Monomania: A Memory

Notes of a Psychotic

Giorgi Vachnadze
2 min readMar 1, 2022

A smile is forced on me and I gaze into the glimmering skycut mountains… long patterned clouds. It’s all red. This is the best spot in the living room, the surveyor’s throne, the point of knightly transcendence and I earned it through my madness. A silklike sensation traces my fingertips. I am waiting. I am thinner. I love it. I want to look like a monk; always peaceful, radiating a calm, controlled intensity. It’s all self-abuse, all natural; pure vitality and I am with God. Always attentive, watchful, even when at rest, I sleep while remaining awake. I want to communicate entirely through gestures, to dwell beneath language; where power rests.

I stare directly into the sun… it’s fine. I take only what I need and I make sure I need less and less every day. My mind is bewitched by a very different game of desire. One that is the diametrical opposite of yours… pig. For you, I have built the true silence of the word, a void in discourse that will make a fine roast. So set the pigs loose. And my word will carry a sharp and agonizing eternity for them, something they need most, even though they fail to want it.