I am not Lewis Carrol
Mad.
That's what they called me.
The Mad hatter.
Of course I'm mad!
I can't bloody help it!
I needed a god-damned job,
I had a cousin working at the local haberdashery
and he gave me the job!
God damned President Truman was a hatter-but no one called him mad!
(well, not at first but after that bomb…)
but I wander.
I needed the job,
I had a girl I was courting,
but there was no way for me to even do that proper without a real job.
So I worked,
for years,
I slowly started to lose my grip on sanity.
Once, when I was fitting a man in a wheelchair he asked me,
What would be worse?
Losing your body and knowing it,
or your mind and not realize it?
But how do you reply to a man who suffered one?
I knew I was losing my mind
It is the worst thing in the world.
My love,
she left.
I was too far gone to care.
My cousin fired me,
after I kissed a customer after a purchase.
I wandered,
alone,
scared of my own mind.
Then, I ended up here.
In Wonderland.
No one cared that I was mad.
No one minded that we had tea-parties at all hours.
Alice came, and we partied that much more.
I was happy.
But you might call Wonderland
a mental institution.
So I guess you are right.
I am the Mad Hatter.
Many things allowed this to come about, I drove through Independence over Thanksgiving (Truman's home) We are going over psychological disorders in psyc. I was also looking at art on-line and it made me re-think the mad-hatter. (ps, if I flub anything up, I just wanted to let you know that I haven't seen or read Alice in Wonderland or Through the Looking Glass for a while, I've just read his poetry)