I’ve got voices in my head. Thankfully, these voices don’t prompt me to behead my mother or do other things which are archetypes of schizophrenia. Nevertheless, these voices are not really friendly voices, and tend do make me feel sad and destroyed.

One voice is the rational one: it’s the voice of my parents, of former teacher, of years of acculturation and education, the voice that impels me to do the right thing. It’s the distorted voice you can hear in the song “Fitter Happier”. This is the voice that tells me it’s perfectly okay to give away eight hours of my day, 5 days a week, under a contract and for a wage, even if the individual(s) I’m giving them to are people who are constantly reminding me that they are doing me a favor for having me work for them.

It’s the “shut up and swallow it whole now” voice.

The other voice is, obviously, the irrational one: it’s the inner voice that screams something’s wrong, that this is not the way things are supposed to be, and that I better move my behind and change, because I’ll be shackled to everything before I notice it, and way before I can do anything about it.

It’s the “politically incorrect” voice.

If you read any newspaper, or take a walk around your neighborhood, you’ll see and agree that we’re living in awful times. Sure everything seems normal, but we’re living for the past years in war, constantly fearful for prices which keep on rising, being reminded that we are guests in this planet (and rude guests, may I add), and in a deep religious, social and cultural crisis.

And this fear that we are immersed in is the perfect environment for those rational voices to take over. Don’t go out after 11 p.m.; don’t buy a house; envy thy neighbor because he doesn’t deserve to be happy or to enjoy life if you can’t; hate the difference unless it’s politically correct difference; don’t quit your job because if you do you’re a bloody slob and you don’t want to work; and I could just go on with the negative vibe all afternoon…

Of course, there are those moments when it’s just too much. You are under the spell of that rational voice, and then suddenly you look around you and that vein in your forehead just pops. POP

Now what?

The rational voice is out there, walking and screaming at you, naked; it’s a naked old bearded man with no teeth, who scares you shitless. But it’s a naked voice, with the things dangling while screaming and you realize: how much longer can you fear the madman inside you if he’s a walking joke?

I’m not listening to that bearded old man anymore.