We Are In A Maze Which We

But At Least He Can Still See The Lights Below Us. Although Maybe For Him It Doesn't Matter.

To Live Is To Be Haunted.

He Sat Watching The People Go By, Wondering How A Thing Of This Sort Could Have Come About, I Must Have Let Myself Get Mixed Up In Something Horrible, He Thought ... Probably She's The One Who Did It; I Have No Control Of Myself Or Anything That's Happened. So Now I'm Waking Up. I'm Awake, He Thought ... I've Been Destroyed And Now That I'm Awake All I Can Do Is Realize It ... The Shock Of Getting Up There And Telling That Account Made Me See. Mixture Of Lies And Bits Of Truth. Woven Together. Unable To See Where Each Starts.

The Psychotic Does Not Merely Think He Sees Four Blue Bivalves With Floppy Wings Wandering Up The Wall; He Does See Them. An Hallucination Is Not, Strictly Speaking, Manufactured In The Brain; It Is Received By The Brain, Like Any 'real' Sense Datum, And The Patient Act In Response To This To-him-very-real Perception Of Reality In As Logical A Way As We Do To Our Sense Data. In Any Way To Suppose He Only 'thinks He Sees It' Is To Misunderstand Totally The Experience Of Psychosis.

Fat Realized That One Of Two Possibilities Existed And Only Two; Either Dr. Stone Was Totally Insane – Not Just Insane But Totally So – Or Else In An Artful, Professional Fashion He Had Gotten Fat To Talk; He Had Drawn Fat Out And Now Knew That Fat Was Totally Insane.