The World Psychiastris
2. 11. 2026
A psychiatrist making his rounds through the various wards of a psychiatric institution always carries an ordinary pencil and an old notebook. He was taught to do so during his medical studies. Nobody rewrites his notes, nobody distorts them. They remain authentic, always. The doctor is educated, a man of distinction. He likes himself. He is a good cynic, immune to all kinds of manipulation. Believe me, every evening he is happy to return home. There, he has peace and quiet to contemplate, even to meditate, to truly rest. Home — he actually looks forward to it from the moment he wakes up.
Every morning, two talkative orderlies release him from his restraints, bring him a modest breakfast on a plastic tray, and allow him to wash (believe me, he is a little unsettled by the fact that he woke up this morning, as he has so many times before. Once again, he was disturbed from his dreaming....). No razor blades are permitted for shaving. They dress him themselves, naked as he is, without the slightest hint of anything erotic. Then, holding him by both arms, they lead him down a long corridor, open the gate, then the massive iron bars. All three squint into the sunlight:
"Doctor, we're looking forward to seeing you this evening. Don't overdo it."
The fully qualified doctor pulls an ordinary pencil and his notebook from the pocket of his white coat and steps out into the street, his eyes not yet accustomed to the light:
"That's going to be quite a shift. Fortunately they will be expecting me back this evening, just like every evening. I can hardly wait..."
