overly fond of her. That that is unprofessional, I am well aware.
Albeit that I was uncomfortable with the method I chose to adopt, I concluded that during our daily sessions it might aid her recovery if I commenced covert recordings of the scenes and escapades of the perpetual dreams she describes in such detail. Hopefully, in doing so I will, in my own uninterrupted free time, make haste in evaluating her psychiatric malaise and thus determine a suitable course of treatment.
It was at home, ridiculously late in the evening, in the comfort of an armchair, a glass of something red and inexpensive at my side I played back Eve’s most recently recorded words. I had specifically requested of her that she talk of the places she travels to when unconscious or lost in a daydream. Her response, although not particularly helpful at this juncture, was nevertheless most illuminating.
“In The Land of Zizz there are no cinemas nor impossibilities. Also, everything and anything is conceivable there, and although a blatant contradiction, all doors are kept locked tight by whatever canny means inconsistent miscreation’s can devise. Glass doors especially so.
Here I meet my superfluous long-forgotten foes and love rivals as well as the blurred ‘nearly’ remembered. On a good day the ‘alive and kicking’ dead may make an appearance along with the rapturous ‘For God’s sake cover me up on this marble mortuary slab, I’m freezing my bits off’ dying. The summoned-up, sweet new-borns are all over the place, yet the sophistic, viable creatures of myth that lurk in an abundance of sunless hidey-holes are available only on request (subliminal or by spoken word).
I know you think me moonstruck, yet my best times are when the sky is mauve and the grass jet black and the mouth-watering fruit of the indigo grove is ripe enough to effortlessly pluck from the branch and drool over. When blessed with blue-letter nights I sit naked in paradise, save for my much-treasured silver Aladdin slippers with pointy toes, the one’s you bought for me, aside the violet lagoon, under a law-abiding sun, thinking of sweethearts new and old; visions lost and found…and especially, my darling, I think of you,” adding fractiously, “Seriously, I wonder why you ask me such silly questions? We’ve been joined at the hip since you swept me off my feet. We share the same memories. Surely you can’t have forgotten that? Please don’t ever say that you have.”
Taking my last sip of wine, I reflect upon my frankly unethical riposte. Put colloquially, I was ‘out of order’ encouraging further fictional account by saying to the girl bound up tight in a padded cell for her own safety, “Darling Eve, how could I ever forget you.” Good fortune perhaps (a falsity in most other respects), had it that there were no prying ears nearby at the time to witness my stupidity.
With the guilt of my inappropriate words still gyrating within my unworthy skull I retired for the night. Never in a million years realizing that once out for the count I would find myself at The Imperial Ball in Hofburg on a New Year’s Eve in ‘God only knows’ which year, dancing Strauss’ beloved Blue Danube Waltz with a jaw-dropping, dressed to the nines, almost edible Eve. A mere dream? A wish come true? All I know is that upon awakening I found I was surprisingly clad. Not in bland pyjamas but in my tuxedo and matching trousers. In my jacket pocket her rouge garter and another item of clothing she had shamelessly ‘vacated’, the name of which I am reluctant to disclose. Also, a scrunched-up ticket stub that read, ‘Kaiserball, Imperial Palace, Hofburg’. I mumbled to self, both confused and mortified, “Stealth is all this bastard parasite knows…is this really what I’ve become?
Being an old fool poses certain issues when it comes to technology. Notwithstanding my limitations in that regard, and after much foul language, herewith a 1-minute slide-show I put together in an attempt to capture the mood of my book, Notoriously Naked Flames. For what it may be worth the Kindle Unlimited edition is FREE presently at;