Dear Little Oval Orbs

Mr. B, quite exasperated with the hyperbolic workings of his cerebral system, decided to put an end to the lack-of-clarity and unimaginable horror of thinking by cutting off his head. So, in a dingy little room filled with butterfly wings and decaying rib-cages of dead family members, Mr.B started planning, equipped with a pink sketch pen, custard-yellow handmade paper and an empty useless ink bottle. The plan was prosaic, precise and plaintively perfect. A snippet:

Requirements:

1. Head

2. Sharp cutting device

3. Sound-proof walls

Experiment:

1. Use sharp-cutting device to cut off head.

2. Sound-proof walls shall not serve any definite purpose.

Inference: (..)

Having written the plan, Mr.B went out to buy a sharp cutting device, capable of decapitating a human head as well as fine cucumber slicing, the one-of-a-kind cutting device, which had to be imagined as well as constructed, a beauty, a poem, an ouch. Mr.B scoured the hopeless streets of Melancholia in vain, not finding a single morbid shopkeeper or death-maker, and finally decided to make one himself. After picking up random sharp objects from the street, like microscopic glass pieces, broken hearts, teeth of combs, wolfish incisors, metaphysical love poetry and brain-pieces of successful Russian expatriates, Mr.B set out to make the one-of-a-kind sharp cutting device, bit by bit, prick by prick, until it was fully constructed as well as imagined, imagined as well as constructed, and could be now successfully used to decapitate a human head. But Mr.B had an oddly satisfying brainwave, he decided to fool around a bit.

Thus was born Mass-Murderer B. The tragic part of this story is that, and forgive me for breaking the bubble, the device did not work, for it suddenly decided to sprout a conscience. Mr.B, the unscrupulous twit, killed his victims by reading Aphra's Behn's plays, justifying communism, and showing naked (read: brainless, if not entirely heartless) pictures of Akon, da mahn.