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My Hypnotherapy
Well I've discovered "The Truth"!
After a marathon 16 hour session of sub-conscious searching, somnic sleuthing, and systematic cerebral sifting, the celebrated Dr Svengali, has found the source of my cynicism (and, the evil fiend, found the source of my hats,too).
It's seems way back in my 57th life (Circa 640BC), I was a chicken. I wasn't just any chicken, I was a "Good Chicken". I was suitably stupid, layed eggs and listened to the Cock. All day I banged my beak into the hard ground and shouted the name of our magnificent God "CLucky", with the knowledge that if I was a "Good Chicken" I would earn the coverted "Swift Chop" end up in the fabled "Pot" and thus be reincarnated into a better life.
Unfortunately for me, it didn't work out that way. I was crossing the road when the circus came to town and the rest, they say, is soaked up by the sawdust.
In my next life I came back as a juggler.
You can understand my distress, I mean, I WAS A GOOD CHICKEN!!!
Psychologically scarred and emotionally destroyed, I followed the usual paths of depravity until my untimely demise in a nasty incident with a broom.
Dr Svengali tells me I've carried the shame ever since and it is the source of my bitterness but that further research reveals this was the only glitch in my steady climb to Nirvana. After all, I was an escapologist before I was the chicken and a rat (hey, at least rats have got brains) in my 59th life.
He says I should put it all behind me so I'm going to the tattooist tomorrow. (I wonder where Svengali gets his hats?)
(Apologies to all the other jugglers and escapologists and Georges De Maurier, "Trilby", 1894)
[ 06-13-2002: Message edited by: Peter Voice ]</p>
After a marathon 16 hour session of sub-conscious searching, somnic sleuthing, and systematic cerebral sifting, the celebrated Dr Svengali, has found the source of my cynicism (and, the evil fiend, found the source of my hats,too).
It's seems way back in my 57th life (Circa 640BC), I was a chicken. I wasn't just any chicken, I was a "Good Chicken". I was suitably stupid, layed eggs and listened to the Cock. All day I banged my beak into the hard ground and shouted the name of our magnificent God "CLucky", with the knowledge that if I was a "Good Chicken" I would earn the coverted "Swift Chop" end up in the fabled "Pot" and thus be reincarnated into a better life.
Unfortunately for me, it didn't work out that way. I was crossing the road when the circus came to town and the rest, they say, is soaked up by the sawdust.
In my next life I came back as a juggler.
You can understand my distress, I mean, I WAS A GOOD CHICKEN!!!
Psychologically scarred and emotionally destroyed, I followed the usual paths of depravity until my untimely demise in a nasty incident with a broom.
Dr Svengali tells me I've carried the shame ever since and it is the source of my bitterness but that further research reveals this was the only glitch in my steady climb to Nirvana. After all, I was an escapologist before I was the chicken and a rat (hey, at least rats have got brains) in my 59th life.
He says I should put it all behind me so I'm going to the tattooist tomorrow. (I wonder where Svengali gets his hats?)
(Apologies to all the other jugglers and escapologists and Georges De Maurier, "Trilby", 1894)
[ 06-13-2002: Message edited by: Peter Voice ]</p>