14 de out. de 2025

Public Confession (Restricted): Logbook of Insanity No. 14
Public Confession (Restricted)

Logbook of Insanity No. 14

Instruction — ritual of survival. Tone: lucid, theatrical, restrained.
There is a survival manual that never comes in books. I memorized it and kept it beneath my skin: *smile, be polite, pretend not to notice, avert your eyes, ignore the invasion of space.* “All magic has a price,” they say. It’s a tiring ritual, and when the performance convinces, a hollow compliment echoes in my mind: *Very good. Good girl.* It’s the cost of sanity in a mad world. But every actress needs her dressing room. My mental palace has an oak chair — vast, disproportionate, a throne for a royalty that exists only in silence. I wear white, a blue scarf scattered with tiny stars. I watch the rain begin its shy assault against the glass. My hair, loosely tied, lets a few stubborn curls fall across my face as I write poems and stories no one else will ever read. Here, on this stage, the outside rules dissolve. Here, I make the etiquette. They said they saw me wandering — my *ka* distracted and dressed in white. I don’t remember that. I remember a large cat emerging from the shadows like an elegant ghost. In one fluid motion, he leaps onto the table, disturbing the fragile order of my notes. “So you found me, after all?” My voice is softer than the one I use out there. “Very well. But it would be proper of you to behave like a cat.” He understands, of course. In perfect feline irony, he ignores the papers and dedicates himself to licking a paw, purring softly — his way of accepting the contract. “Better that way,” I whisper, mostly to myself. “As you know, cats don’t read the messages on the screen.” Satisfied with the terms, he jumps to a nearby shelf, transforming into a shadowed observer — a guardian of my written and unwritten secrets. While the rain washes the world outside, I sink into the great chair. Here, in my restricted confession, madness is having to leave this place and pretend again.
— preserved as requested. R.

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